Consciousness returned gradually.
Unfortunately.
The first thing I felt was nausea.
The second thing I felt was more nausea.
The third thing I felt was the realization that I was still alive.
A disappointing discovery.
My eyelids slowly opened to the wooden ceiling of a dragon carriage.
The entire world rocked back and forth as the vehicle barreled down the Liflaus Highway at a speed that would have made several transportation regulators very nervous.
Right.
The White Whale.
The battle.
The giant flying murder-fish was dead.
That should have been a good thing.
Instead, it felt like someone had poured an entire mana reservoir directly into my bloodstream and forgotten to install a drain valve.
Blue light flickered across my chest.
I turned my head.
Felixwas sitting beside me, one hand pressed against my, the center of the chest that protects vital organs and serves as a connection point for ribs and muscles, sternum while streams of pale blue water mana flowed into my body.
The knight looked exhausted.
Not normal exhausted.
The specific kind of exhausted reserved for medical professionals dealing with catastrophically irresponsible patients.
"...Morning."
"It's noon."
"Close enough."
Felix's eye twitched.
"Subaru-kyun, do ya have any idea how stupid ya are?"
"Many people have attempted to explain it to me."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
The healing magic intensified.
The nausea eased slightly.
Only slightly.
It felt less like dying and more like dying professionally.
Felix let out a long sigh.
"Yer body is fine."
Good.
"Yer Gate is fine."
Excellent.
"But."
There it was.
The dreaded medical 'but.'
"But yer completely saturated with mana residue. The Whale's death released enough magical fallout ta poison half a battlefield. Somehow ya absorbed a ridiculous amount of it."
I blinked.
"...That's bad?"
Felix stared at me.
The stare of a man reconsidering every life decision that had led him to this moment.
"Subaru-kyun."
"Yes?"
"If ya try ta cast any heavy magic right now, there's a chance ya actually damage yer Gate even mor."
"Oh."
"OH?"
"I'll avoid that then."
"Good."
I nodded weakly.
"Operational infrastructure is irrelevant, Ferris."
"...What?"
"As long as my strategic processors remain online, physical execution can be outsourced."
Felix looked moments away from committing a felony.
Before he could respond, I noticed something strange.
The carriage was quiet.
Far too quiet.
Rem sat across from me.
Several surviving knights occupied the remaining seats.
Nobody was talking.
The atmosphere felt heavy.
Like someone had died.
Which, admittedly, narrowed things down very little.
My gaze drifted toward the rear exit.
A knight sat there.
Perfect posture.
White uniform.
Lavender hair.
Golden eyes.
Julius.
Around him floated six tiny lights.
His quasi-spirits.
Except something was wrong.
Normally they orbited him with purpose, responding to his will like extensions of his own body.
Now they drifted aimlessly.
One bumped gently into his shoulder.
Another circled his head.
A third floated lazily near his hand before wandering away.
They looked less like contracted spirits and more like confused pets.
Julius stared silently out the window.
The Spirit Knight usually carried himself with confidence. Right now he looked like a man attending his own funeral.
"Julius."
The knight turned toward me.
I frowned.
"How are the spirits holding up?"
Silence.
Felix blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he looked at Julius.
Then at me.
Then back at Julius.
His expression twisted.
Not confusion.
Struggle.
Like his brain had encountered corrupted data.
"Subaru-kyun."
His voice carried the exact tone people use when asking whether you've recently suffered severe brain damage.
"...Who is 'Julius'?"
My stomach dropped.
The nausea instantly became secondary.
Felix frowned harder.
His eyes kept drifting toward the knight sitting in the carriage.
Then away.
Then back again.
Like he physically couldn't connect the name to the person.
"I mean..." Felix rubbed his temple. "There's obviously a knight sittin' there, but..."
His voice faltered.
"But what?"
"I don't know."
The answer came out strained.
Like his mind was rejecting the question itself.
Across from me, Rem tilted her head.
"'Julius'?"
She repeated the name slowly.
Then looked directly at the lavender-haired knight.
A faint crease appeared between her brows.
For a moment she looked genuinely uncomfortable.
As though she knew something was missing but couldn't identify what.
"I..."
Rem hesitated.
Then shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Subaru-kun. I don't understand."
The carriage fell silent.
Slowly, carefully, I turned toward Julius.
The knight met my gaze.
His expression remained calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm people develop immediately before a psychological collapse.
Oh.
Right.
Ley touched him.
Just once.
One touch.
One finger-lick.
