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Even if the Don's already agreed to do so.

Ingrid, even if the kid swears he won't shoot his mouth off, there's no guarantee city hall won't hear about some ridiculous rumors from him.

Many famiglie have their eyes on us. I can't afford the risk.

Papa will understand.

Think about your family too, Ingrid.

A wolf asked me to fulfill an agreement we made, and I came back to this country for my daughter.

My anger has long ceased to burn for the famiglia.

I act only for my own sake now, Anton.

...What a shame. Then I'm afraid there's no more room for any discussion.

You think they can hold me off?

No, I just need to make sure that kid keeps his mouth shut.

Anton, answer this question.

When you bailed me out and said you knew who was the culprit behind Lisa's injury, were you telling the truth?

...Absolutely. I've never lied to you, Ingrid.

After I sent Lisa away from Siracusa, I investigated the matter myself in secret, and although I found nothing...

I always had some suspicions I didn't want to admit was possible. Though, I don't think you'll speak any more on the subject, for now at least.

...Forgive me, but I can't tell you anything right now.

No need. I'll find out eventually.

The blade falls just above Antonio's nose, but he retains his smile.

Ingrid, you know there are people watching every move we make in this household.

Such indecent behavior from you.

Ingrid, please lower your blade, for my sake.

...Don Venezia.

Long time no see, child.

Old Vasily was a valiant emperor.

Some say that even after the age of eighty, he would don his crown and head to battle.

Ursus had suffered a crushing defeat deep in the snowfields. The bodies were churned into the snow, the corpses piled up into walls.

The emperor screamed bloody vengeance, his anger louder than the howling wind.

The surviving officers surrounded his tent, but the crown shone bright, so bright that the people could only shout their reverence for him.

A sudden fierce gust from the north blew the tent open. Only then did everyone dare to raise their eyes and look ahead.

The crown had fallen on the ground. No longer was there an emperor on the snowfields. It is said that in the end, Old Vasily was trampled to death by the crowd.

Of the countless nameless soldiers kneeling outside his tent, none knew the name of the Slayer of Crowns, or from where they came.

Oh, this is the first time I've heard you tell this story in Siracusan.

So you got the name 'Crownslayer' out of a book. What's the book called again?

'Truth and Justice'.

Sounds complicated... I thought books like that were all chunky doorstoppers about big ideas, but you're saying it's a storybook?

No, it's not. The stories inside aren't for entertainment, but to get people thinking.

What is 'truth'? What is 'justice'?

Should they be considered the same? Should they be set against each other? Who gets to be the one that defines them? Which side of the scale do we believe we're on?

Or maybe they don't exist in any real sense? Just like... Just like how Reunion is over.

In the end, the only time they're of any use are when putting together a lovely little list of justifications.

Err... Y'know, before you told me this story, all I wanted to ask was where we should head next.

I was just about to say. This is where we part, friend.

If you keep going straight this way, you'll come out of the woods and spot some old nomadic city tracks.

There's likely to be Leithanian border patrol teams nearby, or possibly Siracusan cargo landships passing through. Watch out for them.

You made it through Chernobog and Lungmen. Avoiding them shouldn't be too difficult for you.

*sigh* Out of a team of thirty, I'm the last man standing...

Why can't we just stay here, Crownslayer?

If we stay together here, we'll just become targets for those in power. That or be forced to become cannon fodder again.

Since you guys didn't want to follow Nine, I'll be the one seeing you off.

This is the last thing I can do as Reunio—the last thing I can do for you.

But where will you go? You'd be on your own too, wouldn't you?

I'll wander. I'll check on a few things. I'll think a bit.

Before I left Siracusa, my master told me not to go back to Ursus to seek revenge. I was too weak, and knew too little... But I didn't listen to her.

It might be time to return now. I'd like to see her again. Maybe she can give me some other suggestions... Ways for me to become stronger.

What's your master like?

She's from one of the Siracusan famiglie. She was strong in battle, yet also one of the wisest people I knew. She taught me a lot.

Siracusa, eh? That's a long ways away.

Look at this bonfire out here among the snow, friend. Once, it could ignite the anger of the Infected. It could spark the dream of Reunion. It could set all of Ursus ablaze.

But now, all it does is keep us warm.

Here's the last thing I have to say to you: Forget Talulah. Forget Chernobog. Forget Lungmen. Forget Reunion. Forget us. If you choose to leave, then leave it all behind you.

Hell, forget the crystals growing on your body. Maybe if you forget everything, you can go home.

*sigh*...

Though we both chose to leave, I always felt you and I weren't alike...

You look like you're the type of person who knows a lot, and you've read lots of books. At times, I feel like you, the Captain and Talulah are all pretty similar.

*sigh*... I meant more like... When I was little, my grandpapa always said people who read too much were easily lead astray.

Anyway... Never mind. See you later, Crownslayer. Best of luck to you. Looks like you're going to need it.

We won't be seeing each other again, friend.

Ugh, my tail's all wet.

Nothing's changed at all. Neither these filthy streets, nor this damned rain.

Dunno what it is, but even though the snow in Ursus can kill people, the rain here's somehow more unpleasant.

Hope there's a hairdryer at my master's place...

Maestro!

The thick, inescapable stench of blood.

Her teacher lies face-up on the ground, fresh blood still flowing outward and spreading.

A small knife has been dropped nearby.

Lyudmila tries to approach and stifle her teacher's still-bleeding wound, but she finds herself unable to move a single step, unable to even tear away her gaze.

From the shadows wafts an aura that is both familiar and terrifying to her.

A wolf with gray hair, wearing a red hoodie.

The true wolf is dead. I did as Grandmother asked.

It's you.

What... have you done?!

I am a wolf hunter. I do as Grandmother asks.

The true wolf is dead. The true wolf did not fight.

Why...

Why?

Why has this girl wearing a red hoodie chased after her, haunted her from Yan to Siracusa?

You...

Who the hell...

Who the hell are you?!

Lyudmila silently looks at the fire in front of her. It is a burning duffel bag, her master interred within.

She did not sleep at all that night. She thinks about how she used salt and water to scrub away the bloodstains in the room, how she dragged her master's corpse out into the wilds under the cover of the incessant rain.

She was stick-thin before she died. Lyudmilla barely had to exert herself.

Lyudmila never forgot how she met her master.

There was blood everywhere. Her uncle, her only living relative. His family. His servants. Their corpses strewn across the entire house.

The one who sent her to Siracusa told her that her uncle had control of the businesses on a couple of streets. Not a powerful man, per se, but in a small Siracusan town, it would be enough to let her live comfortably.

But before she could even get used to her new life... A simple Originium bomb smashed through the windows. In the chaos, her arm was gashed. She trembled in fear as she cowered under the bed.

There was no difference between the gangsters rushing into that house and the Ursus Guard charging into the lab. She felt like she was back in Chernobog, back in that night she lost her father.

Only when everything finally went quiet did Lyudmila dare to leave her room.

The gangsters, too, were lying down in pools of blood. The only ones alive in the house were her and the lowliest of her uncle's servants.