Routier pulled free from Saria’s arms and turned on her, eyes fierce. “Saria, don’t say things like that. There’s no way I’d mistake my own father. That man is my real father.”
“No! No, you’re right, he is your real father… but also not!” Saria cried, flustered. “I mean, it’s him… but it’s not!”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Stop interfering,” Routier snapped, her voice shaking with emotion as she began walking toward the man again, undeterred by Saria’s warning.
Saria’s arms reached out instinctively, but this time, she didn’t try to hold Routier back. Instead, she turned to me.
“Seiichi! Please, stop her!”
“Seiichi… are you going to stand in my way too?” Routier asked quietly, her voice trembling now with hurt rather than anger. She stared at me, searching my face for an answer.
“Huh?” I blinked, completely lost.
I had no idea what was happening. Routier was convinced the man before us was her father, no doubt in her voice. But Saria—usually so gentle, so carefree—was practically begging me to believe he wasn’t. Or… that he was, but something was wrong.
This is bad. I’m completely lost here…
My gaze shifted back and forth between the two girls. Saria looked at me with pleading eyes, desperately hoping I’d understand what she couldn’t put into words. Routier met my eyes too, but hers were steady, unwavering. She truly believed.
But among all the confusion, there was one thing I knew without a doubt.
I trust Saria.
I didn’t know if what she was sensing was part of her “wild instinct” or something else entirely. But I did know this: Saria would never say something like this without a reason. Not without being sure.
“I’m sorry, Routier. I believe Saria. I can’t let you go over to that man.”
“What if I force my way through?”
“If you try that, I’ll get unreasonable enough to stop you.”
Routier kept glaring at me, as if daring me to back down, when an unexpected laugh cut through the tense air. It started low, then cracked into something ugly and high. “Ku ku ku… ku ha ha ha ha ha!”
“F-Father…?” Routier whispered, as if hoping it was some trick of the wind.
The laugh came from the man we’d thought was her father. He covered his face with one hand and let out another round of laughter, the sound wet and delighted. “Delicious irony! How perfectly ridiculous. My own daughter cannot see through me. What a fool’s tale.”
“W-What—” Routier choked, confusion and something like dread spreading across her face.
But the man’s smile twisted uglier. He lowered his hand and spoke, his voice turning soft and cruel. “Yet it is irritating as well. I had been intending to kill that daughter of yours with this body… but your meddling has ruined my plan.”
“F-Father? What are you saying?” Routier’s voice broke into a stunned whisper.
She was staring at him in disbelief, but the thing wearing her father’s face only smiled more broadly, eyes glittering with malice. “You still don’t understand? I am not your father. Your father’s dead.”
Routier went slack. The world seemed to tilt; her knees gave out, and she dropped down as if someone had cut the legs from beneath her. “Routier?!” I lunged forward to catch her, heart pounding.
“Bastard!” Al barked, rage flaring. She launched herself at the man with the speed of a blade, intent on cutting him down.
The man barely glanced up. “Such a brutish woman,” he said, amused. “Do not stand before me… prostrate yourself.”
At his command, Al crumpled as if an invisible hand had shoved her down from above. She didn’t fold onto her knees; rather, some unseen pressure pressed her into the ground and held her there, strain painting her face as she fought against it. Her arms pumped, her breath came hard, but the force pinned her to the earth like a weight from the sky.
“Oh? You resist my words?” the thing purred, enjoying the spectacle.
“Y-You pompous fake noble bastard… shut the hell up!”
The words slipped from Al’s gritted teeth like venom. The man’s expression darkened instantly, fury rising behind his eyes. But before he could react, Origa had already moved. Taking advantage of the momentary opening, she appeared behind him in a flash of silent motion. With precise, practiced grace, she drove a kunai straight at his neck.
“Target acquired.” The blade hit its mark, sinking deep into his throat. And yet, the man didn’t fall. He winced, annoyed, but that was all. The wound barely bled. His face twisted more in irritation than pain. “Persistent little insect…”
Just as his focus snapped back to her, another figure slipped in low, so quiet and swift he almost didn’t notice.
“Clear out!”
“Hah?! Who—! Gah?!”
Saria slammed her fist into his exposed gut with staggering force. The impact was so powerful that the shock visibly rippled out through his back, tearing through the air. The surrounding grass bent violently under the concussive wave.
The man was suddenly lifted off the ground, flying through the air like a kicked barrel and heading straight for Lulune, who was still calmly scanning the field, completely unfazed by the chaos.
“Don’t interrupt me. I’m busy looking for food.”
Without even sparing him a glance, Lulune pivoted and lashed out with her leg. Her heel struck him clean in the side, folding him over midair with a muffled thud.
“Guboah?!”
He was sent careening through the air, flipping end over end like discarded trash before vanishing into the distance.
