"Fine…"
At last, Lev Goetia slowly opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. Endless streams of clashing, contradictory memories surged within him, battering his mind until they finally settled into exhausted silence.
He felt not his own, but the spirit origin of the King of Magecraft himself. He felt the unique, incomplete ring of authority upon his finger. And—he remembered his long, painful journey of atonement after being burned as Flauros, having once experienced, as Chaldean, all the suffering that came after.
His gaze swept through the operations room. 2004—it was a year all too familiar. Three faces met his eyes.
The black-haired Master, though youthful and innocent, already bore the marks of countless life-and-death trials. The girl wielding the massive shield in silver armor—though that was her awakened paladin self from the far future. Finally, his gaze fell upon the silver-haired woman: Olga Marie Animusphere. The one he'd cast into CHALDEAS to burn to ash; revived later as the Alien God.
None of this should have been possible. Time, circumstances, people—all out of sync. Yet the strange conclusion hovered in his mind.
He turned to the black-haired man who'd so unceremoniously invited him. The instigator now stood arms folded, watching with a smile as if enjoying a show.
Lev Goetia understood immediately—he, like everyone else here, was merely a pawn in this man's strategy. So he sighed deeply again, resigned, but also newly clear.
He felt it all: the pillar's obsession, the scholar's helplessness, the savior's exhaustion.
"…I will not apologize," he said, his voice low and hoarse. He carried the stately gravity of King Solomon himself, yet an undeniable melancholy lurked there—a shadow of Lev Lainur.
Ignoring the tense Chaldean trio, he spoke on, as if to himself:
"There is nothing to apologize for—because none of that has happened yet. Apologizing for crimes yet uncommitted would be empty hypocrisy. And…"
He raised his eyes, golden pupils flaring with cold resolution. "Now that I know everything, as atonement, I will never forgive. That is the only meaning for my existence here and now."
His declaration left Fujimaru and Mash both stunned. They'd expected regret and an explanation, but not such an overtly cold, almost rational pledge.
But Lev's next words cut deeper still—like an invisible blade straight into another heart in the room.
"And let me help you understand one more thing. I may have said it long ago, but let this be the first time it's clear.
"Today, I'll speak candidly—about the future, and why I made the choices I did."
His gaze finally swung to Olga Marie, whose face was deathly pale.
"You think this is just about hatred? No—it's only about consequence. The real reason is you, Director Olga Marie."
"Do you truly believe that anyone who saw the course of human history after 2017 could ever think favorably of the Animusphere bloodline?"
"You took over Chaldea after Marisbury's death. I once hoped—you'd become someone different from your father, that you'd stop the inhumane demi-servant experiments with children's lives. I hoped you'd become the true leader he never was."
His tone was flat, clinical; a scientist reading lab notes.
"But you didn't. Out of fear of your father's specter, out of anxiety over your own abilities, out of that pitiful weakness—you carried on, obeyed, and enacted everything he passed down. You disappointed me. I have no more expectations left for you."
"I chose the most extreme method possible to criticize your weakness, and simultaneously, I couldn't bear the foolish hopes I'd once placed in you. I didn't cast you into CHALDEAS to kill you—I cast you in so you could witness exactly what kind of disaster the system you inherited would unleash."
"It was, ironically, by total chance that I ruined Marisbury's plan—hidden under the name of Grand Order."
—Silence. Even heavier, more suffocating than before.
If Steve's proposal had lit the fuse of their anger, Lev's words were the bomb that detonated at the very core of their hearts.
Fujimaru turned to look at Olga Marie in shock. Up until now, he'd never imagined tragedy could have such a backstory of buried weakness and disappointment. In this light, Lev's actions shifted from pure evil to a warped and devastating judgment.
Mash's expression was complicated. Being directly involved, she knew this story inside and out, yet before departing on that journey to restore frozen humanity, she hadn't truly attained full humanity herself—thus always viewed the past with natural tolerance. Now, presented again, doubt and inner conflict colored her feelings.
Olga Marie only stood silently, her body trembling. Lev's every word branded itself red-hot upon her soul. She knew everything he said was true—there was no room to argue.
In the end, she realized: she herself, long believing to be an innocent victim, now saw her innocence named the true source of tragedy. The pride and dignity of a monarch were shattered in an instant. She did not cry, nor rail, nor protest. She simply remained standing, fists clenched tight enough to bite her own palms, and let herself drown in endless shame and pain.
At last, the long-frozen atmosphere of the operations room broke. Lev Goetia turned slowly. For the first time, he faced Steve, the mastermind who knew all, his golden eyes utterly serious.
"Very well. Let us bring this farce to an end."
His voice regained its devilish cold. "You dragged me from the mire of time, assembled people who never should have met under one roof. Now tell me, Nameless Caster, weaver of this script—what is your goal? What is it that you wish to perform?"