CHAPTER 3
THE BEGINNING
“At the opening ceremony of the Gryps last year, I told you that the skills and prowess of our contestants continue to rise with each passing year. That is a hard, undeniable fact. I am confident that the abilities of Genestella will continue to grow with each generation, that Lux development will continue to reach new unimaginable heights, and that tactics and battle strategies will continue to advance alongside them. All future Festas are evolutions of the past—and that includes the events that we are gathered here to witness today.”
Atop the platform at the edge of the stage of the Sirius Dome, Madiath Mesa was extolling the praises of the Festa to both the contestants and their spectators alike.
This was Ayato’s third time standing on this stage, watching Madiath issue his customary speech.
“However, that does not in any way diminish the value of each and every Festa. As I’m sure that you, the fans, are well aware, no two Festas are ever alike, and the spectrum of brilliant souls that we see each time is always unique. From two-time champion of the Lindvolus Helga Lindwall to our grand slam–winning Xinglou Fan, it should be apparent to all that some matches remain memorable in spite of the passage of time.”
Madiath’s voice was clear, cheerful, and brimming with confidence—the perfect mix of qualities to stir the massive crowds. As ever, his speech was expertly delivered to control the excitement of the hundred-thousand-plus spectators and to set back on track the hearts of any contestants who had begun to waver in their decision to compete.
His rhetorical skill was, frankly, something to be admired.
At least it had been, before Ayato had learned that he was the man behind Lamina Mortis.
“However, let me add one more thing. The Festa is a struggle for superiority—and that is what leaves so many absolutely enthralled. It is always manifested in different ways, but as far as raw strength is concerned, there are always those who shine brighter. Such individuals transcend the flow of time. The two prior contestants whom I just spoke of can be taken as proof of that.”
The investigations of Ayato and the others had proceeded steadily over the past few months, and that time hadn’t been put to waste. They had sifted through and pieced together countless evidence—from surveillance footage provided by the city guard, to information on Madiath’s activities supplied by Galaxy (which understandably amounted to a great deal), to Ayato’s and the others’ analyses of the physical sites where they had encountered Lamina Mortis or the Varda-Vaos—and those clues, inconsequential when looked at individually, together pointed to only one conclusion: that Madiath Mesa was Lamina Mortis.
From what Ayato understood, Claudia and Isabella were close to obtaining the needed conclusive evidence—the knowledge of conspirators within the huge organization that was Galaxy.
However, they didn’t have any indisputable proof relating to those accomplices just yet. Claudia suspected that there were several such individuals within Galaxy, all likely brainwashed by the Varda-Vaos. Even so, as chairman of the Festa Executive Committee, Madiath benefited from something similar to extraterritoriality and was normally out of reach of any one of the IEFs. Cornering him, therefore, wouldn’t be easy.
“And so, allow me to declare to you all here and now my confidence that this year’s Lindvolus will go down as the greatest in history! I fully expect the next two weeks to shine brighter than all Festas past and, indeed, all Festas yet to come! That is the miracle of the contestants we have gathered here today!” Madiath spread his arms wide, his dramatic tone of voice fanning the flames of the audience’s passions.
In response, a tsunami-like wave of cheers engulfed the Sirius Dome. The tempest seemed to have reached a height that dwarfed the previous Festas that Ayato had participated in. Both the Phoenix and the Gryps had been accompanied by wild enthusiasm, but the current frenzy was something else entirely.
Madiath was certainly right that there might never be another Festa to rival the present Lindvolus. There was every possibility that it could end with the first-ever instance of someone winning three consecutive victories in the solo tournament—or else only the second grand slam in the tournament’s history, and there was an exceptionally high number of top-ranked fighters and other famous individuals from the various schools competing.
“Now, then…,” Madiath continued calmly, after waiting for the cheers to subside. “Given this rare occasion, allow me to touch on one more thing.”
He paused there once more, as if for dramatic effect. There was no denying that he had the crowds completely within the palm of his hand.
“The honor and glory belonging to the tag partners who emerged victorious in the Phoenix were part of the team who conquered the Gryps and, of course, were the supreme champions of this very Lindvolus. They are worthy of the highest praise—their names are without compare! There can be no doubting their triumphs.”
As he listened to Madiath’s unending speech, Ayato glanced across the stage toward Julis.
