The cold of the stone seeped slowly into his back. How many days had he been in this underground cell? A single torch flickered beyond the iron bars, its light the only proof of time's passage, dancing weakly in the darkness. With each breath, his right side screamed. Two ribs, broken when Gald beat him. Even shallow breathing brought a sharp sting. Deep breaths made his vision go white—he was afraid to try. So Yuto had been breathing shallow ever since, just enough to stay alive. Once a day, an undead soldier came. It never spoke. Its face showed nothing. It simply slid a bowl of water and a piece of black bread through the gap beneath the bars, then vanished. That was his only connection to the outside world. When he closed his eyes, the village burned. A mother clutching a child, running. The moment she collapsed. An old man being trampled into the ground. Twelve people. The number Albedo had stated matter-of-factly. He couldn't argue. Couldn't possibly. It was all true. Yuto hugged his knees and leaned his back against the cold stone wall. The chain clinked against the floor. *(If I hadn't been there, that village wouldn't have been targeted.)* The thought circled endlessly in his head. He couldn't stop it. Didn't know how. His rapier was gone. Only the empty holster at his waist remained, and that hurt the most. That blade had been in his hand since the moment he transferred here. A silver-white blade of unknown material that even Ainz couldn't identify. He'd watched it slip into Gald's pocket while his head was being crushed into the ground. His fingers couldn't reach it. He couldn't do anything. In the darkness, he stared hollowly at the iron bars. --- The second night came, and still he couldn't sleep. Every time he tried, the village fire burned behind his eyes. So he fled into older memories instead, dragged backward through time. Second grade of elementary school. The day he'd let go of his sister's hand. A crosswalk in the shopping district. The light turned green, and he started crossing while holding her hand. But a friend called out to him midway, and for just a moment—just one moment—he let go. That was when his sister stepped vaguely into the road. A car was coming. A horn blared. Yuto screamed. He didn't remember what he screamed. Only the sound came out. His body wouldn't move. His legs froze like stone, and he couldn't take a single step forward. A passing man jumped in, grabbed his sister, and pulled her back. She was crying. She wasn't hurt. But something had lodged itself in Yuto that day and never left. *I couldn't protect her. I let go. I couldn't move.* So he decided to become strong. That's when he started kendo. He fell on the wooden dojo floor countless times, stood up countless times, and for twenty-four years he'd carried that vow. Next time, I'll definitely protect them. He'd become strong for that reason alone. And yet, he'd failed again. Twelve people. The stone floor was cold. Yuto gripped his arms tighter around his knees. He wanted to cry, but no tears came. His emotions were stuck somewhere, unable to find a way out. *(Would it have been better if I wasn't here?)* For the first time, the thought took the shape of words. No words of denial came. Staring at the iron bars, Yuto didn't move. The torch's shadow cast the grid pattern of the bars onto the floor, and that pattern trembled slightly. That was all that moved. --- Deep in the night of the tenth day since the transfer. The torch's light flickered. There was no sound. No footsteps. But the color of the light beyond the bars seemed to change, and Yuto slowly raised his head. Someone was standing there. Silver hair caught the torch's light and gleamed. Folded bat wings on her back. Red eyes, clearly visible even in the darkness. Eyes without emotion, quiet and still. Those eyes looked straight down at Yuto from beyond the bars. Sharutia Bradford. Guardian of the first through third floors of Nazarick. A being who had lived for three hundred years. "[cold]……Your complexion is poor, you," Her voice was low, thin of emotion. Not a greeting or concern. Just stating what she saw, in that tone. Yuto said nothing. Sharutia had come here without Ainz's permission. She explained this in no words. She simply stood before the bars and watched Yuto, who remained with his back against the wall, unmoving, for a while. "[cold]You are weak. That is fact," The words fell into the darkness. He had no strength to deny it. It was true. Surrounded by twenty masked soldiers, he couldn't even beat Gald alone. His head was trampled, his sword stolen, and he'd rolled around like a rag doll while villagers died. "[cold]……But," Sharutia's voice changed for just a moment. Changed—or rather, a slight pause entered it. "[cold]When you were