Dirk Eberwein, the Tyrant, was staring at several air-windows inside his airship cabin.
He was, of course, keeping an eye on the plan. Like Madiath, he was equipped to monitor every section of Asterisk in real time using the cameras installed in the Valiant puppets.
At the moment, everything was going smoothly and yet falling apart at the same time. That was because Dirk had betrayed the Golden Bough Alliance. If the situation continued like this, it would end half-accomplished, half-failed.
And that was precisely what Dirk wanted.
A world without winners.
He didn’t believe that such a thing would ever be truly realized, but he could strive to get as close to that ideal as possible.
That was why he had intentionally passed on valuable intel to Eishirou and encouraged Ayato and the others to go after Varda and Madiath.
“…Well, it’s not like they’ll get the drop on Madiath and Varda.”
So long as Ayato and his comrades were forced to act in small groups, their odds of victory remained slim.
Varda aside, they would never defeat Madiath. He had the highest affinity with the Raksha-Nada Dirk had ever seen.
Ayato and his friends had already fulfilled their role.
At this point, the sooner they were dead and out of the picture, the better.
“If there’s a problem here, it’s Orphelia,” Dirk grumbled as he expanded the air-window showing the ongoing championship match. “She’s having a harder time than I expected…”
He had to admit that not even he had anticipated the princess’s raw tenacity.
Nonetheless, the difference in strength between the two was clear as day. Orphelia’s victory was inevitable. It wouldn’t be long before she snatched it.
And that would mark the end of Asterisk.
Dirk snorted as he gazed at the skyscrapers towering outside his window.
Soon, everyone who called this place home would perish, and the city itself would sink beneath the waves.
Oh, how good it felt.
If he could witness its destruction from beginning to end, perhaps it would ease the disgust and loathing that burned within him, if only a fraction.
But such thoughts were pointless. He clicked his tongue, just as the airship suddenly jolted to one side.
“…I don’t like that shaking. That’s no air current.”
Snapping his fingers, he called for his bodyguards—but as time passed, they failed to appear.
In addition to Dirk, there were two others aboard the airship. Both guards were his protégés, each exceptionally skilled and unaffiliated with Grimalkin. One was responsible for piloting the airship, the other for security.
Out of options, Dirk clicked his tongue again and stepped out of the room.
He was well aware that Ayato and his buddies were tailing him, but it would be practically impossible for them to reach him here. In which case—
He headed for the cockpit, mulling over this possibility. And there he found the first of his bodyguards lying in a pool of blood. Should he assume that the other had been eliminated as well?
Even after Dirk realized that he, a regular human, was the only one left standing, he kept his calm.
If he was going to die no matter what, there was no need to disgrace himself with an act of cowardice.
“Tch! Useless bastards…!” he cursed, pushing his bodyguard aside to sit in the pilot’s seat.
For a man of his skills, controlling an aircraft like this was child’s play.
Whatever he did, he first had to land the vessel safely.
But just then—
“Huh…?”
The chair’s shadow coalesced into a blade, piercing him through the abdomen.
“This ability…Gold Eye Number Seven?”
Grimacing in pain, he glanced around and spotted the figure of a man slowly coming into view by the door, as though seeping out from the shadows themselves. When he was an agent at Grimalkin, Gold Eye Number Seven, Wernher, had worked for him.
Several years ago, Dirk had ordered Wernher to execute a strategy to entrap Ayato during the Phoenix. Ultimately, the operation had failed, and Wernher was supposed to have been killed in action…
“You survived? Why didn’t you come back?” he demanded.
Wernher offered no answers.
Well, he was an agent in an intelligence organization, so that made sense. But Dirk soon realized that there was another reason for his silence.
His eyes were as empty as glass beads. There was no sign of human will or independent thought behind them.
I know that look. Varda must have completely brainwashed him… Which I guess means Madiath sent him here.
Not that he had been dispatched per se. This was probably a contingency plan in case Dirk ever betrayed the alliance or started acting against its interests. Varda would never have come up with a ploy like this, which meant that it was obviously Madiath’s doing.
✦ ✦ ✦
✦ ✦ ✦
“Hmph! So you’re the one who scooped him up, Madiath… No wonder he never made it back to base.”
A fresh blade appeared in Wernher’s hand, aimed for Dirk’s throat.
Slumped back in his chair as he was, Dirk had no interest in trying to dodge it—though, of course, it would have been impossible anyway. But the weapon stopped just before it could slice through his throat. Wernher suddenly clutched his head in apparent pain.
“Ah… So Varda lost, then?”
If Varda was destroyed, her brainwashing would lose all effect.
The timing was ironic, but this didn’t yet mean that he was in the clear.
The blood loss from his gut wound was already blurring his vision.
In this state, there was no way that he would be able to fly an airship. Heck, he would probably soon lose consciousness.
“Damn it…! To think I’d die before I could see this wretched city fall…!”
Without a pilot, the airship slowly lost altitude, approaching the surface of the lake.