There were 256 contestants gathered in the arena. There had been twice that number at the Phoenix, and five times it at the Gryps, but even so, the energy radiating out of the arena was in no way inferior to the previous tournaments, and in Ayato’s eyes, at least, seemed to exceed them.
There were many familiar faces among them. Beside him stood Saya, all but nodding off to sleep. Also among Seidoukan’s Page Ones were Lester, taciturnly standing with his arms crossed; Feardorcha O’Neill, alias Cuélebre, the Ringed Serpent King; and Azumachi Ibara, alias Touki, the Ruinous Demon.
And of course, a bit farther away, was the Witch of Resplendent Flames, Julis-Alexia von Riessfeld, the Glühen Rose.
Julis…
She was standing at attention, her manner as dignified as always. However, Ayato could see that she had fallen into a sense of despair. Her resolve and determination in wagering everything on this tournament went beyond most other entrants.
“However,” Madiath continued, his voice becoming more animated. “I know, and I’m sure you all know—people are already calling this Lindvolus the Festa of Festas. Seventy-three years ago, when the first Festa was held in this city, we started with only an individual tournament. It is perhaps appropriate that, with the passage of time, we’ve come to name this tournament after the greatest of all creatures, the mythical dragon… The way I see it, the essence of the Lindvolus is different from the other Festas. In the Phoenix and the Gryps, we expect two qualities in our contestants—strength and a bond between fighters. There, it is only by fighting hand in hand with one’s tag partner, with one’s teammates, and through testing the strength of those bonds, that our champions rise to the top. That is of unfathomable merit and worthy of undying respect.” As he spoke, his tone became suddenly feverish, sending a flood of confusion coursing through the stadium.
There was no missing that Madiath’s speech was entering unusual territory. The Lindvolus was often referred to as the Festa of Festas, but it was highly irregular for its organizers to admit that. It went without saying that doing so could lead to a loss in status for the Phoenix and the Gryps. Perhaps there were those who would appreciate the remarks, but the number of people it risked upsetting would by no means be small.
Even when Ayato had met Madiath in person, his impression of the man had been that he strove to maintain an equal balance. He would never have expected him to make such an obvious slip of the tongue.
Which meant that it was undoubtedly intentional.
“However, the Lindvolus is different. In this original form of the Festa, champions are born from strength alone! No matter how great your bonds with friends or allies, they won’t save you here. It is the purest form of battle, in which you will all carve the way forward using no more than your own power and abilities. That, in my view, is what makes the Lindvolus the Festa of Festas… Strength! A universal language that illuminates the way forward!”
Madiath’s words were growing more heated, until at that moment, the buzzing audience fell suddenly silent. The spectators, the participants, even Ayato himself—they all caught their collective breath at the sheer intensity of those words.
“Now, to you, the fighters gathered here upon the steps of glory!” Madiath cried out, his clenched fist raised. “Show us your power!”
At this, a deafening roar of cheers and applause beyond any Ayato had yet experienced engulfed the stage.
Many of the contestants, it seemed, had allowed themselves to get carried away also, cheering along with the crowd as they raised their fists.
What are you planning, Madiath Mesa…?
Ayato, however, could feel the man’s cold gaze staring down at him and found himself unable to shake the premonition that some great unseen gears had just been set in motion.
“Here you go, Ayato.”
“Thanks, Sylvie.”
Having finished warming up, Ayato accepted the towel that Sylvia held out to him in the now-familiar prep room.
“That’s my Ayato. Always keeping your calm, even when you’re a few short minutes away from your first match. You’re not going to let something like this work you up, huh?”
“I’m just used to it now. I mean, this is my third year in a row here.”
Of course, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t nervous, but at least he was much more relaxed than he had been during the Phoenix.
“But this is your first time being chosen for the opening match, right?”
“Well, I guess so…”
Ayato’s match wasn’t only the first of this year’s Festa, it was also the first that would be held in the Sirius Dome. It was fair to say that it received perhaps the most attention of any match this early in the tournament, even among those held in the Sirius Dome, where most of the favorites were allotted.
In essence, the structure of the Lindvolus wasn’t too dissimilar to that of the Phoenix or the Gryps. Thirty-two matches would be held each day across all the venues, the first round running until the fourth day, the second round running until the sixth day, and the third round running until the seventh day. That first week served as the preliminaries. After that, the eighth day served as a day of rest—and then, on the ninth, came the main tournament.
