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Only after concluding that he likely wouldn't bump into Orsted head-on did Allen's adrenaline finally settle, allowing him to truly relax.
Within the accelerated perception of his combat flow, these fragmented thoughts flashed by—comparing memories, analyzing the original story's plot, assessing the situation—all between the dolls' attack and his counter.
Total time elapsed: 2.17 seconds.
The sudden ambush had briefly unsettled him. This reeked of the Human God's handiwork: subtle, nearly imperceptible, striking at the most mundane yet tender moment.
Precise. Cold. Almost mocking.
A blade aimed straight for the heart.
"Everything you've done is meaningless."
"Your existence is worthless."
"So kneel."
"Beg."
"Grovel."
"Weep."
(You insect.)
This was His preferred method—
The doll's faceless head slowly turned to "look" at Allen mid-thought.
—of toying with humans.
A faint scraping sound whispered through the wind into his ears!
Allen's pupils contracted to pinpricks as he abruptly released the knife-hand grip on the doll's neck.
The next instant!
Dark, needle-like projectiles shot silently from the dolls' palms, aimed at his throat—only for Allen to tilt his head slightly, letting them whistle past.
His hands moved fluidly:
Pivot - Rotating his wrists to glide along the dolls' extended arms.
Crush - Fingers clamping like vices around their metallic wrists.
Redirect - Using their own momentum to drive their weapons into each other's shoulder joints.
Surgical precision.
For a breathless moment, the two projectiles crossed before Allen's neck, glinting ominously—stopping exactly one centimeter from his skin.
Allen smirked, glancing at the distant shoulder joints where faint cracks echoed.
The dolls' weak points weren't their shoulders—damaging those magic circuits only disabled their spare arms. Their primary attacking limbs remained functional, already retracting for another strike—
Until human fists of flesh and blood seized them mid-motion.
"'Since you're here—"
Elbows lifted, forcing their arms deeper into each other's chassis with a CRACK.
Left arm pinning right neck! Right arm jamming left shoulder!
"—you're not leaving."
In the darkness, a single motion wove an inescapable lock:
Allen's crossed arms pulling the dolls toward each other.
His elbows braced against their torsos.
Their disabled limbs rendering them helpless.
A brutal invitation with no refusal permitted.
Then—
The Dragon Saint Core contracted. Expanded. Primordial battle aura erupted through Allen's veins!
Magic propulsion? Pneumatic spells for movement?
"Creak... creak..."
Strong, aren't you? Relying on steel bodies to overpower humans?
"Creak... creak..."
Can identify targets? Remotely controlled somehow?
"Creak... creak..."
Well then—
TRY HARDER.
"Creak—"
"CRACK."
The grotesque sounds of straining metal became the dolls' silent screams.
Muscles swelled with pumped blood; battle aura ravaged Allen's arms. The exhilarating numbness of exertion spread as adrenaline blended with dopamine.
Is steel hard?
Yes.
Is the Human God's schemes terrifying?
Absolutely.
But—
Some things are worth protecting.
More than just my life.
Allen's lips curled into a grin.
In the dimness ahead, familiar silhouettes sharpened into focus.
—
The "well" was clearly visible below.
Stellan's Well's skylight spanned two meters, its beam illuminating Isolte, Sylphie, Rudeus, and Eris standing side-by-side—youthful enough to fit comfortably within its glow.
Seconds earlier, they'd raised their Divine Attendants into the light.
White-pink, black-blue, vivid red, pale brown—the charms shimmered, casting reflections in every eye.
A weighted silence fell.
Isolte studied her charm, black pupils dancing with refracted light. Below, the well's azure ripples pulsed with sacred significance to her Milis faith.
This was a ritual—wishes offered during a holy festival. Though the Stellan sect had faded, she understood its gravity better than most.
Pray. Seek divine favor. Have wishes granted.
By definition, an act of reverence.
Her gaze drifted to the charm.
Allen had clearly mistaken their interest—thinking they all wanted to make wishes.
She couldn't speak for the others, but she simply wanted...
This gift he'd chosen just for her.
Nothing more.
Now...
Should she toss it into the well?
