At the Roswaal mansion, the pink-haired oni maid Ram was leisurely cleaning one of the many rooms. Combined with the upper floors, the mansion had over forty, far too many for a single maid to handle alone.
So, she took her time, a pristine white feather duster in hand. While she was able to use wind magic without her master, she had to be far less haphazard, conserving her mana carefully. Since Master Roswaal was not home, she was under no strict time constraint.
Her sister Rem and Subaru were expected to arrive before Emilia and Roswaal, meaning she could dump some of the extra duties onto them once they returned. With the absence of the ever-present guardian of the library, Beatrice, the large, labyrinthine manor felt far more hollow.
Ram wished Frederica, the shark-toothed blonde maid, would return so they could divide the work more efficiently. Even when she pushed her tasks onto the mansion's newest butler, Subaru, she was still unable to slack off properly, mostly because the more she dumped on that fool, the more her infatuated sister wasted time helping him.
"Honestly, sister, your standards are too low. What do you even see in him, I wonder." She snorted before continuing to dust the second-floor windowsills.
Though she often griped about the man's incompetence, she had to admit one thing: Subaru was useful for atmosphere. By playing the role of an incompetent idiot, he set a strangely energetic mood that relaxed everyone else, where before the mansion's air had been far too serious.
After half an hour of repeating the same arduous motions with her duster, Ram paused to wipe sweat from her brow, only to frown. Something was strange. Normally, by now, she would have been overcome by weakness, her body wracked with withdrawal symptoms.
This was usually the moment when she needed to prepare her unique mana-stabilizing tea, brewed with a rare herb that delayed the time before her next mana injection at the site where her horn had once been. Yet now… not only did she feel no withdrawals, but her mana was perfectly stable.
Entering the maids' exclusive changing room, Ram immediately noticed how different it looked. Where once the space had been filled with rows of the standard black apron dresses, white lace headpieces, and short skirts that she and her sister always wore, there were now newly sewn amalgamations hanging in their place.
Patchworked cloth in mismatched, colorful patterns, all clearly purchased from the nearby village.
The culprit was obvious. The stubborn new butler, who had taken it upon himself to "improve" their wardrobe, had called it a peace offering. His exact words still rang in her head: 'Beautiful girls should wear beautiful outfits.'
Ram gave the unfinished practice attempts a single glance, then scoffed to herself before stripping off her headdress.
She stepped in front of a large, expensive gold-rimmed mirror. Frowning, she brushed aside her long bangs that covered her left eye, revealing the crater where her horn should have been.
Ever since her organ had been sliced off nearly a decade ago, her racial trait, drawing in the surrounding atmospheric mana to enhance her physical strength and magic capabilities, had been sealed away, along with the negative drawbacks of her leaking lifeforce.
Activating that trait now, the air grew hot around her as her temperature spiked, steam rising from her head as though her blood itself were boiling.
But when she looked into the mirror, instead of the familiar scar she expected, she was utterly shocked to find a tiny white bud sprouting from the site of her old horn.
Pulling out her wand, the gift Roswaal had fashioned from her severed horn, she raised it to her forehead to compare. The color. The texture. Side by side, they resonated faintly. Oni horns were not supposed to grow back. She was certain of it.
After years of research, aided even by the great spirit Beatrice, she had given up her search to regain her old strength, especially after realizing how much it deepened Rem's guilt and self-deprecation.
But this… this was unprecedented.
She thought back. The first signs had been her growing physical stamina, something she had noticed since the Ulgarm attack, but she had dismissed it as nothing. Even Roswaal's nightly mana imbuement, once necessary for survival, had begun to feel more like a tradition than a need.
Now that she was alone, she could finally grasp the truth. Her aggressive impulses, long dormant, were returning, reawakening within her body. The traits that separated her from humans and Oni were once again regaining their distance.
What was the catalyst? And what would her sister think, her sister, Rem, who had always blamed herself for Ram's lost horn, and who had carried that guilt for never being able to live up to her strength, even carrying what her sister now lacked?
***
After the quick but intense clash, Crimson couldn't help but burst into a fit of deranged chuckles. The sound echoed as the sand, stirred up by the violent wind blasts from Julius's training sword, settled back to the ground in a murky haze.
With his blindfold still fixed, Crimson tilted his head toward the sky. The colors of the greyscale world began to break apart, spilling through the seams of the atmosphere like a torrential waterfall. What started as a drizzle grew heavier and heavier, focused on a single point, the man who stood elegantly even after all those strenuous acrobatics.
His purple hair shimmered, his golden eyes glinted beneath the light, and his spotless uniform seemed untouched by the dirt and grime of the stadium.
"Hehehehehheeeee…" Crimson's grin widened. "After seeing your fighting style through the memories, and now facing you in person, it's intoxicating. You rely on your all-attribute spirits for enhancement, using your speed and swordsmanship to overwhelm opponents.