Incidentally, the most anticipated match of the preliminaries, the debut of the reigning champion Orphelia Landlufen, more popularly known by her alias Erenshkigal, was to take place on the fourth day.
“Well, I guess it’s only a matter of course that they’d give it to one of the favorites,” Sylvia said with a mischievous wink.
“But you’ve got a match yourself tomorrow. Are you sure you’re okay coming here to support me? Or is this also a matter of course?”
As far the bookmakers were concerned, Orphelia was considered the absolute favorite to win again this time around. Next up on the list probably came Sylvia, the runner-up from last time. And then, Ayato suspected, he himself was the third-favorite.
“Think of it more as an expression of my love.” Sylvia laughed, tapping him on the chest with her finger.
“Ah, love…” As usual, Ayato couldn’t tell whether she was joking.
At that moment—
A whistle tweeted twice before someone spoke.
“Right; stop there! Move away, move away!”
As Ayato turned in the direction of the shrill sound echoing throughout the room, he caught sight of Saya, standing projected in an air-window, glaring at him with a whistle held between her lips.
“You’re getting too close, Sylvie. This is your warning.”
“Oh my… You’re as strict as ever, Saya,” Sylvia said with a wry smile, raising her hands slightly to show that she wasn’t going to argue with her.
At this, Saya’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t be too careful with you. It’s a good thing I came prepared with this whistle.”
“Ah, did you make it yourself?”
“Heh-heh, you can never be too prepared.”
“If you’re going to worry about preparations, shouldn’t you be focusing on your match? Yours is coming up shortly, too, no?” Sylvia pointed out with a feigned expression of being confounded.
The two might have been busy teasing each other, but as far as Ayato could tell, they actually got along pretty well. That was no doubt thanks to the fact that they had been working together as a team over the past few months as they investigated the Golden Bough Alliance. And it wasn’t just Saya with whom Sylvia had made a friendship—she had become good friends with Kirin and Claudia, too.
Her unique personality no doubt played an important role in all that.
“As long as Julis and Kirin aren’t here, I’m the only one who can protect Ayato. So no matter how far away I am, so long as I’m breathing, I won’t let anyone touch him.”
“…Come on, now, you aren’t all that far away. The Procyon Dome is, what, only twenty minutes from here, if that?”
Ayato found himself wanting to say almost the same thing. To begin with, Saya had been standing next to him during the opening ceremony just a short while ago. Second, because hers was also one of the first matches of the season, she’d had no choice but to make her way to the Procyon Dome as soon as the opening ceremony had finished.
“Exactly. That’s the problem. Why is it only my match that’s all the way out here? Everyone else’s is over there. It’s extremely dissatisfying.” In the air-window, Saya puffed out her cheeks in displeasure. She looked a little older now that she had grown out her hair, but when she acted this way, she was just as Ayato remembered.
“Well, I guess it’s because of all the big names they’ve got this year. Under any other circumstances, I’m sure your achievements would be more than enough… Although, I heard that they might be basing it on our positions in the rankings this time.”
As Sylvia had said, given that Saya had reached the top four in the Phoenix and was part of the winning team in the Gryps, it was only natural to expect that her matches would take place in the Sirius Dome, too. However, given the unusually high number of noteworthy figures participating in the Lindvolus this time around, the fact that she wasn’t a member of the named cult undoubtedly put her at a disadvantage.
On top of that, in order to maintain some semblance of a balance between the three large stadiums and the seven medium-sized ones, a number of easily recognizable contestants had also been sent to the other parts of the city. Saya, Ayato guessed, was viewed as one such individual, being dispatched to the Procyon Dome to help draw the crowds to some of the less highly anticipated matches taking place after hers.
“I was here for the last Lindvolus, but the Executive Committee seems to be doing things differently this time. I mean, they didn’t even tell us who’s doing the main commentary until the last minute. Talk about a big surprise, huh?”
“Ah, right… I wasn’t expecting her to be doing it, either,” Ayato said, turning his gaze toward the air-window by the wall.
Projected there was the usual announcer who covered the main stage, ABC’s Mico Yanase, along with another woman, a sullen figure with disheveled hair and thick glasses. There was no questioning her natural beauty, but it was in stark contrast to her counterpart’s meticulously manicured appearance.
