The singing suddenly trailed off.
It happened without warning. The other Symphonists stopped playing, and the people dancing all stopped in their tracks and went silent. The entire hall was enveloped in an eerie silence as everyone looked up at Sherry onstage, trying to keep their confusion from showing on their faces.
Sherry trembled, her face drained of color. Just moments ago, she had been singing and smiling, when all of a sudden she’d frozen up as if doused with icy water. Fear filled her eyes, as if some sort of terrifying sight was right in front of her. And indeed, Sherry was seeing something. She sensed its presence and heard a silent, wordless will.
The will of God, the absolute ruler. Sherry’s song conveying His word halted as she understood the message of His divine proclamation, trembling in alarm.
“No…!” Sherry shouted.
But her voice came out as a single, raspy breath, a pitiful excuse for a scream.
She was overcome with sorrow. Devastated, Sherry looked over the vast ballroom and spotted Belle in one corner. A helpless, desperate look filled her eyes.
Belle realized something was wrong right away and prepared to run up onto the stage if need be. But Sherry began to speak, almost deliriously, her gaze still fixed on Belle.
“I shall convey God’s divine proclamation in my own voice. Tonight, a Nidhogg who gnaws at the roots of God has been born into this world alongside an evil sword. He intends to swing his sword at this ballroom.”
The way her voice echoed throughout the silent room truly made it sound as if she was speaking God’s Thema.
Tension ran through the room, but Sherry carried on, her voice dry and devoid of emotion.
“The name of this Nidhogg is Kir Rowal, an Arch-Solist who grew intoxicated on his power… He shattered the swords of the priests who serve as God’s branches and raised his sword against fellow Arch-Solist Gaff Shandy in an attempt to take his life.”
The sorrow in Sherry’s eyes overflowed, and a single tear ran from each eye down her cheeks. But no more followed.
“I hereby decree that a duel will be held. Strike down the Nidhogg Kir Rowal and give him death. The one to fight in this duel shall be she who knocks upon the Door of Journey, Belle Lablac!”
Sherry trembled. For a second, Belle thought she looked tragic and vulnerable, like a butterfly caught in a spiderweb. Like a woman who, ever since birth, had been bound in threads of fate from which she couldn’t escape or untangle herself.
“Belle Lablac alone, no one else!” Sherry proclaimed loudly.
The moment those words left her lips, she was freed from God’s hand, which had gripped her from within. Sherry began to waver, unable to support her own weight anymore. She leaned against the railing of the stage, collapsing to her knees. The incredible mental strain had left her with a pounding headache. The violet priests quickly hurried over to support Sherry, holding her up as if they were handling fragile glass.
“Run!” But Sherry shook off the priests’ hands and shouted at Belle, her face drained of color. “Run, Belle! Run!”
The violet priests lifted their masks as one, their eyes wide. God’s divine proclamation was the absolute truth that made up the foundation of Schwertland. However, it had just been rejected by none other than the very person who had spoken it into the world. Doubtful of Sherry’s sanity, the priests were trying to calm her down, holding her in place like she was hysterical.
Belle, meanwhile, had no idea what any of this meant. All she could grasp was that God had just ordered her to fight Kir, but seeing Sherry’s reaction, the situation clearly wasn’t as simple as that.
She spun around toward Kitty.
“What’s a Nidhogg, and why do I have to run?! Am I really being told to fight here?”
She shouted at Kitty as if he was God Himself, urgency in her voice.
“The divine proclamation gave you your final task before you may depart on your journey.” Kitty hadn’t lost his cool, but he spoke quickly. “In this case, a Nidhogg would be one unhinged by God’s—”
But before Kitty could finish, screams erupted in one corner of the ballroom, drowning out his voice. They came from a married couple who, until now, had been chatting diagonally across from the bench on which Belle and Kitty were seated. Positioned where they were, close to the entrance of the terrace, the couple had finally noticed the massacre that had taken place behind them.
The woman’s shrill screech warned everyone of the presence of a murderer, and panic broke out as the message spread throughout the hall. The glass doors to the terrace swung open, and a Centaurus appeared from out of the darkness, prompting more screams.