But that's just scratching the surface. You're the second person… yeah, I really like you, man. Once this is all over, I'd actually like to be friends again."
Julius tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as if trying to decide whether that was a compliment or a declaration that his technique had already been dissected. Though he hadn't gone all out yet, he found the claim irritating.
"May I inquire," Julius said evenly, his mouth tightening, "what you mean by 'second person'?"
"Oh, sorry, that's my bad." Crimson chuckled, flashing a grin that showed off his white teeth. "Not that you'd understand, but… you're the second person I can see in color. At least, when my eyes are closed."
Julius narrowed his eyes. His expression sharpened as if he were trying to decode Crimson's cryptic words. Seeing that, Crimson waved dismissively.
"Don't think too hard about it. We'll talk later."
He knew he was always putting off explanations about his abilities and plans, always saying "later." But the next two weeks were crucial. His one shot at a perfect clear rate. If he wasted that time scheming with others or explaining himself, his prep time would be cut in half.
He couldn't be Batman if he had to write a full essay on why he knew 2 + 2 = 4 before every match.
A waste of brain cells.
Yet even with all his newfound power and potential, Crimson felt like smacking himself. If he'd just postponed this duel, his combat ability would've skyrocketed. But no—he just had to face Julius while still in his growth phase.
"Since when did I become such a battle junkie…" he muttered, shaking his head. The shallow veins on his hand bulged as he gripped the practice sword tighter.
"Bro, I thought ya said ya weren't gonna cheat," came a drawling voice.
Crimson exhaled through his nose, suppressing a groan. The little blond slum soul was staring at him with what could only be described as smug superiority.
"I saw ya use that devil snake to slap the ground at that handsome fella's backside."
"Siiiiiiigh…" Crimson rubbed his temple.
He had used his unseen hand as a simple diversion using noise in the obscured vision, but since it hadn't directly attacked, it technically didn't count as cheating. He was already fighting a knight in his specialty, his home turf; what was he supposed to do, not use his hacks?
Whispering under his breath, he gave what might've been a playful glare if his eyes weren't covered.
"Don't act like you wouldn't've done the same if no one could see your ability."
Felt only grinned evilly like a thieving cat, her snaggle tooth peeking out.
"All I hear are excuses. If I had yer abilities, I'd still be alive and kicking."
"Alive but dead inside," Crimson grumbled darkly.
"Oi what ya just say? did ya just insult me? Say it ta my face, have da guts to say it ta my face."
Amused at the commentary, he smiled maliciously. "And what if I did insult you? What are you going to do? Your attacks are as effective as a laser pointer."
Flustered with a red face, she could only stutter her voice, becoming far more childish, matching her appearance.
"Ill... Ill... Ill, kill ya dead, Ill kill ya thrice."
"Good Luck."
Teasing her refilled his social energy it was a lot more satisfying as she was the type to resort to violence when losing, since she lost even that advantage, it was all the more fulfilling.
Before the match, Crimson had skimmed through Julius's memories using Gluttonybarus's power, focusing on his sparring sessions with Reinhard, where Julius could fight at full strength without fear of harming his opponent.
When it came to pure swordsmanship, not counting strength, Crimson rated Julius at fourth place. after a brief reevaluation, Reid was the undisputed number one; Reinhard came second, Soley because he had to rely on divine protections and the Dragon Sword to match Reid's feats, like cutting through concepts like an Authority.
Third was Wilhelm, the "Sword Demon," whose raw skill once outmatched Theresia, even when she held the Sword Saint's divine protection. And tied with Julius, in Crimson's mind, was the Blue Lightning, Cecilus Segmunt.
It was hard to judge which of the two was better; both relied on physical enhancement techniques that directly influenced their swordsmanship.
Speaking of swordsmanship, the trait Crimson had inherited from Rei was far more limited than it seemed. He possessed her combat skill, yes, but not her Divine Protection of the Martial God, nor the Sword Saint's blessing.
While he could visualize the illusory path his blade should take, it wasn't divine power, just instinct born from Rei's pure experience.
Another frustrating fact: while he had her ingrained knowledge of the blade in his mind, he couldn't retain the muscle memory that came with it. Meaning, while he could perfectly copy Rei's counter or parry, it never felt natural.
Not that he'd been idle during his time training with her, but developing proper habits took time, and absorbing so many contrasting martial styles at once only caused conflict in his mind.
It was like trying to type two different sentences on two separate keyboards at the same time. Waste time switching between both, and you'd succeed in neither. What was that saying again? If you chase two rabbits, you won't catch either.
Only today did he realize his connection to attaining others' memories. If he'd had this ability just a few days earlier, he was confident he could've fought anyone below the top ten in the verse. Even now, possible spell combos kept assaulting his mind in a creative whirlwind.