Watching the entire scene play out in a blur, I could only stand there, stunned.
“Uh… I mean, I was about to step in, too. I didn’t like what that guy said either… but it looks like that wasn’t necessary,” I muttered to myself.
“S-Seriously…” Zora murmured beside me, equally dumbfounded. “Actually, is he still alive?”
She had a point. Under normal circumstances, Origa’s strike alone would’ve been fatal. That kunai wasn’t just sharp; it carried a special effect that induced powerful status ailments. He should’ve been paralyzed, bleeding out, or worse.
But right now, we had more important things to worry about than the human projectile.
I turned to Routier, who still hadn’t moved.
“Routier… are you okay?”
“My father… is dead.” She barely seemed to register my voice. Her eyes were blank, her words a whisper. She just stood there, trembling, unable to process the truth she’d been forced to hear.
“I… I don’t even know what to say,” I admitted, voice small and useless. Back on Earth, when I heard my father was dead, I couldn’t take it in either. If the man standing there truly wore Routier’s father’s face, then someone was using that face to deceive us. And that was unforgivable. Still, after what Saria and the others had just done, I couldn’t imagine him getting away unscathed.
Then the man chuckled, soft at first, then breaking into a harsh, joyless laugh. “Ha ha ha. How surprising.”
“—?!” Al’s hand balled into a fist, ready to move.
“I thought… I had surely pierced his core…” he muttered, voice oddly fractured.
“Hm. I felt the kunai sink into his neck for sure. Did he have the same kind of power as that cultist?” Origa asked, squinting at him.
It was impossible to deny what we’d seen: the man who’d taken Origa’s kunai, who’d taken Saria’s blow, had simply walked away as if nothing had happened. The obvious thought was the same one Origa had voiced: this was the sort of ability the cultists had, but nothing in Saria’s or the others’ behavior suggested any lingering effect. The man’s grin soured at that implication.
“Who do you compare me to?” he snapped, offended. “How insolent!”
“So who are you, then?” I demanded, stepping forward despite the lump in my throat.
He sighed as if answering a child. “Hah… ignorance is a terrible thing. You don’t even know me? Fine. I will tell you. I am ‘the Night King.’”
“Night King?” The words were unfamiliar; everyone exchanged puzzled glances. None of us had ever heard that title.
“I am the Night King! Ruler of this place that belongs to the night! How could you possibly hope to defeat me?” he boasted, voice swollen with mockery.
“You won’t know until you try!” I shot back before I could stop myself.
“Seiichi, no!” Al snapped.
“Ugh?!” I blinked, already regretting my own mouth. Great. That was not the time to be bold.
The man merely laughed again, amusement glittering in his eyes as if daring us to make the attempt.
In a flash, I closed the distance between us, ready to deck this so-called “Night King” into the next continent. Just as I was about to let the punch fly, Saria’s voice rang out behind me, sharp and urgent.
“Seiichi, wait!”
Because of her shout, I held back even more than I already had. I was planning to pull the punch enough not to destroy the world, of course, but now I eased off to something more like a firm slap from hell. Even so, my fist connected cleanly with the Night King’s face and sent him flying far, far into the distance.
Watching his form vanish into the horizon again, I turned to Saria with a frown. “S-Saria? Why’d you stop me?”
“Because… that body still belongs to Routier’s father,” she said quietly.
“Huh?”
“Exactly right, girl.”
“Huh?”
Somehow, the Night King had already come back, despite me sending him airborne toward what should have been the far edge of the grassland. He approached us calmly, rubbing his nose where my fist had hit. Unlike when Saria or the others had attacked, he actually seemed hurt this time.
He cast a wary glance in my direction, muttering under his breath.
“Th-This makes no sense… How could the ruler of night… be harmed?”
“I’m not following a word of that,” I said flatly. “More importantly, how’d you get back here so fast? I definitely punched you all the way to next Tuesday.”
At my question, he seemed to snap out of his daze. He puffed out his chest and gave a smug, if slightly crooked, grin.
“Hmph… You truly do not understand, do you? I am night itself. And night… is me. As long as this land remains under night’s dominion, I am present within it. In the realm governed by darkness, there is no such thing as ‘too far’ for me.”
So basically… he had some kind of night-themed teleportation ability. That made sense.
“Which is precisely why, within this dominion of twilight, I am—GAAAHHH?!”
“?!”
Suddenly, he clutched at his chest, staggering backward in visible pain. Alarmed, we all took a cautious step back.
And then, he gasped out a name.
“Rou… tie… r…”
“Eh? F-Father?”
Just like that, the oppressive, arrogant aura he’d exuded shattered. The Night King’s entire demeanor shifted: his posture faltered, and his eyes lost that cruel gleam. For the first time, the voice that emerged sounded human.