Their reactions were completely natural. The man looked like a grim reaper, wearing a black cloak with crimson lining and a magnificent set of armor that was completely covered in blood. He looked around with an eerie smile, as if he was calmly choosing the next person who should die.
As Kir walked straight into the ballroom, he knocked over one woman who was frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but scream. Kir looked like he’d just walked through a shower of blood, and the sticky redness clung to the woman’s clothes and hair, causing her to shriek even louder. She couldn’t stop.
Kir’s gaze fell on the screaming lady on the floor, looking like he’d just realized for the first time that there was someone other than him in the room. His cloak flapped as he freed his right arm, holding his hand out to the woman. For a moment, it looked like he was offering to help her up—but then the tip of a blade cut through the air, sinking toward her bosom.
The thrust produced a terrible noise that drowned out the woman’s scream.
She fell silent.
“Cheers,” a smug voice said over the body of the unconscious woman.
It was Benet. He’d taken hold of the woman from behind, a glass in his other hand raised toward Kir as if spilling the drink inside. Somehow, he had been able to block Kir’s sword with the glass, using the liquid within as a catalyst to erect a small barrier that stopped the tip. That barrier, formed from such a tiny amount of liquid, had been enough to block Kir’s heavy, hulking sword.
Glass thrust forward, Benet’s eye was closed, as it often was in battle. He’d formed this strong barrier faster than one could blink, using his powerful sense of hearing to accurately pinpoint the location of the sword and position his glass accordingly.
Even Kir seemed shocked. But then he smiled with joy.
“So you’re the one-eyed archer everyone’s been talking about,” he murmured, swiftly withdrawing his sword.
The half-frozen liquid in the glass leaped after the blade. It grew rapidly like a vine, coiling around Kir’s sword and climbing up its length. Once it got to the hilt, the tip of the liquid turned into a sharp arrow that flew directly at Kir’s face. It was a surprise attack so swift and unexpected that even Kir had no chance to dodge it.
But just then, Benet heard a sinister noise. With his eyes closed, he could make out the presence of that fang all the more clearly. Benet’s keen hearing saved his life. The moment he sensed the danger, he jumped away to the side, still holding the woman in one arm. Something bit and crunched through the spot he’d occupied just a split second ago, and the ice coiling around Kir was cut to pieces, scattering droplets of wine in the air.
Mingling with the aroma of the wine was the strong scent of blood. Guinness had sneaked behind Kir and opened the window to the terrace, revealing the brutality there. Grimacing at the bloody sight, he picked up an unbroken sword dropped by one of the priests, securing a weapon.
Suddenly, he spotted a survivor.
“Adonis…”
But the man was frozen in place, his eyes fixed on Kir’s back.
“Hey, Adonis, are you okay? Ah, Sir Gaff…”
Guinness’s voice drew Kir’s attention, prompting him to turn around. Their eyes met.
“W-wait a second…” Guinness rested the priest’s sword on the shoulder of his one good arm. “According to God’s words, I’m not the one you’re supposed to fight…!”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, Guinness flung the sword at Kir, then immediately turned and ran. Kir easily dodged the sword and silently swung his own blade at Guinness’s fleeing figure—but before he could, he was attacked from behind.
It was Benet. Guinness hadn’t been throwing the sword at Kir, but instead he passed it to Benet, using himself as a decoy. Kir quickly turned around and deflected Benet’s attack, only for Guinness to pick up a sword and attack him as well.
“Impudent whelps!” Kir howled.
Even without using his invisible fang, he was easily able to knock the swords out of their hands. A blade held by someone who hadn’t raised it had no attachment to them.
“Adonis!”
Unarmed once again, Guinness shouted at the Cateyes man, scolding him. Adonis jolted and, dazed, turned to Guinness. It looked like he had no idea what was happening.
Seeing that, Guinness immediately removed Adonis from the scope of the battle. It shouldn’t even be a battle in the first place, as the divine proclamation had decreed that Kir was to duel Belle. If Kir withdrew his sword, Guinness and Benet would also have to back down, but at the very least, they had to keep this deranged Solist occupied until Belle could get her hands on Runding. And maybe, by then, they might be able to figure out a little bit about the properties of Kir’s mysterious sword.