With this chapter, arc 5 is over, phew...
I'm sorry to say this but I'm taking some time off. Some stuff happened IRL that I need to prioritize, I had to go the hospital recently and I was screwed because my insurance was expired, so I got billed heavily.
I'm also still a student so I really need to get my shit together.
My Priorities are as follows:
1- Get a part time job.
2- Pass some exams, at least four or something.
3- Take better care of myself.
I need to clear those priorities first before I can do anything else. Therefor, a break is needed.
Here is a discord server that I made in case you felt that I took too long or you want some updates.
https://discord.com/invite/NJusDyMb2E
Also, please comment your favorite chapter/s so far because I tried different things while writing this fic and I would like to know what worked best (What was the best chapter and what I did right).
One more request, review this story pretty please. [1]
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The wind howled like a wounded beast, swirling snow and ice around Tanaka's trembling form. His tears, half-shed, froze against his cheeks—crystalline reminders of his despair. The blizzard gnawed at his skin, yet he barely felt the cold. His mind was still fractured, his heart still breaking from the loops.
He knew this place.
The vast white expanse. The air thick with silence. The towering black spires in the distance, swallowed by storm and shadow.
The Castle of Solitude.
Time did not flow here as it did in the real world—seconds stretched into eternities.
He had been here once before, when Odglass had drawn his consciousness into this frozen realm. But back then, it hadn't been like this. The cold now felt alive, biting deeper, as though the world itself rejected warmth.
"Odglass…" he whispered, his voice trembling, barely carried through the storm. If he was here again, it had to mean she brought him. She had to.
Lifting his head, Tanaka's eyes searched for her familiar figure—A fluffy white bear—but instead, he found someone else.
A man stood before him, untouched by the storm.
He was tall, his posture straight and regal. Snow drifted around him but never landed upon him, as if the blizzard itself feared his presence. His hair was a pristine white, flowing slightly with the wind, and his eyes—icy blue and sharp as blades—seemed to pierce through Tanaka's very soul. His robes, white with silver embroidery, gave off a faint luminescence, and the aura he carried was that of something absolute.
Tanaka swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat. "…Who are you?"
The man regarded him quietly, his gaze unreadable. Then, in a voice calm and resonant—like distant thunder muffled by snowfall—he replied, "My name is Cepheus."
The name meant nothing to him, but the weight behind it was undeniable. Tanaka stayed silent, wary and confused, watching the man for any hint of intent.
Cepheus seemed to study him for a moment longer before saying, "I'm with Odglass."
Tanaka's head snapped up, eyes widening. "Odglass!? Where is she—?"
But before hope could take root, Cepheus's voice cut through like a blade of frost. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but she is not here."
The light in Tanaka's eyes dimmed. "Then where is she?"
"She has been sealed in the physical world," Cepheus said, his tone as even as ever. "She broke one of our contract's conditions. As punishment, she is barred from returning to the Castle of Solitude… temporarily."
"I was there when it happened, but I wasn't the one who brought you."
Tanaka recalled those words that were uttered by Odglass. It was about his summoning to this world, which in itself was an accident.
She stated that she wasn't the one caused it, but it was rather done by another individual whom she could not reveal his name, but that person was most likely standing before him.
Tanaka clenched his fists, frustration burning faintly against the cold. "So what, I have to put up with you instead?"
Cepheus's gaze narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in something close to disapproval.
Tanaka's anger faltered. "…What are you talking about?"
Cepheus stepped closer, the snow hissing beneath his feet. "Don't you want to know what's happening to you? Why you now bear the appearance of a Sin Archbishop? Why the spirits you once called no longer answer your voice?"
Tanaka froze.
"Are you certain," Cepheus continued, eyes glinting faintly beneath the storm light, "that you wish to return without any answers?"
The words cut through the wind, echoing inside Tanaka's mind. His heart pounded, each beat slow and heavy.
He said nothing—but his silence, his trembling breath, his wide eyes—were answer enough.
"The last thing that happened to you," Cepheus began, his tone cold and clinical, "was being injected with the blood of the Sin Archbishop of Lust. You've seen her ability to twist flesh, to assume any form at will—that is her Authority at work."
Tanaka's stomach churned as he listened. The storm seemed to grow quieter, the world narrowing to Cepheus's voice alone.
