Kir slowly raised his sword. He had no hand to grip it with, because everything from his elbow down was fused with the weapon, steel and flesh devouring each other.
A battle in the yellow hour—matinee…
“This will be a clash of swords,” Kir said abruptly. “You understand that, don’t you?”
Belle held Runding at the ready, silently staring at Kir.
And a battle in the violet hour—soiree…
Sorrow filled her heart.
Now, at the violet hour, here in the Ballroom, I will fight Kir, who has changed in body and mind like night and day… No. I’ve changed just as much as he has.
Belle got the feeling that she was the reason behind Kir’s current state. Thinking back, Kir’s life had been thrown off-kilter ever since she’d first broken his sword. Meeting Belle, fighting her, and having his sword shattered was what had driven this man to a breaking point.
But with that sad thought, the other Belle—the Guidance—chided her.
You must not aimlessly bask in sorrow.
Belle smiled a sad, forlorn smile, like a flower wet with evening dew.
The rain of sorrow will freeze you in place and starve you out.
“I know,” Belle answered loudly after a few moments of ruminating on the many feelings coursing through her.
Kir nodded, satisfied, and his expression filled with savage bloodlust. The two silently stared each other down from across the ballroom. They stood there, swords at the ready, for only the briefest of moments.
Against the expectations of her three friends watching on behind her, Belle and Kir charged at each other head-on.
“Heavens…!” Kitty’s eyes widened.
The two Solists shouted, hands gripping weapons, swords trembling as they collided, neither falling back a single step as the blades clashing against each other like music. The clash from that singular charge made the room shake violently.
Kir blocked Belle’s heavy blade and tried to cut it, but to his surprise, Runding deflected the invisible fangs and even kept them from reaching Belle’s hand with its incredible width.
“My dear girl, not only were you able to stop the sword that tears through dimensions, but you also even managed to cut it…,” Kitty whispered, his voice drowned out by the clanging of the swords.
As the two Solists blocked each other’s swords, they tried to outflank their opponent, changing positions before attacking again. They parried, then struck again. Kir, clad in armor as his hooves thundered against the floor, and Belle, her pure-white dress fluttering around her, looked like they were dueling and dancing all at once. They attacked, defended, deflected, dodged, jumped, swung their swords. Their skills honed to perfection, the two beasts—one, a horse person, and the other, a winged wolf—howled liked animals as they produced beautiful Schwertmusik.
The crowd watching their duel was both entranced and filled with fear. They could feel it against their skin that this battle was so intense, the attacks so sharp, that if they reached out too far toward it, their fingers would be cut off.
Belle didn’t shy away from throwing herself into her attacks and putting her life on the line, evading and diverting Kir’s attacks by the skin of her teeth. It was certainly risky, but that was how intense fights like this were. That was something the Catacombs had taught her—the resolve to live when one was on the edge of death. By accepting her mortality, Belle was able to stoke her desire to survive even hotter than before. It filled her with an intense energy combined with the tranquility of death, which made the heat inside her burn brighter—giving the cold a bitter edge.
“This is the sword you’re so proud of?! Is it really that much stronger than your old one?!” Belle shouted as they locked blades.
Kir’s expression turned furious. They had both discerned the nature of their opponent’s sword, and all that remained was to pit them against each other.
“Your old sword was incredible, and you replaced it with this?! Did it devour your soul as a Solist, too?!”
This was Belle’s honest impression. Even if she was cut down by Kir’s sword, she wouldn’t approve of this weapon. She felt no excitement fighting it, no joy. Only sorrow. Each time they exchanged blows and their Schwertmusik rang out, a sinking grief filled her heart. It made her slashes sharper and more merciless, which only made her sadder.
“Say something!” Belle cried out. “Is your sword incapable of speaking?!”
Growing desperate, Kir howled as he swung his sword, and Runding told Belle exactly what that sound meant. It was a string of single words, repeated harshly.
