In Skadi's castle, Ophelia lay sprawled on her bed, doing absolutely nothing, because tomorrow was her most hated day of the week: Sunday.
Sigurd, in spirit form, looked at Ophelia, who did not have a shred of fighting spirit left, and could not help speaking up.
Sigurd said, "Although I am a Servant from Proper Human History and hope Proper Human History wins, you are my Master now. Could you please show a little more motivation?"
Having never experienced the Grand Bomberman's ambush, Ophelia had not seen Kirschtaria Wodime's devotion, much less developed a young girl's love for him.
Without that love, without the resolve to give everything for someone, it was only natural for Ophelia to slack off a little.
On top of that, she was not sure whether Marisbury's plan was right. She was still lost.
Though she had been forced into joining, when it came time to actually do something, she had no idea what she was supposed to do.
Stop Chaldea?
But the King of this Lostbelt had always stopped them, forbidding her from fighting Chaldea, claiming that they were all her children.
Ophelia said, "What is it? I had you dematerialize to protect me, not so you could lecture me as your Master."
"Or did Chaldea rescuing Brynhild make you unhappy? Are you feeling like you have a bit of a green hat on your head?"
Ophelia was quite a fierce woman. With Old Norse blood in her veins, she never held back when arguing with people.
Sigurd was instantly rendered speechless. The matter with Brynhild really was his own fault, a stain he could never wash away in his lifetime.
Though he had fallen for someone else's scheme, in a sense, he really had willingly let himself be cuckolded.
Seeing Sigurd fall silent, Ophelia