The sword never came down.
Not out of mercy. Horace had never been merciful.
It was because...
"Y-you bad people!"
A voice filled with utter grievance rang through the space.
Horace's sword froze in midair.
"I already said you could do whatever you wanted! Why are you still coming to beat me up?"
Horace: "...?"
Godfrey lowered his axe and scratched his head. "So she could talk?"
Both of the Dragon Lord's heads tilted at once, letting out a puzzled rumble: I came here to fight. What, we're not fighting anymore?
Messmer silently extinguished his flames and began considering the work ahead. Matters in the Land of Shadow were settled, but Limgrave still needed him to govern it.
Godwyn pulled Fortissax into an abrupt stop in midair, and Fortissax earned the same achievement as the "Black Blade": braking with his face.
Only Horace was baffled. "What did you say?"
The Mother of Fingers' body, composed of countless fingers, trembled slightly. "I've been... waiting all this time for a message from the Greater Will."
"But... after the receiver broke, I couldn't receive anything anymore."
"I admit I passed off false decrees all these years."
A trace of righteous indignation entered the Mother of Fingers' voice. "But didn't I let you hold your Thousand-Year Contest? And you still brought people here to beat me up!"
She paused, then added, "You've gone too far!"
Silence fell over everyone.
Horace slowly lowered his sword.
Standing there, he suddenly felt that something had gone seriously wrong with his understanding.
"So... you actually... weren't trying to stop me?"
"Why would I stop you? Even that beast had no objections. What could I say?"
Horace fell silent. It seemed he had let his preconceptions get the better of him.
Until now, he had always thought the Mother