In all my time, I had never directly opposed the Emperor.
I had considered it. Perhaps an assassination attempt would be worth a shot—test it out, and if it worked, great; if not, rewind time and try again. But the Emperor was the mid-series final boss. He wasn’t someone you could defeat easily.
Even if I managed to confront him alone, the moment the situation was discovered, everyone in the palace would descend upon me.
...I had already tested the palace’s response times. I’d detonated bombs openly and infiltrated an airship docked briefly for maintenance. While I managed to escape, it was far riskier than being on the battlefield.
On the battlefield, I had allies holding the line, forcing the enemy to divide their attention. In the capital, it was different. If I were the sole traitor, every soldier in the capital would pursue only me.
Even if I succeeded in killing the Emperor, the chances of me escaping alive were slim. Sure, rewinding time countless times might eventually yield success, but the circumstances would inevitably change during each attempt.
Ultimately, I never directly fought the Emperor.
Was the Emperor’s swordsmanship superior to Lucas’s? This question was often debated among players. If the Emperor’s skill matched that of the Swordmaster, then Lucas, who had defeated the Swordmaster, was arguably stronger than the Emperor.
Of course, as the “final boss,” the Emperor’s stats were inflated in the game. Even when the fight concluded, cutscenes often portrayed the victory as the Emperor holding back rather than being defeated outright. Balancing mechanics aside, it was hard to reconcile such stats with the in-game lore.
And then—
“Guh...!”
I twisted my body abruptly as I ran toward the Emperor.
It was obvious—of course, the Emperor wasn’t going to hand me an easy victory. Even after altering his plans because of my interference, he hadn’t abandoned his goal of seizing the world.
Were the things he said to me lies? Perhaps. If I had foreseen his future and acted accordingly, maybe he would have kept his word. But even then, he would have waited for an opportunity.
Just like Fangryphon had done in the past.
I dodged two consecutive strikes aimed at me, throwing myself to the side. My shoulder hit the ground with a loud thud. The reinforced suit I wore absorbed the impact, amplifying the strength in my legs as I pushed off the ground.
When my joints moved sharply, the suit emitted a faint popping sound. Lying on my back, I rolled to the side, unintentionally resembling someone deliberately evading attacks.
I raised my rifle to fire—but then remembered I had emptied the magazine during my fight with Lucas. Quickly, I pulled the bolt back to check the chamber, but instead of reloading, I rolled again to avoid the Emperor’s next movement.
Perhaps it was because I had just fought Lucas?
The Emperor’s movements bore a surprising resemblance to his. Then again, it was probably Lucas who had mimicked the Emperor. Before setting his sights on me, Lucas’s ultimate goal had been to surpass the Emperor.
The difference was subtle. Lucas’s movements were smoother, more fluid. The Emperor’s, however, felt rigid—almost as if he forced together motions that shouldn’t connect naturally. Yet there was nothing awkward about them. It was as if he had stripped away all aesthetic flourishes from his swordsmanship, leaving only the essentials.
Rather than his body following the sword, it seemed the sword bent to his will.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The floor bore fresh scars from his strikes. I barely managed to dodge, the enhanced suit saving me from what would otherwise have been grievous injuries. Sacrificing defense for power had proven a good decision.
I finally slid a bullet from my belt into the chamber and pushed the bolt forward. The mechanical click sounded unnaturally cheerful given the situation.
I took aim and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The recoil slammed the stock against the reinforced padding on my shoulder.
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“Hmph.”
There was an undeniable gap between my physical abilities and the Emperor’s. Even the Swordmaster had once told me—I lacked talent.
Naturally, the Emperor was prepared to evade the shot the moment I raised my rifle.
The bullet sailed past him, striking the “device” behind him instead.
Boom!
A small explosion followed, but it wasn’t enough to destroy the device. Of course, it wouldn’t be. That machine had been built to seal the goddess’s power.
Unless I wielded the goddess’s power, destroying it was likely impossible.
The Emperor must have known this—his confidence explained why he didn’t bother to stop me.
If destruction wasn’t an option—
I reached for the small valve near my knee.
Loosening the tightly sealed valve, I let steam hiss out of the suit. The strain on my joints from moving had been growing unbearable. Running like this could seriously injure me.
But what choice did I have?
Even if I faced the Emperor, I was still a princess. Returning to receive healing wasn’t out of the question.
Should I have brought morphine? Or maybe something stronger, like methamphetamine—no, Alice would have been furious.
I recalled the first time Alice found morphine in my quarters and angrily berated me. That wasn’t so long ago—not even a year.
Amidst the clash of swords and gunfire around me, I could hear familiar voices shouting with determination. Everyone was still holding their ground.
In less than a year, I had somehow earned the trust of so many people. Yet I hadn’t told them anything substantial.
I released the valve and crouched low to the ground.
Like a sprinter at the starting line, I pushed off with all my strength, charging forward.
My target wasn’t the Emperor.
My eyes were locked on the machine ahead.
I didn’t know if I could destroy it. Everyone who understood the truth claimed I held the goddess’s power, but I had never felt it myself. Time manipulation couldn’t move me forward. Attempting the impossible without the means to succeed would be meaningless.
But if destruction was impossible—
Then I’d disassemble it.
Before the battle, I had seen the Emperor handling the relic—a critical component.
The Emperor wasn’t a fool. He quickly realized my intentions and turned toward me, preparing his next strike.
I drew my revolver and fired wildly at him.
The .455 caliber revolver had been my trusted companion since I was young.
Though its trigger pull was heavy, it was a double-action revolver, allowing me to empty the cylinder in seconds.
Inside the cylinder were custom rounds—Maramaros bullets with elongated tips and reduced powder charges.
The bullets were slow and had a short range.
But at this distance, none of that mattered.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The small explosions from each round seemed uncharacteristic of a handgun. The Emperor deflected a few bullets with his sword, but he couldn’t stop the resulting bursts.
If I had intended to kill him, this plan would have failed.
At best, I had momentarily obscured his vision.
In a game, this would have been a frustrating situation—missing every shot despite powerful equipment. If this were a game, I’d have thrown the controller, cursed a few times, and reloaded from the beginning.
But this wasn’t a game.
The Emperor’s movements were briefly halted.
But I didn’t stop running.
The Emperor sliced through the smoke with ease. Through the dissipating haze, his eyes locked on mine.
It was terrifying.
The Emperor smiled, as though genuinely enjoying the situation. His gaze seemed to say that no matter what I did, it was futile.
“Sister!”
“Sylvia!”
But those fears vanished when I heard the voices of Claire and Alice.
Somehow, they had broken through the encroaching enemies.
The Emperor turned to me, ready to charge and end the threat.
Alice’s sword strike aimed precisely for the Emperor’s back.
The timing was perfect.
Shkk!
Blood splattered.
The Emperor took the hit directly.
But he didn’t even turn his head.
His unflinching gaze remained fixed on me.