“And now to introduce the sharp-eyed expert in charge of commentary and analysis this year! The manager of the most popular private website associated with Asterisk, said to get hundreds of millions of page views each day during the course of the Festa, let’s all welcome the editor of Odhroerir, Zaharoula!”
“…Hello.”
“I’m sure our viewers must be pretty surprised! The measures you’ve taken to avoid appearing in the media are legendary, Zaharoula! What convinced you to make an exception this time around?”
“I didn’t want to do this! Who in their right mind would want to make a show of themselves like this?! It’s all because of that damn meddler, D—” Zaharoula paused there, pulling at her hair with one hand as if to yank it clean from her skull as she hung her head.
Mico, sitting alongside her, looked taken aback for a split second but quickly returned to her professional self-possession. “Um, Zaharoula…?”
“Ah… Well, I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to watch this year’s Lindvolus with my own eyes. Let’s leave it at that.”
“R-right! This year’s Lindvolus sure looks like it’s going to be something special!”
It was easy enough to see that Zaharoula wouldn’t be an easy person to keep on script. Ayato couldn’t help but wonder whether she was up to the task of following the entire two-week tournament.
“Er, let’s move on, then. Which entrants do you think our viewers should most look out for this time around…?”
“Argh, I hate having to choose. I mean, every single contestant has their own strengths and weaknesses. You can see for yourself if you log in to Odhroerir. I might be able to give you something more once we know who’s being put against who in the main tournament, but there’s no way I can say anything about the preliminaries.”
“W-well, you’re right, of course, but still…”
“…She likes to speak her mind, huh?” Ayato murmured, unawares.
“I’m pretty fond of that kind of person, myself. She’ll probably give Mico a hard time, though.” Sylvia grinned.
“Are you sure she’s the real thing?” Saya asked dubiously.
Certainly, Zaharoula’s identity had been shrouded in mystery until today. Even her age and gender hadn’t been public knowledge. It probably wasn’t just Saya who found it hard to believe that the woman in the air-window was actually the famed operator of one of the most highly regarded unofficial ranking sites.
“Well, I guess we’ll find out once we hear her analysis. As much as I hate to admit it, Odhroerir’s analyses are pretty much spot-on. I’m looking forward to it.” Sylvia chuckled.
Odhroerir’s rankings were said to be even more accurate than those of each individual school. It was rumored that even most bookmakers throughout the world based their odds on the unofficial website’s own ranking system. So if this person really was Zaharoula, Ayato wanted to hear her analysis of the tournament for himself, too.
“She’s right, though,” Saya continued. “We’ve practically got a bargain-bin sale of favorites this time around, with everyone being spread around the different blocks. If you asked me to guess who the winner would be this early in the tournament, I wouldn’t be able to name anyone other than Erenshkigal.”
“I’m grateful that we won’t have to face each other until the main tournament at least…,” Sylvia remarked.
It was common practice for the most promising entrants in the Festa to be intentionally allocated to different blocks so they wouldn’t end up facing one another in the preliminaries. Thanks to that, Ayato wouldn’t have to face Sylvia, Saya, or Julis until at least the bracket for the main tournament was drawn.
“But there are quite a few dark-horse entrants this time around, too,” Sylvia added. “You’ll have to be careful with our little Minato, and then there’s everyone Xinglou’s been training up as well.”
She remained silent, her expression mournful as she leaned against the wall. Shaking off her hesitation, she looked up at him. “I… I have to win this tournament, no matter what it takes. I’m the only one who can stop Orphelia Landlufen. I’ve got no choice but to defeat anyone who stands in my way… Even you…”
“…I know.” Ayato nodded understandingly.
“Which is why…”
She slowly approached him. As she passed by, she murmured in a voice almost too low to catch, “Which is why I can only support you up until I have to beat you myself.”
Ayato found himself turning around at these words, but Julis kept on walking into the distance.
Those words, however, were enough.
She hadn’t changed. He knew that now.
“Thank you, Julis!” he called after her.
There was no response, but Ayato watched on until her figure disappeared into the distance.
He also had a reason for needing to win the tournament: The life of his sister, Haruka, was at stake. Perhaps, he wondered, Julis had found herself in a similar situation, having to push everything else aside to claim victory at any cost.
Nonetheless, she had just said that she would support him until push came to shove.
Of course, there was no guarantee that they would actually end up facing each other. There was every possibility that he would be defeated before that time came or that Julis would be instead—or indeed, that both would be eliminated.
