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Wait, this is...

A silhouette emerges from the darkness.

Followed by another, and another.

Their robes, hoods, and masks have not changed at all in the past twenty years.

A silhouette he could not be more familiar with emerges from the nightmare that's plagued him for his entire life, and steps right in front of him.

Welcome back to your territory—

—Graf Urtica.

Professor Hoffmann!

What is it, Franz?

Look what I just found... This is an Arts scroll that's been missing for ages!

And this! It can't possibly be the brass instrument used by Herkunftshorn himself, can it? There are treasures here far more valuable than I ever imagined!

My... My head... It hurts, verdammt!

Why now, of all times? When it's the most dangerous...? No, I can't fall here.

Professor... Hoffmann... Please go...

I... I'll... protect you...

Franz? What in blazes are you talking about?

Lessing was right. I can't keep running away.

All this time, there's always been someone protecting me.

All the people by my side... first it was that lady, then the respectable Gendarmerie, then Herr Czerny, and... him. All of them, more willing to sacrifice themselves than I.

But this time, I'll do it.

I'll kill myself here. I still have the Voice of Mundane they love so much... That should be more than enough to blow this chamber of evil to smithereens.

Grab what you want... while you still can... Go... Hurry...

It's time you got some rest, you silly child.

What... did you say?

My life's work is about to be realized, but how am I supposed to accomplish all this without you?

This is the second time.

Someone holds a brass instrument up high and violently strikes his head.

'Graf Urtica.'

Many years ago, he woke up to find himself shackled to that chair. In the ten years since, he was granted this name.

He never wanted the title of Graf, and he despised the name Urtica more than anything. Even the name Franz, an old-fashioned name used by countless noble children, is something he has always loathed.

In that spire standing tall in the center of the Urtica Grafschaft, he tried to escape that chair again and again. After all, it was never him that the nobles reporting on the affairs of the Grafschaft truly cared about.

They knew each other well, which is why the guards only ever came early in the day, to drag him from the curtains to the chair.

After a long time, he would finally be allowed to roam the spire aimlessly. Not even the guards noticed him then, until the next morning arrived.

The days went by in that vicious cycle.

If he hadn't tried to run even farther afield, hadn't thought about the other person suffering a similar fate, hadn't tried to resist, and hadn't been shown any hope whatsoever...

Then perhaps he would have been bound to that chair his entire life.

But then, today, he finds himself caught once again. And behind him is yet another familiar chair.

Its shadow is simple, elegant, and entwined with thorns. At a single glance, it feels as if his eyes, brain, and heart have been pierced with intense pain.

Even the cheers around him are similar.

It's just that, this time, they call him—

'Witch King.'

A standoff.

It was meant to be a sudden assault. The casters of Kreis Heldenschwert would disguise themselves as musicians and infiltrated the Witch King's Spire, while the armies from Erdenherre and Sturmland would stay hidden outside through their enchantments.

No one dared underestimate the Witch King's power, but the battle was nonetheless harder than anyone could have imagined.

The army outside the Spire was discovered by the Einwald Imperial Guard. The first wave of casters all died at its base, while the second wave was swallowed by the endless staircase.

The only ones who made it to the throne were the Twins. Grimmacht, and her sister, Ewigegnade.

Black and red had always been the Urtica colors, but from the entrance to its deepest innards, the Spire was almost completely void of black tiles.

House Urtica's secret chamber lies underground, and it's very close to Sonata Spire, so we can make our way down through it. Herr Fremont has already left, and we must catch up.

Nein.

Is something the matter?

Go no further.

The Witch King's Imperial Guard is here. You will die.

The Imperial Guard? What do you mean?

The folks from Heldenschwert never expected you people to win. They simply wanted the Sturmland armies to keep the Imperial Guard at bay while the Twins climbed the spire.

In their plans, all of you were meant to die. The Witch King, the Twins, everyone.

Tell your father and Ernst that the Hochbergs should not be buried here, not in this spire.

Herr Reiner, my father is dead.

I'm the reason that you're the only survivor.

I'm the one... who took away your freedom...

Please, look at me. I'm Viviana.

Did you perhaps... mistake me for my father?

Leave now. Leave Ludwigs-Universität.

Grimmacht's envoy has passed on the Kaiserin's order. As an Empresses' Voice, you have more than enough grounds to terminate your mission.

And to prevent the Voices from going out of sync, Ewigegnade won't punish you for it either.

Do you hear the commotion around us?

It sounds familiar.

This is practically a battlefield. My duties prevent me from escorting you out, but I can at least use my melody to forge a path through the chaos for you.

...Nein.

I will never forget how quiet and peaceful it was when we entered the campus. The young students' faces still had hope for what was to come.

I can't let them become sacrifices to this conflict.

While I'm nowhere near as strong as you or Herr Fremont, I'd like to help as many of those weaker than me as I can.

Herkunftshorn's secret lies ahead.

Ewigegnade said that when Das Kaiserinnensfest comes to an end, you'll have another chance to choose.

But once you've gazed upon the country's darkest, most hidden secret, all your other choices will immediately evaporate.

I expected as much.

But while I long for freedom, I can't very well turn my back on people suffering right in front of me.

Ironic, isn't it?

...You're just like your father.

Ja, I know.

I've... always known the kind of man he was.

What's going on? Why are there so many people underground?

They charged inside! It's not just Sonata Spire, either; The Scholars' Spire next door, too! There are students everywhere!

Stop them all! Don't let them block the stairs, or we can't chase—

Who did that?

No idea, there's too much going on! I can't make anything out!

W-Witch King's remnants!

Listen.

Listen to the extreme chaos, as well as to the only melody that can be found within it.

That is Herkunftshorn's sigh.

The final sound our king left upon this land.

The supreme spire, whose dark shadow on the ground causes all to shudder.

Those who do not wish to be engulfed in darkness paddle their arms and climb the staircases leading up.

The pitch black will hangs over the throne in silence, awaiting inquiries from other souls.

Those who hide behind the curtains regret the demise of love.

Those who lead the charge in others' stead ponder the meaning of heroism.

Those who wade through the sea of their fallen comrades' blood lament the price of their sacrifice.

All of them now gather at the far ends of this spiral staircase, to witness the birth of this melody.

Its name—

—<i>Der Tod des Hexenkönigs</i>.

It's the Witch King's army! They're charging toward me!