"It's safe to assume her authority also allows her to reshape others," Cepheus continued, the faintest echo of disdain in his tone. "When her blood entered your wound, it rewrote you—your very existence. It changed your body into that of Stride Vollachia, the Sin Archbishop of Pride."
Tanaka blinked, his breath catching in his throat. "...What?"
Cepheus's gaze sharpened. "As far as the world is concerned, you are Stride Vollachia. The transformation extends beyond flesh—into identity, into name. Should you attempt to speak your true name, your soul will recoil violently, much like what occurs when one reveals the secret of Return by Death."
Tanaka's mind spun. His name—his identity—stolen. Even his voice, shackled.
"For what reason?" he demanded, his voice cracking under strain. "What could they possibly gain from this? If they wanted me dead, they could have killed me and been done with it!"
"Who knows? Perhaps they wanted to toy with you—let you be slaughtered by those you once call comrades. Or…" His blue eyes gleamed faintly. "Perhaps they intend to make you one of them. The new Sin Archbishop of Pride."
Tanaka's blood ran cold. The thought alone made him nauseous.
"Me?" he muttered, his hands trembling. "Become a Sin Archbishop?"
That sounded like a reasonable assumption. In a way, they indeed isolated him, being hated by the world, they might now be the only group in the world that won't target his life.
He bit his lip so hard it bled.
"Over my dead body," he hissed, his voice shaking with fury. "I'd rather die a thousand times than become one of those scumbags."
His words hung heavy, defiant yet hollow. But even in his defiance, despair crept in—cold and unrelenting.
Then something flickered in his mind. A faint, desperate thread of hope.
"Subaru…"
He looked up sharply. Yes, Subaru. They shared the same curse, the same looping Authority. If he died, Subaru would feel it—he'd loop too. That's how it had always been. The nausea, the disorientation—it was unmistakable. But this time…
Tanaka's expression darkened.
He had died three times at Wilhelm's hand, but Subaru hadn't reacted. No pain, no shock, no hint of looping. Subaru was standing right there—close enough to see him die—and yet… nothing.
His voice trembled. "Why didn't Subaru notice when I was killed?"
Maybe he was mistaken, maybe Subaru showed a reaction and he didn't see him.
Cepheus was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his words were grave and measured.
"The only explanation," he said, "is that the cursed dragon blood severed the link between your Authority and his. Neither of you can now feel when the other dies."
Tanaka's breath hitched.
"Furthermore," Cepheus continued, "your looping point is bound to Subaru's—since your Authority is merely a copy of his. His last checkpoint was mere seconds before your first death. That's why your resets are so short. It's just bad luck."
He paused, letting the words sink in before adding, "Your bond with the spirits is also fractured. They can no longer sense your essence. The pure mana is holding off the cursed blood, hiding what once drew them to you. I doubt even that part was intentional."
Tanaka's lips parted in disbelief. He let out a hollow, broken laugh that barely escaped his throat. "Unintentional? You're saying all of this—" He gestured weakly to himself, to the storm, to the nightmare surrounding him. "—wasn't even planned?"
Cepheus gave no answer. His silence said enough.
Tanaka's laugh cracked into a sob. "Bad luck?" he echoed, voice trembling. "What the hell are you talking about? This is the worst! The absolute worst!"
He collapsed to his knees, the snow crunching beneath him, his body shaking. His voice broke apart with every word. "Why… why is this happening to me? What did I do wrong!?"
He had endured so much—pain, loss—and he'd held on through all of it. He had finally seen them safe. Beatrice. Emilia. Subaru. Everyone. He just wanted to go back… to laugh, to breathe, to be with them like before.
But instead, the world branded him as an enemy.
His heart throbbed painfully in his chest, each beat a cruel reminder that he was still alive in a world that now wished he wasn't.
Cepheus walked forward and knelt slightly towards the collapsed Tanaka, putting his hand on his shoulder, "Right now, you have to escape the city. Once you're beyond its borders, you can search for a way to lift the curse."
Tanaka looked back at, directly meeting his gaze. Was this supposed to be an attempt to comfort him? Tanaka couldn't help question it, after seeing his expression not softening.
Tanaka stared blankly into the blizzard. His lips trembled, his voice breaking apart when he finally spoke. "Escape? I can't… I can't do anything. Wilhelm—" His voice faltered, the image of the old swordsman's fury flashing through his mind. "He'll kill me again. I can't even fight back…"
Even if he were at his best—his mana full, his spirit companions by his side—his odds against Wilhelm were slim. But now? Tanaka was a ticking bomb, the fight will end the moment he exhausts his mana reserves.