That was all it took.
The Name Hack had saved Crusch.
It had saved Rem.
It had saved everyone else.
But Julius Juukulius, the Greatest of Knights, had apparently paid the bill.
Rem glanced toward him politely.
"If that knight is a friend of yours, Subaru-kun, then he is welcome among us."
That knight.
Not Julius.
Not Julius Juukulius.
Not the Finest of Knights.
Not Anastasia Hoshin's personal knight.
Her mind couldn't even comfortably attach the name I had spoken to the man sitting in front of her.
The realization hit harder than the mana poisoning.
Everyone had forgotten him.
No.
It was worse than that.
The world wasn't merely missing information.
It was actively rejecting it.
Felix.
Rem.
The surviving knights.
Anastasia was still miles away, but I already knew the answer there too.
If Julius walked up to her right now and introduced himself, her mind would slide right past the name as though it had never existed.
The world had deleted his profile.
Only two people still possessed the backup file.
Me.
And Julius himself.
The worst part was that nothing else had changed.
Julius still remembered everything.
Every battle.
Every oath.
Every embarrassing conversation.
Every friend.
Every subordinate.
He knew exactly who Felix was.
Exactly who Rem was.
Exactly who Anastasia was.
Meanwhile, they looked at him with the polite caution reserved for competent strangers.
It was horrifying.
Then Julius quietly raised a hand.
One of the quasi-spirits drifted toward him.
"Please."
The spirit bumped affectionately against his finger.
Then floated away.
Julius's expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
I felt my stomach sink even further.
The spirits remembered something.
Not him.
Just... familiarity.
Safety.
Like a scent they couldn't place.
Then the deeper implication hit me.
The reason they hadn't vanished entirely.
Julius possessed the Divine Protection of Gathering Spirits.
Spirits naturally adored him.
Even without contracts.
Even without names.
Even after Gluttony had ripped apart the administrative foundation connecting them.
The contracts were gone.
Destroyed.
The spirits no longer recognized him as their master.
But his Divine Protection still acted like a biological magnet.
They hovered around him because every instinct they possessed told them they loved being near him.
Not because they remembered why.
Ley hadn't just erased Julius from people's memories.
He had erased the contractual identity those spirits were bound to.
The spirits lingered because Julius himself was fundamentally irresistible to them.
But they no longer recognized him as the person they had sworn themselves to.
They wouldn't obey.
They couldn't.
The implications hit me immediately.
My primary combat asset for the Petelgeuse operation had just suffered a catastrophic systems failure.
No authority.
No reputation.
No spirit support.
And somehow I still needed him to command troops.
Fantastic.
As if reading my thoughts, one of the knights shifted uncomfortably.
The man glanced toward Julius.
"...Sir Knight."
Julius immediately looked over.
"Your shoulder wound reopened during the last stop, Sergeant Kline. Have Felix examine it before sunset."
The knight froze.
"...How do you know my name?"
Julius paused.
For the first time, a crack appeared in his composure.
A tiny one.
Gone almost immediately.
"You served under the eastern deployment during the Kararagi border incident," Julius answered calmly. "You favor your left side when exhausted."
The knight stared.
"I... did."
The carriage became even quieter.
Because that wasn't the answer of a stranger.
That was the answer of someone who knew him.
Really knew him.
And nobody understood why.
I rubbed my forehead.
Right.
No point pretending this situation was normal.
I pushed myself upright despite Felix's immediate look of disapproval.
"Everyone listen carefully."
The surviving knights turned toward me.
So did Rem.
So did Felix.
Even Julius looked surprised.
I pointed directly at the Spirit Knight.
"This man is my tactical executive."
Several confused expressions appeared immediately.
I ignored them.
"Do not ask for his credentials."
More confusion.
"If he calls you by name and tells you to move, you move."
A knight raised a hand.
"Sir Subaru, with respect—"
"You obey him as if his words came from my own mouth."
The knight immediately lowered his hand.
Good.
Authority was a wonderful thing when you accidentally acquired it.
The carriage remained silent for several seconds.
Then one of the Iron Fang mercenaries shrugged.
"If the Prophet says he's trustworthy, that's good enough for me."
Another nodded.
"Aye."
The tension eased slightly.
Not much.
But enough.
Across the carriage, Julius lowered his gaze.
For a brief moment, I thought I saw genuine gratitude in his eyes.
Then the mask returned.
Perfect posture.
Perfect composure.
The ghost of a knight sitting quietly in the back of a carriage while the world forgot he had ever existed.