fighting in that village, the look in your eyes. I did not dislike it," Not words spoken with emotion. Not comfort or encouragement. The tone of simply stating what she saw remained unchanged. But that one phrase caught in Yuto like a rope dropped into darkness. She couldn't bear to watch a person with eyes that weren't fighting to die rot away underground—Sharutia would never put that feeling into words. She disliked putting things into words. She simply stood before the bars in the deep night, looked down, and said only that. Yuto looked at Sharutia's face. Her red eyes remained unreadable as ever. "[cold]Void Crow is moving," Sharutia continued. Her tone unchanged. "[cold]On the outer edges of E-Rantel. Scouts have been spotted around the agricultural settlements. You can assume there is not much time before the next large-scale operation," "[serious]……Have you reported this to Ainz-sama?" "[cold]I have not," Short and decisive. "[cold]This is information I brought independently. Know only that," Yuto closed his mouth. He couldn't ask further. He thought that even if he did, Sharutia wouldn't answer. Why had she come here? Why had she brought this information? She wouldn't say. Sharutia drew a sword from her waist. Not slender—a practical steel blade. The edge was perhaps seventy centimeters long. It had the form of something made only for fighting, with no decoration. She pointed the tip through the gap in the bars and slowly slid it through. The hilt fell inside the cell. "[cold]I took it from Nazarick's spare armory," "[cold]……What you can do with this, I know not. But——" There was a pause. "[cold]If you are truly a spy, I will kill you directly. That is all," The emotion of a threat was thin in those words. Rather, a different meaning showed through beneath them. *I believe you are not a spy, so I give you this*—that unspoken meaning drifted quietly through the darkness. Sharutia turned away. Her jet-black wings moved slowly. Her silver hair swayed. She said nothing as she walked away. Nothing about the key, nothing about the bars. Nothing at all. The torch's light flickered, its shadow receding, until it disappeared around the corner of the corridor. --- Silence returned. Yuto stared at the sword that had fallen inside the bars for a while. He picked it up carefully with both hands. It was heavy. Heavier than his rapier. But it was a sword. Definitely a sword. The moment he gripped the hilt, something broke. Tears ran down his cheeks. He tried to hold them back, but couldn't. Everything that had been stuck somewhere for two days came pouring out the instant the cold hilt touched his hands. A sob escaped. He clenched his teeth to muffle the sound, but he couldn't stop it. Tremors came. His shoulders shook. For a while, he stayed like that. Then Yuto tried to stand. His broken ribs screamed immediately. His right side burned with pain, and he put his hand on the floor. He gritted his teeth. But again. He planted his knees. He put strength in his arms. The pain in his side came in waves, and his vision swayed. Still, he stood. His knees trembled slightly. His breathing was ragged. But he was standing. He fastened the sword at his waist. The feel of it settling into the holster—it felt like something was returning to where it belonged. He put his hand on the iron bars. He pushed. The lock was undone. The bars opened slowly. Yuto stopped. Sharutia's face came to mind. That back as she left without a word. She'd said nothing about the key, nothing about the bars. He understood it had been intentional. *Whether you notice depends on you*—a silent declaration of will, as if she'd said that. He bit his lip. He was weak. That was true. Surrounded by twenty, beaten down by Gald alone, twelve people dead in the village, his rapier stolen. Everything Albedo had said was right. He couldn't argue. That was true too. But. Fighting in that village hadn't been wrong. That certainty alone remained in his core, stronger than broken bones. Even trampled, even blown back, even with his head pressed down, that one point wouldn't bend. He'd fought because he wanted to protect. That was all. That was everything. *(I just gotta do it.)* His usual phrase surfaced quietly in his mind. He opened the iron bars gently. He stepped into the corridor. The torch's light cast long shadows on the stone floor. With each pulse of pain in his right side, it throbbed. His legs felt a little heavy. But they moved. The outer edges of E-Rantel. Agricultural settlements. Void Crow scouts. The next obstacle was clear. To escape this underground while cradling broken ribs and reach that place alone. That was all. Yuto looked down the corridor. It was dark. But the torches lit the way ahead, one after another. He took a step toward that light.