Hunger. Hunger. Hunger. Stronger, even stronger. It was a maddening lust for power. Devour. Devour. Kill. Kill. Pleasure. Glee. Joy. I want to bathe in blood. There’s no need to think. Just swing my sword as I please. That’s right. Whenever I want, wherever I want. After all, no one can stand against me.
His thoughts were bloodcurdling, innocent on the surface yet brimming with malice. Within that complicated mess, at its very core, Belle found the one firm idea that came from the sword:
I am Dillegnave—the Gospel-Bringer.
Belle’s mind raced.
Gospel means to spread the word of God…
DILLEGNAVE
That glowing red spell etched on the black blade reflected in Belle’s eyes, and in that moment, she realized who her true opponent in this duel was.
“Kir!” Belle shouted, blocking a blow that would have instantly killed her otherwise. “Kiiiiiiiir!”
But the Kir that Belle had once known was no more. All that remained was a pitiful Solist and the sword that had devoured his soul. In his efforts to entertain God and amuse himself, Kir had been consumed, body and soul, by that very same weapon intended to please God. It was so cruel Belle couldn’t come to terms with it.
“You bastard! Solists aren’t your prey to do with as you please!”
Grief and anger sped up Belle’s sword. She charged toward her foe, fully exposing herself to attack. Her dress was already in tatters and blood seeped from her wounds. Every one of the cuts was shallow, but even if they had all been deep enough to reach bone, Belle would have kept on fighting. She charged in again and tore through the invisible fangs with ease. With just one more tiny push, it seemed the balance of their duel would tip—and just when it seemed Kir would tear Belle apart, he rushed his strike ever so slightly, causing the tip of his sword to miss.
EEERRREEEHHH…!
Honed to perfection, Runding let out a high-pitched howl as it took advantage of this opening, racing forward to run Kir through. So far, all of Belle’s attacks had been aimed at Kir’s body, but this time she caught him off-guard by striking at his sword. There was no way to dodge it.
So instead, Kir raised his left arm, guarding his sword with his own flesh. Everything from the elbow down was severed and sent flying, rolling along the floor toward the crowd, who shrieked at the gory sight.
Belle looked at him with a savage expression.
“…Looks like I can cut you,” she murmured. But it was drowned out by the clashing of blades.
Kir, now fighting with only one arm, continued to swing his blade at Belle without showing any pain. She could only pity him. A bit of blood dripped from his severed arm, and something oozed and grew from the wound, flickering like a branch of the God Tree.
Seeing this deepened Belle’s sorrow. She didn’t want to hurt him any more than she already had. Her mind was solely focused on shattering that sword as quickly as possible.
She would cut off Kir’s right hand holding the sword. That determination, however, only put Belle at a disadvantage. With her sights fixed on the sword, her attacks became predictable and easy to block. Kir was able to read her intentions two steps ahead, and Belle was gradually pushed back.
As Belle exchanged blows with Kir, she dodged the invisible, dimension-cutting blade. Although she couldn’t see them, her deep connection with Runding allowed her to accurately pinpoint the slashes. The number of blades was gradually increasing as well, showing just how fast Kir was attacking. Every slash produced a dimension-cutting blade. The real blade and shadow blade attacking from another dimension came at her from either side, which Belle responded to by imagining she was fighting two opponents. But Kir’s slashes came so fast that he started to produce a shadow blade before the previous one had time to disappear—then another. By the time that shadow blade vanished, his real blade swung again. Belle had to guard and dodge against three or four attacks at once, with any of them capable of claiming her life.
Dealing with this flurry was incredibly difficult, and seeing an opening, Kir charged at Belle, unleashing the two types of blades. Belle swept her sword, but it only cut through air—a fatal miss. Kir thrust his real sword at Belle, the black blade plunging toward her chest.
Belle couldn’t dodge the attack unharmed. In a split-second decision, she threw up her left arm, sacrificing it to guard her vitals. Bright red blood spattered through the air. Kir’s blade cut Belle’s forearm open, followed immediately by his invisible blade arcing toward her throat.
But instead of retreating, Belle stepped into the attack, the only way to avoid death, and the invisible blade swept through the air just above Belle’s head.