"I will create an opening for you."
Tanaka blinked, his head jerking up. "What…?"
"For a brief moment," Cepheus explained, his blue eyes never faltering, "I can possess your body. My consciousness will overlap with yours, and I will act through you. It will not last long—but it will be enough to give you a chance to escape."
Tanaka clenched his fists, the trembling in his hands betraying his fear.
He couldn't trust this person, but what he was facing right now was truly a dead end.
This was his only chance.
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Wilhelm's blade trembled in his grasp—not from weakness, but from disbelief. His eyes, weathered and sharp even in old age, widened as he stared at the figure before him.
Stride Vollachia.
It was impossible. It had to be impossible.
That man—had perished more than forty years ago. Wilhelm had watched it with his own eyes, seen the dragon's maw engulf him, heard the screams fade into silence. And yet, here he stood—unchanged by time, untouched by decay. His face, his poise, his piercing grey eyes—everything was exactly as it had been on that day.
Wilhelm, now in his sixties, bore the marks of a lifetime carved into his body—white hair, lines etched deep into his face, and scars that told of countless battles fought and survived. And still, despite the toll of age, his spirit as a warrior burned bright. But standing before him now was something unearthly—Stride Vollachia, frozen in time.
His voice came out rough, disbelief bleeding through every word. "How are you alive?"
The name alone carried the weight of history—Stride Vollachia, the fallen prince of the Sacred Vollachia Empire.
Wilhelm's mind raced. The Witch Cult. The chaos. The resurrected heroes.
The Eight-Armed Kurgan—the terror of the battlefield.Theresia van Astrea—his beloved wife, the former Sword Saint.
Both had been brought back, twisted and controlled like puppets to wage destruction upon Pristella.
Reinhard was forced to kill his grandmother again.
It was unknown to the kingdom that the witch cult possessed such techniques, but Wilhelm once encountered one member capable of controlling other people's bodies.
And now, the pieces fell into place.
He clenched his sword tighter, rage and sorrow twisting together inside him. "So… it was you." His voice was low, trembling—not with fear, but fury.
The man before him raised his gaze, his expression calm yet utterly detached. "I have no time for such trivial matters," Stride Vollachia said coldly.
"You are in my way. Do not hold a grudge for what follows."
Then, his eyes shifted—grey turned to a cold, inhuman blue, glowing faintly like frost beneath moonlight.
In that instant, Wilhelm felt it—an overwhelming, suffocating pressure that clawed at his instincts.
Stride's presence… changed. It wasn't a matter of strength—it was unnatural.
An unsettling chill crept down Wilhelm's neck.
Was this... fear?
No. That couldn't be. Throughout his long life as a knight, Wilhelm van Astrea had faced death more times than most could count. He had lived through wars that painted the sky red, fought monsters whose roars shattered the courage of men, and crossed blades with heroes and demons alike. He had even faced Stride Vollachia before—and triumphed.
He was no stranger to danger. He did not tremble before death.
And yet… this sensation—this icy dread gnawing at his soul—was foreign.
The air itself seemed to reject him, vibrating with a suffocating aura that pressed against his chest. Stride stood unmoving, his cold blue eyes gleaming faintly through the haze like a king staring down upon a pebble.
But fear or not, Wilhelm's resolve did not waver. His heart might falter, but his duty would not. He was the Sword Demon of Lugunica—he would fulfill his oath, as both a knight and a husband, until the end of his breath.
With a slow, deliberate breath, Wilhelm steadied himself. He drew his blade, its steel whispering as it left the scabbard—a sound that once heralded the end of monsters. He shifted into stance, muscles tensing, gaze locked on his foe.
"Stride Vollachia…" he muttered under his breath, voice low and defiant.
Then—Stride raised his hand.
That simple gesture froze the world.
Wilhelm's body jerked violently, then stopped. His grip faltered. He tried to move, to even blink—but nothing obeyed. It wasn't fear holding him—it was something else. Something that invaded his nerves, his very essence.
A searing pain crawled through his muscles, twisting and burning like his veins were being filled with frost. His joints locked, his breath hitched. Every heartbeat echoed like a hammer against his ribs, he could feel it slowing down.
"Ghh—!"