When the match began, those divots he'd carved in the sand were done purely to unnerve Julius. If he hadn't planted that seed of suspicion, that he was up to something, then Julius wouldn't have wasted time slashing at them.
In reality, even if Julius ignored his markings, the best they could do was delay his footing by a millisecond.
Now, staring at Julius, whose demeanor had shifted into something far more cautious and serious, Crimson felt the physical pressure pressing down on him. He knew full well that in a direct spar, he'd get his ass kicked. So why was he so relaxed?
Julius stood poised, sword raised, left arm tucked neatly behind his back, golden eyes burning with focus, and yet Crimson felt nothing but boredom. Even under the knight's overwhelming presence, he couldn't feel fear. Couldn't feel the stakes.
If he won, it would only alter the plan. If he lost miserably, nothing would change except the knights' perception of him, and he couldn't care less about that.
Then it hit him.
Without that same rush, that same fear of death, all he felt was emptiness. Boredom. He knew, no matter the outcome, he wouldn't die. That well-earned arrogance, the certainty that everything lay in the palm of his hand, made him not care about the result at all.
Is this how Echidna feels… knowing everything?
So detached.
He wasn't about to become one of those cowards who hid their power, throwing fights just to keep secrets. His purpose was far greater than that.
With an opponent like Julius, it would be a fair match. He trusted him. Maybe that's why, for the first time, he could see Julius's colors: the violet hair, the golden eyes. Maybe that's why this phenomenon only happened now, with someone other than Rei.
Until this moment, he had peered into countless memories, yet only now could he truly see Julius's hues. He already had an image of all the characters in his head. The original author really liked colorful designs… and way too many little girls in revealing outfits. What a perv, he might already be on a list.
Julius, watching Crimson, whose face seemed to shift expression every few seconds as if he were having a stroke, could only imagine what his opponent was thinking.
"Don't hold back," Crimson called out, his once-curious face hardening into something serious.
Julius said nothing, only tightened his stance.
While Crimson had the option to use the Flow Method, he hesitated. He didn't want to be the first to unleash mana enhancement. Felix was the judge, after all. A biased judge could be useful, but in this case, it was a hindrance. If he used yang-type mana enhancement, which granted both a buffing and minor healing effect, it might be counted as magic.
If he looked too eager to rely on it, the audience's perception would shift. They'd think he depended on cheap tricks, ruining the secular image he'd been carefully building.
"Who trained you?" Julius asked, eyes narrowing. "Reinhard? Or was it Sir Wilhelm? You give off a familiar feeling, like the Sword Demon."
"Well, I was trained by Rei," Crimson replied. "But by multiple dead people, too. Still, I'm honored you'd compare me to such legends."
Julius's eye twitched slightly, irritation flickering beneath his composed face. As a knight and attendant to a royal candidate, he was long used to honeyed formalities that carried no weight.
Both fighters, training swords in hand, advanced at the same instant, narrowing the gap.
The air distorted in a blur as Julius's blade came down in a tremendous vertical arc. Crimson flickered just ahead of the strike, bending his body backward by a hair's breadth, anticipating the blow a split second before it landed.
But Julius didn't relent. His expression hardened, serious, focused, as he pressed forward, reading every flicker of strain or irritation across his opponent's face. No wasted motion. No hesitation. His arm blurred to invisibility as his practice sword slashed faster and faster, the tempo rising with each cut, denying any chance to counter.
Worst-case scenario. Julius had dropped his restraint and gone straight for a speed blitz.
Clack. Clack.
The surrounding stadium was deathly silent, focusing on the near-invisible exchange due to the speed of blows being one-sidedly exchanged.
Sadly, he was unable to divert his attention away from Julius now that his free trial of leniency had expired.
If not for Crimson's predictive read on body language, combined with the reflexes inherited from Rei's swordsmanship, he would've been toast. His focus ignored Julius's sword entirely, tracking his shoulder, elbow, and wrist, following the rhythm of his movements like a music game.
Diagonal slash.
Horizontal slash.
Feint.
Stab.
Punch, wait, punch?!
He barely twisted his body in time to avoid the surprising fist strike that would've crushed his liver.
Julius had briefly left his sword in hangtime, switching hands in a blatant attempt to catch him off guard. if his grey world had been focusing on the practice sword and not body language, he would have been in the dirt snoozing with an anime logic amount of blood shooting out of his mouth.
Guess this guy's finally starting to take me seriously.
Despite his forced bravado, Crimson couldn't help but sweat. Even one of those hits landing would turn his bones into crackers.
The sound of parries and deflections rang through the courtyard as the blindfolded boy was forced back, step by step. His wrist already throbbed from blocking what should've been a light strike from this monster of a knight. If he ever took a direct hit, he might actually die.
