Kiyotaka Ayanokoji walked out of the cellar, his mind tracing the final moments of the Bowel Hunter.
In their initial games of wit, Elsa had fought with the arrogance of a predator. But the moment the news of Meili's "fate" reached her, a visible shift toward self-destruction had occurred. Was it the death of her partner, or a fundamental defect in her personality? Ayanokoji could not say. He found the concept of "sisterly bonds"—whether between Rem and Ram or Elsa and Meili—to be a fascinating, albeit fatal, human error.
To him, these emotions were the very things that had anchored them to their deaths. He wondered, with clinical detachment: Does such a thing truly have meaning?
"Ayanokoji, what about the Bowel Hunter and the child?"
Emilia's voice pulled him from his analysis. She stood behind him, her eyes clouded with the hesitation of a sheltered candidate. Ayanokoji kept his answer simple, omitting the visceral methods he had used to ensure Elsa's permanent disposal. To someone like Emilia, the truth was often too jagged to swallow.
"They've been dealt with," he said flatly.
Emilia bit her lip. Despite the threats they posed, the idea of a twelve year old girl being a cold blooded killer sat heavily in her chest.
"In a conflict of interests, there is only the enemy," Ayanokoji said, sensing her doubt. "As a candidate for the throne, mercy toward those who seek your head is a luxury you cannot afford. You must be prepared to be ruthless." He paused, letting the weight of the statement settle. "Only from the throne will you have the power to change the world that creates such children. To get there, you must climb every step."
The flicker of uncertainty in Emilia's eyes hardened into a thin, desperate resolve.
The Shadow of the Witch
Inside Roswaal's study, Ayanokoji presented his findings: the ten sets of footprints in the forest.
Roswaal, whose sing song voice always felt like a mask for something darker, narrowed his mismatched eyes. "Ten individuals... if we have ruled out the Guild, perhaps we are looking at spies? Or... the Witch Cult?"
The name triggered a memory of his conversation with Beatrice. Ayanokoji touched his chin. "The Witch Cult? I've heard mention of it in relation to this 'Witch's Scent' I supposedly carry. What are they?"
"A fanatical group that worships the Witch of Envy," Roswaal explained, his gaze never leaving Ayanokoji's face, as if searching for a reaction to the name. "A gathering of the truly mad."
"I see," Ayanokoji replied. "Then the forest requires a thorough sweep."
Roswaal suggested Ram accompany them, noting her deep history with the Cult. Emilia insisted on joining, hoping to prove her utility. Ayanokoji nodded; between Ram's Clairvoyance and Puck's high ceiling combat power, the search party was structurally sound.
The Mad Bishop's Arrival
As they moved through the dense brush, Ram's expression was a mask of simmering fury. She described the destruction of her village, her hands instinctively moving to her forehead—the site of her lost horn.
Ayanokoji analyzed the data. The "Witch's Scent" was the reason Rem had initially tried to kill him. What is this scent? A biological marker? A residue of transmigration? He noted that only Beatrice and the twins seemed to perceive it. Can the Cult smell it too?
"Ram, use your Clairvoyance," Ayanokoji commanded.
Ram closed her eyes, synchronizing her vision with the surrounding animals. Suddenly, her body went rigid. "Danger!"
Ayanokoji's reflexes—honed in the sterile, lethal halls of the White Room—triggered instantly. He lunged backward as a silver flash tore through the air where his head had been.
Puck manifested in a burst of mana, manifesting a wall of ice several meters thick. A hail of daggers slammed into the frozen barrier, spider webbing the surface with the force of an unnatural impact.
"To target my daughter... you have quite the nerve," Puck growled, his cute features twisting into something predatory.
Ten figures leaped from the canopy. They were draped in dark purple robes, their faces hidden beneath cavernous hoods.
"The Witch Cult!" Ram's voice was a scream of hatred. She unleashed a gale of invisible blades, but the cultists moved with a ghostly fluidity, evading the strike.
Then, a voice drifted from the deep shadows—sharp, shrill, and saturated with insanity.
"To be loved so much! So much! You are truly favored by her! And yet you brought the vessel here so diligently? Diligence! DILIGENCE! I feel shame! I feel the bite of humiliation! I must respond with more diligence to her love!"
A figure emerged from the trees. He was emaciated to a sickly degree, his skin the color of a corpse. His eyes, bloodshot and wide, seemed ready to burst from their sockets as they locked onto Ayanokoji. He lacked even the basic rationality of a human being.
"Who are you?" Emilia demanded, ice shards manifesting around her.
The man's face split into a terrifying, jagged grin. He twisted his body at an impossible angle and bowed.
"Apologies, apologies! I forgot my manners! How slothful of me! I am the Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult, representing Sloth—Petelgeuse Romanee-Conti!"