Pain. Cramping. A cold ache spreading relentlessly through his limbs.
Numbness began to take over—first his hands, then his legs, then his chest.
He gritted his teeth, his veins bulging as he forced mana to erupt throughout his body. It flooded his limbs, crackling beneath his skin in a desperate surge.
"Ghh—!"
Wilhelm strained harder, his muscles convulsing violently. The force of his resistance made blood burst from his forearms and legs in fine crimson lines. He couldn't move—not even an inch—but he refused to yield. Every heartbeat felt like his body was being torn apart. Blood poured from his left eye, dripping across his cheek, staining the lines of age with raw defiance.
He refused to kneel.
Inside the void of Tanaka's mind, his voice trembled.
"What are you doing to him?!"
Cepheus's voice echoed back, calm but eerily cold. "I'm stopping his blood flow."
If blood flow stopped, cells would die within minutes. Oxygen deprivation would follow, organs would shut down—then death.
"Stop it! You're going to kill him!" Tanaka shouted, his voice trembling with rage and panic.
Cepheus remained indifferent. "You are in no position to worry about someone."
But Tanaka clenched his fists inside the shared void, his breath trembling.
Wilhelm wanted him dead, yes—but this wasn't an outcome he could accept.
He wasn't going to survive by killing someone he respected.
"Stop it!!" Tanaka screamed, his voice raw, echoing across the darkness of his subconscious.
A blinding flash tore through his mind.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back in control—his chest heaving, his hands trembling.
And Wilhelm…
Wilhelm lay on the ground, his sword fallen from his grasp, his limbs twitching weakly.
Tanaka's chest tightened. Instinct drove him forward, one trembling step after another, the urge to help clawing at him. But then—Wilhelm's hand moved. Slowly, painfully, it reached toward the fallen sword beside him.
Tanaka froze.
That single motion was enough to snap him back to reality. He bit his lip hard, tasting blood, his breath hitching between guilt and fear.
He stepped back—once, twice—then turned on his heel and ran.
Snow and ash crunched beneath his boots as he fled through the wreckage, heart pounding loud enough to drown the world around him. He didn't look back. He couldn't.
The echoes of shouting voices reached him moments later—knights rushing to the fallen Sword Demon's aid.
"Sir Wilhelm! Stay with us! "The battle's over! The Witch Cult's been driven out! "Someone, get a medic!"
But then—
"The battle's not over! The Sin Archbishop of Pride is still on the loose!"
"What—?! The Sin Archbishop of Pride?!"
"Don't let him escape!"
Their voices rose into chaos. Steel scraped, boots thundered across the ground.
Tanaka's lungs burned as he pushed himself harder, ignoring the pain in his legs, the dizziness clouding his mind.
Each breath came out as a shallow gasp—each step heavier than the last.
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"Turn the city upside down if we have to!" a knight roared in the distance. "We can't let another one escape!"
Tanaka stumbled beneath a crumbling stone bridge and collapsed onto the cold, damp earth. His body shook—not from the cold, but from the weight pressing against his chest. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as the sound of armored footsteps echoed above.
"Dammit…" His voice cracked, small and broken.
Why was he running from them—his friends, his comrades, the people he risked everything to protect?
He had dreamt of the moment he'd reunite with them. Of laughing and goofing around with them again.
But a horrible thought suddenly crept into his mind—quiet, poisonous, and impossible to ignore.
What if they're not looking for me at all?
The thought hit harder than death.
Maybe they'd moved on. Maybe his absence hadn't left the hole he imagined. To them, he was just someone who came and went—a traveler who shared their fire for a brief time before disappearing.
He wanted to believe they missed him like he missed them. But now… he couldn't.
He dug his fingers into his hair, trembling. "Why… why does it hurt this much?" he whispered, voice breaking.
He should have grown accustomed to loneliness, but he couldn't get rid of achiness that was eating him from the inside.
Tears slipped past his lashes, hot against the cold wind. His body curled inward, small and shaking beneath the bridge.
"This is so unfair…" he whispered, voice trembling with anguish. "Why… why does it have to be me?"
The river below the bridge murmured softly, carrying fragments of moonlight over its surface. Tanaka's sobs echoed faintly beneath the stone arch until—
Two faint orbs of light appeared before him.
"Sir, this place is dangerous," said a small, flickering spirit, its voice gentle yet distant. "You should leave before you get hurt."
