She Who Became Immortal

"What in the world is that...?" Earl Muller muttered.

It was a natural question to ask upon witnessing such a spectacle, and it was equally natural that there was no one who could answer it. Earl Muller himself must have understood such a thing.

Descending from the flames, walking unscathed even with a sword thrust into her throat.

Eckhart himself also had the same question floating in his mind as his father, but just as expected, there was no answer, only countless question marks filling the inside of his skull.

What is that?

The Euphemia Grimwood known to Eckhart Muller was nothing more than a girl who, though beautiful, was neither poison nor antidote. The description of being like a flower suited her well.

She was nothing but a girl who couldn't survive without someone's help, simply beautiful.

And yet, such a girl was walking through the grounds.

Despite being naked due to her clothes having burned away, despite having been engulfed in flames until just a moment ago, despite having just been stabbed in the throat.

She walked on boldly.

"Shoot,"

Earl Muller said. It wasn't a shouting volume, but it was a firm command evident in his voice.

Almost without delay, the waiting archers released their arrows.

Thunk, Euphemia was blown away.

A single shot from a trained bow possessed that much power.

The aim was precise, Eckhart could see that the arrow pierced the center of Euphemia's body—around her chest. It meant she had approached that close.

Just a few moments, about two breaths' worth of time passed.

In that brief moment, Euphemia rose abruptly.

First, she swiftly brushed off the dust clinging to her body from rolling on the ground, then she passed a comb through her long golden hair just once.

And then, she glanced at the arrow stuck in her chest for a moment, tilted her head slightly—then continued walking.

"Foolish..."

A voice filled with fear and disbelief echoed through the tense air.

It wasn't clear whether it belonged to Eckhart himself, Earl Muller, or if everyone present shared the same sentiment.

Euphemia continued her stride.

No one dared to impede her progress anymore.

None could halt the advance of the stunning girl—with an arrow piercing the center of her chest—like a flower in bloom.

It felt almost sacrilegious to attempt to do so.

Eckhart wasn't the only one who felt this way.

"Hmm... I believe I grasp the situation somewhat now."

Euphemia's voice cut through the silence.

It carried a tone devoid of softness, one unfamiliar to Eckhart's ears. It was as if a scholar or an artist had encountered an enigma and finally assimilated it within themselves, such was the expression.

The fact that such a soliloquy was audible indicated Euphemia's close proximity.

Without sparing a glance at Eckhart, Euphemia, her gaze fixed firmly on Earl Muller, slowly extended her right hand. She grasped the arrow lodged in her chest and began to withdraw it, a sight so agonizing it caused onlookers' hearts to recoil.

Just a short while ago, witnessing Euphemia being consumed by flames, Eckhart hadn't entertained such thoughts.

The arrow fell with a metallic clang.

Euphemia's right hand, bloodied from extracting the arrow, should have been drenched crimson. However, upon inspection, there was no trace of blood on her hand directed toward Earl Muller. Not even a single wound marred Euphemia's modest chest.

In the eerie silence where words failed and movement ceased, Euphemia alone propelled herself forward.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

And then, four steps.

"I ought to be furious, yet deep down, I find myself strangely calm. However—regardless, in spite of that, I have made my decision. I have accepted it, for I had no other choice. You should do the same."

Her murmurs, devoid of warmth, reached their ears.

In the next instant,

―― Bang!

A thunderous sound reverberated. It resembled the crackling of logs thrown into a fire, yet it carried a finality, a fatality.

Eckhart struggled to tear his gaze away from Euphemia. Instead, he looked upon Earl Muller, his father, whom she had addressed—still, comprehension eluded him. Only the outcome remained unmistakable.

His father's head had exploded.

Afterward, Euphemia Grimwood simply departed.

None dared to pursue her, and Eckhart couldn't bring himself to approach his father's lifeless form until her silhouette vanished from sight.