“…Puck.”
Under the white mist surrounding the floating spirit—Puck—the forest in
their vicinity let out a crack-like sound as it was transformed. The trees
turned white, as if the green had been sucked out of them; their mana
absorbed, leaves, branches, and trunks froze over, dead as they fell.
The ground itself displayed identical effects. First, the flowers died, then
the cold crept over the soil, and finally, it reached Subaru, also on the earth,
stabbing him all over with burning pain. He felt lethargy gradually rising
from the depths of his body, causing his breathing to falter as his mind began
to fade.
Long before, Subaru had experienced being forcibly robbed of his mana at
Beatrice’s hands. The angered Puck was employing that power on a global
scale, turning the world’s power into his own.
Beside Subaru, holding back a whimper, Petelgeuse backed up a step with
heavy sweat on his brow, and the kneeling Witch Cult was gasping for
oxygen through their open mouths, almost like fish.
“The Witch Cult—no matter how much time passes, you never change, do
you? In every age, it is you who bring me the saddest things of all.”
Puck spoke as if dealing with noxious insects as he trained his eyes on a
single point in the forest. Subaru, following his gaze, saw that there was a
single space left that Puck’s power was not affecting. Only the prone girl’s
corpse was protected from the end of the world.
“Ahh, my poor Lia… You died without understanding anything.”
After gazing longingly at Emilia, Puck turned his eyes toward those who
still lived.
“Depriving my daughter of her life is a grave crime. Do not think any of
you will escape alive.”
“How dare a mere spirit…! How, how, how, how, howww dare you
speak?! A half-demon failing an ordeal is nothing but a filthy pretender! The
blame is yours for your Sloth and inability to protect this fool! Ahh! Ahh!
Ahhhhh! My brain is trembling!!”
Petelgeuse responded to Puck’s threats by raising both hands to the sky,
flying into a rage. The madman’s bloodshot eyeballs were unfocused as
Petelgeuse’s welling bloodlust erupted in a geyser of froth.
“All that shall transpire, all that must transpire, the proper course of
history is recorded in my Gospel! The Witch loves me, and I must repay Her