The forest scenery blurred behind him as Lucien Graves rushed toward Roswaal's Mansion, only to halt abruptly among the trees. A dozen figures in distinctive hooded cloaks darted toward the nearby village, their movements unsettlingly familiar.
Witch Cultists.
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose, already anticipating trouble. The presence of cultists here almost certainly meant that Sloth Romanee‑Conti was nearby. Sloth had been an antagonist during the Royal Selection, a deranged and unpredictable Sin Archbishop known for sadistic behavior. Logically, he should not be here now.
Lucien exhaled slowly, the faint violet gleam of his amethyst eyes reflecting his irritation. This disruption was entirely his own doing. Because Lucien had killed Natsuki Subaru twenty‑five times, Subaru still lingered in the second novice village. With each death, the Witch's Scent surrounding Subaru grew stronger, and the Witch Cult's interest may have been drawn faster than expected.
Lucien dropped from the air and stood three feet above the ground, focusing his gaze on the gaunt, wide‑eyed man with dark green blunt‑cut hair in the center of the cultists.
"Who are you," Lucien asked calmly.
Romanee‑Conti cocked his head as if perplexed by Lucien's position floating above the ground. If his eyes worked properly, he might have realized the man was airborne.
"Sloth Sin Archbishop," Romanee‑Conti replied with a strange tilt of his voice.
Lucien lit a cigar and exhaled a ring of smoke, bothered by the sudden appearance of cultists here. It meant he could no longer eliminate Natsuki Subaru without interference — other Sin Archbishops might already be nearby.
Romanee‑Conti's expression twisted as he brought a finger to his mouth and began gnawing at it with a disturbing lack of pain. Lucien observed him coolly.
"You have the ability associated with the Unseen Hands," Lucien murmured, more to himself than to the archbishop, "you can manipulate these Witch Cultists who have formulas implanted in them. You discard and transfer your physical body at will. A form of soul transfer."
Romanee‑Conti's eyes bulged and rolled as he incessantly chewed. He couldn't comprehend Lucien's calm assessment.
Suddenly, invisible forces shot out from Romanee‑Conti toward Lucien — two unseen hands tearing through the air. Lucien didn't budge, choosing to assess the ability. Then, with surprising violence, the hands clamped onto Lucien's arms and ripped them off. Bright red blood splashed across the ground.
Lucien barely flinched. Smoke curled from his nostrils, and in just a moment, vibrant, variegated tendrils of energy wove around the exposed bone and regenerating flesh. Within two breath cycles, his arms were fully restored.
Romanee‑Conti stared, horrified, his eyes rolling wildly in disbelief. He clawed at his own hair as he struggled to grasp what he had witnessed.
Lucien stepped forward without hesitation, closing the distance swiftly until he was directly in front of the archbishop. His chilling gaze drilled into Romanee‑Conti's eyes, the cigar still clenched between his lips.
Before Romanee‑Conti could react, Lucien's index finger pressed against his forehead. The archbishop's face froze, then with a sickening pop, it burst outward. Brain matter and fragments of skull splattered onto the soil. Sloth Romanee‑Conti fell, dead before he hit the ground.
The remaining cultists stood frozen like lifeless puppets.
But then, with a whisper of movement, Romanee‑Conti's voice echoed beside Lucien's ear. A new body, rearranged and grotesque, showed the archbishop had transferred himself once more.
"No, this is love," he croaked, his tone full of deranged insistence.
Lucien watched with an eerie smile, cigar smoke drifting upward.
Romanee‑Conti lunged, and another unseen hand reached out to grab. The next instant, a mark of crimson appeared on his neck. His own headless body lay at his feet — a strike he did not see coming.
"Not worth the effort," Lucien muttered, losing interest in the man who was nothing more than a pervert.
Eight dark thorns of energy shot out from Lucien's lower back like serpents, skewering the frozen Witch Cultists and draining their life force. Only Romanee‑Conti managed to evade immediate destruction, clinging desperately to his new form.
"Sloth," he whimpered repeatedly, panicked.
As he watched his possible vessels turn to drifting ash, Romanee‑Conti clawed at his face, realizing his existence hinged on these mortal shells.
Recognizing something familiar in Lucien's attack style, Romanee‑Conti gasped. "You are Pride," he stuttered, recalling the similarity between the black thorns and the Unseen Hands of Pride.
Lucien showed no response. The thorns lashed out again, intent on ending Romanee‑Conti. Terrified, the archbishop's own unseen hands scrambled to defend him.
"Why can you see… why can you see…" he screamed, clutching his head as if experiencing unbearable pain.
A final strike pierced his forehead. Romanee‑Conti collapsed and slowly expired, his cries fading into silence.
"Sloth…" Lucien said without turning, his body engulfed in shimmering white flame and flickering gold sparks as he vanished into the forest.
Moments later, deep within the woods, a woman emerged who bore an eerie resemblance to Romanee‑Conti, her cunning eyes flickering with danger. It was clear that the archbishop had planted multiple vessels in reserve.
Lucien stood atop Roswaal's Mansion a short time later, his hands forming a calyx. A brilliant sphere of energy, the size of a basketball, glowed intensely at its center. Yet he paused before releasing it.
His violet amethyst eyes narrowed as he watched Natsuki Subaru emerge from the mansion entrance. Subaru looked worn, his eyes dim, and a strange aura — neither dark nor entirely natural — emanated from him.
Lucien allowed himself a faint smirk.