"It's not like he can understand you. Let's just heal his wounds and move on."
Tanaka froze and looked up.
That tone...
Spirits never spoke to him like that—not even the first time they met. This made more sense since this was the first time interacting with them, but before they no spirit treated him like a stranger.
he's truly is unrecognizable now...
Cepheus's words echoed in his mind:It could be that they intend to make you one of them. The new Sin Archbishop of Pride.
His stomach twisted. If that was their plan—to isolate him, to make the world hate him, to force him into despair—then he wasn't going down without any resistance.
He wouldn't break.
Tanaka began tearing off his tire and remnants of his shirt, throwing them into the rushing river. His reflection stared back at him—someone unrecognizable, with long purple hair and grey eyes.
He clenched his fists, then turned to the spirits hovering nearby.
"I have a favor to ask you…" His voice was low, desperate, yet filled with resolve.
He didn't have to say it out loud, after talking for so long with spirits and dealing with them. He only spoke occasionally to break the habit but now he has gotten to a level where he can communicate with them telepathically.
The two spirits froze mid float.
"Huh? What are you saying sir?" one murmured, uncertain. "I told you, let's go," the other replied. "This guy's clearly lost it."
But when they looked again, they saw Tanaka's eyes—wavering, hollow, pleading.
"I'm begging you…" he whispered, every word trembling with sincerity.
The air grew still.
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By the time Tanaka reached one of the emergency aid posts scattered across the ruins of Pristella, the sky had turned a pale, exhausted gray. Smoke drifted lazily over the streets, mingling with the faint scent of blood and soot.
He stumbled toward a man wearing the armband of the city's corps.
"My carriage… was destroyed during the battle," Tanaka said weakly, his breath shallow. "And I don't have any money to get back home."
The man's eyes widened the moment he turned. "You! Are you okay?"
Up close, it was clear he'd been through hell—blood crusted along his arms, his face pale and dirt-smeared, his body trembling with fatigue.
His face, marked with slashes—was almost unrecognizable.
"I'll go get a healer. Please, wait here," the man said, already half-running toward the tents.
He shook his head weakly. "It's fine… really. It looks worse than it is. Healers are needed elsewhere." He steadied himself, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'll manage with some bandages. Just tell me if there's a way to find a spot in a carriage."
"Are you sure? You really don't look fine…"
He nodded slowly. "I'm sure." His voice was quiet, but firm—resolute in that empty, exhausted way of someone who'd long since given up on comfort. "Just tell me if there's a way to find a spot in a carriage."
The aid hesitated, clearly uncertain. "There is. The Hoshin Company is organizing evacuations—they're offering carriages to anyone displaced by the fighting. Where do you need to go?"
He paused, glancing toward the ruined skyline one last time.
"The Kararagi States," he murmured. "Banan."
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Notes: Cepheus: First he's one of the few original characters that are extremely important to the story. There are a few original characters that I might add, but Cepheus is probably the most important character in the series after Tanaka.
- The things I can mention now, first his name. Cepheus is a constellation in the deep northern sky. In mythology, the "king of constellations" is not one single figure but is most famously represented by the constellation Cepheus, named after the king of Aethiopia in Greek mythology.
- I think it's okay for the readers to think the situation between Cepheus and Tanaka is like the one between Ryomen Sukuna and Itadori Yuji. Except the fact that Tanaka can reclaim his body at any moment and Cepheus can't take unless Tanaka permits it.
- Cepheus is one of the strongest characters in the series, both in martial arts and magic. I'm not going to rank him but Tappei has a way to say that a character is somewhat overpowered when he makes it to the nine divine generals list in Lugunica if they existed.
- Cepheus has no issue killing anyone that is interfering with his goal, as shown during this chapter, if Tanaka didn't take interfere and reclaim his body, he was going to kill Wilhelm (I didn't mention it but Wilhelm is now partially blinded and wears an eye patch).
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Cursed Blood doesn't work on Subaru because he was exposed to many other curses before. Therefor, it works on any other person.
Tanaka is an exception because of his unique constitution, the pure mana within him holds the cursed blood and prevents him from getting weakened. But in return, it makes him less recognizable to spirits, the pure mana is what made spirits approach him. Now because of that, only a spirit or two help him at best (Think of spirits helping him as a charity, like they see a homeless man on the street and then go on their way. They might help him but they wont stick with him.)
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