The sacred glow below seemed to pulse, urging her as a believer.
For a fleeting moment, church doctrines swirled in her mind—
Then vanished beneath Zenith's voice from that Buena village kitchen:
"Gods are gods. I am me."
"They sit above. I choose my own salvation."
"Wishing begs for their mercy... but I'd rather keep this doll."
Her eyes flicked to Allen behind her.
"My path is already chosen."
"My wish..."
"...was granted a month ago."
A soft smile bloomed, then twisted wryly.
"Though perhaps I'm forsaken now."
The night after leaving Montalit—after Sylphie's embrace and their dawn-spanning talk—
Isolte had dreamed of God.
She'd apologized profusely, explaining her resolve to follow her heart even if it meant rejection. With trembling devotion, she'd performed what might be her last Milis bow—
Only to look up...
Into emptiness.
Just white void.
Bewildered, she'd stared at her hands—opening, closing—before laughing quietly.
So be it.
That night, she'd slept soundly against Allen's shoulder, his obliviousness to the divine encounter almost comforting.
Decision made, Isolte's shoulders relaxed. She glanced at Sylphie—
And blinked in amused recognition.
Ah.
Understanding (and something suspiciously like fond exasperation) dawned.
Sylphie was kind, empathetic, endlessly considerate of Allen—had their village life continued, losing to her would've been "right." Yet the true key lay elsewhere...
With Roxy Migurdia, far across the seas.
I can't accept Allen's feelings yet.
Not without her permission first.
What was she like? Another sweet soul like Sylphie? Though Sylphie described her as "quiet" and "unfailingly mature..."
Cheater.
When did he become such a philanderer?
...Cunning man.
Her gaze returned to Sylphie—
Or rather, to the thief-like posture of the white-haired girl currently:
Hunched shoulders.
Clutching her pink-white charm to her chest.
Not holding it in the light.
She doesn't want to throw it in either!
Sylphie's mind raced:
This is from Allen! Teacher's exchanged so many gifts with him already, but I've only gotten one—and even that was through her!
Wishes? I'll make my own come true! No need for gods!
Then—she noticed Isolte's stare.
Their eyes met. Held.
Behind them, faint creaks echoed—Allen leaning on the dolls?—making both girls pause.
In that wordless moment, an inexplicable understanding passed between them.
Twin smiles flashed before—
Whoosh.
Both charms vanished into their owners' pockets.
They turned toward Rudeus, ready to explain their abstention—
Only for his teasing voice to cut in:
"Not making wishes?"
Rudeus held his charm aloft, grinning that infuriating smirk—clearly seeing right through them.
Before he could tease further, Eris' grumble interrupted:
"This is annoying!"
Everyone turned to the redhead scowling at her charm.
"Why do we need these? Can't we just wish without them?"
Rudeus and Sylphie looked to Isolte—their resident theology expert.
"Rituals require offerings. Without the god's recognized medium..."
"Ugh!"
Eris' face darkened. She glared at her red-scaled charm, then—
THUD!
—slammed a fist into the nearest doll.
"Creak. Creak."
The sound mirrored noises from behind them. Eris' eyes lit up.
"I KNOW!"
She pointed dramatically at the dolls lining the bridge.
"Let's throw THESE in instead! They've gotta count as offerings!"
Isolte: ?
Sylphie: ?
Rudeus: ?
Allen (currently wrestling dolls): ??
The trio gaped at Eris' blatant rule-breaking logic.
"T-Those aren't ours to—" Isolte tried gently.
"You can't just—" Sylphie added.
"WATCH ME!"
BANG!!!!!!!!
A deafening rip nearly made them drop their charms. They whirled around—
To find Allen panting, holding two severed doll arms, with the disabled puppets twitching at his feet.
Rudeus' jaw dropped.
You're enabling her TOO MUCH! Couldn't we just buy more outside—
SPLASH.
Eris had already snatched an arm and hurled it into the well.
As everyone stared, the little lion crossed her arms, chin high, declaring her wish like a royal decree:
"I, Eris Boreas Greyrat!"
"Will become as strong as Big Brother!"
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