Did this idiot really think he was strong enough to survive that?
If not for his supernatural skill, his practice sword would be splinters in the wind. Julius was in the same boat as his practice sword had far more indentations from the strikes being repelled.
In gaming terms, he was losing one or two HP even on perfect blocks.
If only I could use my magic… The same magic he'd been grinding so relentlessly.
His nerves burned, but there was no fear, only a dull, growing fire. That same competitive spark in his chest that refused to be put out.
Just because this pretty-boy knight had the stronger body didn't mean he'd win.
It was pride. Pure, unyielding pride. As someone who'd rarely had the chance to compete, he'd never realized how fiercely competitive he truly was.
Now, under the eyes of countless spectators, in the middle of this brutal clash, the boy's ego was being forged.
In his focused mind, drowning beneath the tide of Julius's rapid strikes, he could only grasp,
Grasp at straws.
How the hell do I overpower Julius?
A previous lesson with his swordsman instructor and personal knight, Rei, ran through his mind.
"Lord Crim," she had asked one quiet evening after the scheduled training spar, her voice steady but solemn, "do you know the true purpose of a sword?"
At the time, he'd assumed it was one of those moral lectures about responsibility. So, like a good little student, he replied automatically, "I don't know. What is the true purpose of a sword?"
He expected her to answer with something idealistic, 'to protect the weak,' or maybe 'to uphold justice.' That's what knights always said in stories.
Instead, Rei's expression changed. The polite composure she always wore faded away.
"Tell me, Lord Crim," she said quietly, "how many forms of swordsmanship do you think there are?"
He blinked, caught off guard, a question with a question. "I don't know… hundreds? Maybe thousands? Depends on what's considered a form."
"There is only one," she said.
Her tone was flat.
"The true purpose of a sword is to kill. Every form of swordsmanship, no matter how noble it claims to be, exists to end life. The rest are illusions we create to ease our conscience."
The words hit him in a strange way.
He'd stared at her, trying to decide whether she was joking. "That's… kind of harsh, don't you think? I mean, that's not really what I expected from you."
Are you really that same guy? The image of male Reinhard was firmly embedded in his mind as a typical overpowered, benevolent protector, a hero, yet to hear from Rei something so strident.
Rei's gaze softened slightly, but her voice did not. "It's not harsh. It's honest. Only those whose skill far surpasses their opponents can claim their sword protects rather than kills. Only when your strength is undeniable for you in particular, it would be your physicality," she said pointedly with a hint of mischief in her sky-blue eyes, "can you stand before an opponent who reaps death and say you will not take a life. Until then…" She let the silence hang between them. "Until then, you must cut down those who wish to take yours."
He remembered feeling something strange then, an exhilaration. There was beauty in her brutal honesty.
It felt immensely refreshing.
She had turned her back to him, resting her practice blade against her shoulder. "If you can't accept that truth," she said softly, "then you shouldn't draw your sword at all…" Her face turned back to him with an almost predatory smile.
"As long as I'm here, no one will ever lay a finger on you… Ever," she punctuated that last word with an unknown devotion, but since her words were objectively a fact and born of loyalty, he found nothing unsettling in the slightest. The boy without past connections felt a rush of affection for his only friend.
The memory ended there.
I can't win if I'm not trying to kill him, Soooooo.
If I lose… I'll lose on my terms.
Even if it counts as cheating. As Grunkle Stan once said, "As long as there's no cops around, anything's legal."
Swallowing hard as he continued to deflect the blows from Julius, preparing himself, he grinned broadly, a feature the Subaru only abused when in dire circumstances, to think he would test the patience of that woman over something so trivial as winning a duel.
"Lend me a hand, Witch of Envy." (My Pause Button)
His expression went blank, facial muscles completely slackening as unheard words slipped from his lips, as he began to chant.
A quiet chant began to rise. The illusion of being overwhelmed shifted entirely.
(AN: If you go to Auxiliary chap 0, I've added an SCP type entry for the MCs sealed form, you can get hints about his powers.
It's been a while since I've posted, and that was due to multiple factors.
1. schoolwork. college is annoying.
2. Job searching. currently unemployed, I need money.
3. self-insecurity. I was reading a lot of good novels and felt a wave of self-loathing that I am an illiterate child; it made me not want to write.
4. procrastination. I wrote this chapter almost 3 weeks ago and forgot to proofread and edit it, so I put it off till later. I thought about using AI, but with all that slop coming out, I felt like a path I couldn't come back from.
5. MOST IMPORTANTLY, I haven't consumed any re-zero content for a few months and forgot about characterization, as I don't want to completely botch existing characters due to my shoddy memory.
I do want to reiterate that I won't drop this book.
I'm almost at arc 8 in the novel, and there's so much stuff that I'm starting to get confused about.