But even so, her words instilled confidence in him.
The best outcome by far would be for either or both of their problems to be resolved before that time. To that end, Kirin and Claudia were desperately working to put a stop to Lamina Mortis and the Varda-Vaos.
I wish I could lend them a hand… But we did agree that the participants would focus on the tournament.
He had no choice but to believe in them.
With that, he cleared his mind as he stepped forth through the entrance gate into the blinding light of the stadium.
“And here we are! Making his way through the east gate is one of our most anticipated contestants, the champion of both the Phoenix two years ago and last year’s Gryps, and of course, one of this season’s leading stars, hoping to score the Festa’s second-ever grand slam! Wielding the Ser Veresta, the Blade of the Black Furnace, complete with the power to burn through all of creation, it’s Seidoukan Academy’s number one, Ayato Amagiri!”
Maintaining his calm despite the dazzling floodlights and the rapturous applause, Ayato crossed the bridge leading into the stadium and leaped down onto the stage.
His opponent, it seemed, had entered ahead of him and stood waiting on his side of the stage wearing a defiant grin.
“Heh-heh! What’s it like being so popular, Ayato Amagiri? Care to share a bit of the limelight?”
Standing across from him with his hands on his hips was an imposing student in an Allekant Académie uniform. His black hair was close-cropped, his skin dark, and his build large. His mean eyes and unshaven face made him look older than he was, and while he was only two years Ayato’s senior, he looked to be well into his twenties.
Gose Kevut. He belonged to Allekant’s Sonnet faction, specialized in practical combat, and was twenty-first in the school’s rankings. While he wasn’t a Page One, his relatively high position nonetheless attested to his skill.
In principle, the most promising entrants weren’t put up against one another in the preliminaries, so that they would all reach the main tournament. However, the Festa was, when all was said and done, a form of entertainment, and so certain promising individuals were always allocated to each block to allow for the potential of an unexpected upset (although, given the unusually high number of skilled entrants, this time that only applied to the most notable contestants).
On top of that, the organizers no doubt wanted to avoid the opening match being too one-sided.
“I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard! If I can bring you down here, I’ll have made a pretty good name for myself, huh?” Gose bellowed, activating his spear-shaped Lux.
“I’m afraid I don’t plan on losing to you quite that easily,” Ayato replied, pulling the Ser Veresta from the holder at his waist to the cheers of the audience.
“Ugh! You listening?! You’d better not sell me short, or it’ll come back to hurt you!” Gose spat back, fixing him with a deadly glare.
“The opening match is about to begin! Will Contestant Kevut be able to score an upset? Will he be able to keep up with Contestant Amagiri? I can’t wait to find out!”
“Hmm… From what I’ve seen in the recordings of their official ranking matches, it’s hard to say how it will turn out…”
“I’m sure there’s no need to repeat Amagiri’s history here in this stadium, but there are high expectations riding on Kevut, too! He didn’t waste any time after transferring to Allekant earlier this year before making his way into the rankings, and last month made his way up to twenty-one!”
“Well, he might be a newcomer, but normally I’d say he’s a little too old for us to expect all that much from him, at least in my opinion… More importantly, this time, though…”
As he listened to Mico and Zaharoula’s back-and-forth, Ayato activated his weapon, adjusting it to the size of a Japanese katana.
“Wow, hold on a second, Zaharoula! That’s…!”
“Ah, it looks like he’s finally able to control its size now. I’d better update his profile on the site…”
This would be Ayato’s first public match wielding the Ser Veresta at the size he was most comfortable with. The audience began to seethe with excitement as they realized what they were about to witness.
“Hmph! You think you can cow me just by showing off?”
Gose was clearly taken aback by this revelation, but he was a relatively successful fighter himself, and so it was unclear how much this new variable would factor into the match. Ayato had watched several recordings of Gose’s official ranking matches, too, and had seen enough to know that he was a rather orthodox fighter with the ability to carry his matches to his advantage.
“Given that Contestant Amagiri didn’t have many weaknesses to begin with, if he can finally optimize that Orga Lux, this is big news!”
“That’s true, but still”—
With Mico and Zaharoula still discussing among themselves, Ayato’s and Gose’s school crests suddenly lit up, the automated voice sounding out throughout the stadium.
“Lindvolus Block A, Round 1, Match 1—begin!”
—“that raw strength of his is something else, though, right?” Zaharoula finished.
And with that, the keen point of Gose’s spear came hurtling toward him.
“—?!”
Ayato managed to dodge it, but his opponent followed through with a flurry of rapid strikes. He was clearly aiming straight for Ayato’s school crest. Ayato deflected the barrage at the last possible moment, before finally finding an opening and leaning in for a counterattack. Gose, however, as if having read his movements, suddenly pulled back—and as he did so, the tip of his spear began to glimmer and swell in size.
Meteor Arts…?!
Ayato, a shiver running down his spine, leaped backward, giving up on his counterattack.
At that moment, the now-oversized spear hurtled toward him, grazing the tips of his hair before slamming deep into the ground, the impact so powerful as to leave a sizable crater.
“Aw, come on! I was sure that would work…!” Gose muttered, readopting his fighting posture as the dust settled.
Both the audience and the commentary had fallen completely silent, as if the excitement of just a moment ago had never even happened.
“Yep, Ayato Amagiri’s mix of offense and defense really is superb. It would have only taken one slip there, and he would have lost the whole match.”
The only sound to break the silence was that of Zaharoula’s voice echoing across the stage, when—
“Whooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooa!”
A deafening roar descended down from the galleries, a veritable war cry of giddy excitement.
“Er, ah, sorry! But wait, h-hold on a second! Contestant Amagiri is Seidoukan’s number one and the champion of both the Phoenix and the Gryps… But his opponent just…!”
“Putting his achievements aside, you saw what happened. Contestant Kevut doesn’t look like he’s about to be outdone, no matter who his opponent is.”
Ayato found himself in agreement. Gose’s skill was unmistakably first-class—perhaps even around the same level as Ernest’s or Xiaohui’s.
“Argh, damn it, you had me thinking I’d got you there, making a move like that. Why won’t you take the bait? Taking people by the nose is supposed to be my thing.”
“…No, you almost had me fooled there.”
It was an undeniable fact that Ayato had misjudged Gose’s skill and ability. At the very least, he was employing now a completely different fighting style than what Ayato had seen in the recordings of his previous matches. His footwork and movements, for example, were at a totally different level.
Out of all the people in that stadium, perhaps only Zaharoula had seen through him.
“Heh, interesting. I guess you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t cut corners, no matter who you’re facing. Talk about a nuisance,” Gose said with a grin.
His tone of voice, his facial expressions, even his whole mood had undergone a sudden and dramatic change. The mocking glint to his eyes was now gone, his now-softened appearance coming across as somewhat creepy and unsettling.
“Of course not,” Ayato replied. “That would be disrespectful to my opponent.”
As Ayato spoke, the spear-like tip of Gose’s Lux began to give off a shower of sparks, before suddenly falling off from its handle.
“Oops, damn it… Eh, pretty clever, Murakumo. Looks like you got me,” Gose said, throwing away the remaining portion of his Lux and shrugging.
“It looks like Amagiri managed to land a counterblow when he dodged that Meteor Arts attack. He’s a pretty shrewd fighter, that one.”
“I—I see! I guess no matter how strong you are, no normal Lux can stand up against Contestant Amagiri’s Ser Veresta!”
Zaharoula must indeed have been the real thing if she had caught sight of his counter, Ayato thought.
“Heh-heh, I guess she was right. It’s useless trying to face one of the Four Colored Runeswords with just any old Lux,” Gose said, pulling another activation body out of his pocket.
The second Ayato caught sight of its core, a wave of unease shot down his spine.
“Looks like I’m gonna have to use my fallback, huh?” Gose muttered, activating it.
At first glance, it looked remarkably similar to the spear-shaped Lux he had been using until a few seconds ago.
However, Ayato could sense something twisted and brutal emanating from its strange core.
“Er, that’s…not an Orga Lux? At least it doesn’t look like any of Allekant’s registered Orga Luxes… Given Contestant Kevut’s affiliation, could it be one of those new mass-produced Orga Luxes that Team Androcles announced at least year’s Gryps?”
“Hmm, I’ve never seen anything like that before, either… No, hold on, wait a second. There is a match, but it looks pretty dated…”
Ayato tried to shut the confused commentary out of his head as he stared across the stage toward Gose.
At that moment, the image of silver-haired young woman flashed through his mind.
“A Lost Lux…”
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