We stopped briefly several hours later to rotate the ground dragons.
The moment the carriage doors opened, I stepped outside and immediately regretted existing.
Fresh air helped.
A little.
The magical hangover remained committed to its mission.
The dragons were being watered near a roadside stream while soldiers stretched their legs and checked equipment.
Julius stood apart from the others.
Of course he did.
Even now his posture was immaculate.
Back straight.
Uniform spotless.
Expression composed.
The picture-perfect image of an Imperial Knight.
Only his hands betrayed him.
They were trembling.
Barely.
Enough that most people wouldn't notice.
I did.
Because I knew what he had lost.
No name.
No family.
No history.
No place to return to.
If Anastasia stood in front of him right now, she wouldn't recognize the man who had devoted years of his life to serving her.
That wasn't death.
Somehow it felt worse.
I walked over and stopped beside him.
For several moments neither of us spoke.
The wind rustled through the roadside grass.
Finally Julius broke the silence.
"It appears I have become something rather inconvenient."
His tone was calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm people use when standing on top of a collapsing building.
"Yeah."
A faint smile appeared.
"Your honesty remains refreshing."
I stared at him for a moment.
Then I dropped the smile.
The retail-worker smile.
The customer-service smile.
The smile I used whenever reality became unbearable.
Gone.
Julius noticed immediately.
His expression shifted.
I looked him directly in the eye.
"You are Julius Juukulius."
The knight froze.
"You are the Finest of Knights."
Silence.
"You protected Anastasia Hoshin for years."
His trembling hands tightened slightly.
"You fought for this kingdom."
I took a step closer.
"You trained soldiers."
Another step.
"You saved lives."
Another.
"You carried your family's honor."
The wind seemed to stop.
"I don't care if the world's database glitched and wiped your profile, Julius."
His eyes widened slightly.
"I remember."
The words came out harsher than intended.
Good.
He needed to hear them.
"Your achievements are still on my ledger."
The knight stared at me.
"You still know every soldier here."
I pointed toward the camp.
"You still know how to swing that sword."
My finger shifted toward the blade at his waist.
"You are still the Greatest of Knights."
The trembling stopped.
"And I still need you to do your job."
For several seconds Julius said nothing.
Then he lowered his gaze toward his sword.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.
"A person with the status of an Imperial Knight should not lower themselves to act as a mercenary."
There it was.
The aristocrat.
The knight.
The man desperately trying to fit a shattered reality into familiar rules.
His hand rested lightly against the hilt.
"To protect my family's honor..."
A faint, sad smile appeared.
"Perhaps I should go by an alias."
I already knew where this was going.
"'Juli,' for now."
I stared at him.
Then sighed.
Deeply.
Profoundly.
Exhaustedly.
"Julius."
He looked up.
"You don't need an alias."
Confusion flickered across his face.
I gestured vaguely toward the soldiers.
"Nobody here remembers your family."
The words hit harder than any sword.
I saw it happen.
The realization.
The true weight of Gluttony's Authority.
Not just forgotten.
Erased.
"You can just call yourself Julius."
His expression tightened.
"..."
"And no one will care."
The silence became painful.
"To them, 'Julius' is already just a random wanderer."
For the first time since the Whale battle, Julius looked genuinely shaken.
Not broken.
Not defeated.
Just... forced to confront the full horror of his situation.
His name carried no prestige anymore.
No authority.
No legacy.
Nothing.
Then something unexpected happened.
His shoulders straightened.
Not in denial.
In acceptance.
Slowly, Julius looked down at his white coat.
The pristine uniform of an Imperial Knight.
His fingers brushed the fabric.
"You are correct."
His voice regained its strength.
"They do not know my name."
The golden eyes lifted.
"But they will recognize this uniform."
A faint determination appeared.
"They know what an Imperial Knight represents."
I blinked.
Then immediately became impressed.
Because that was actually brilliant.
The man's entire personnel file had been deleted from reality.
His solution?
Leverage the company brand.
No personal reputation.
No problem.
The uniform still had authority.
The title still had authority.
This was the most advanced example of fake-it-till-you-make-it corporate strategy I had ever witnessed.
Human Resources had erased him from existence.
Julius responded by becoming the logo.
Honestly? Respect.
The knight extended a hand.
Not as a noble.
Not as a rival.
Not as the Finest of Knights.
Just Julius.
I looked at it for a moment before shaking it.
His grip was firm.
Steady.
No trembling.
"Subaru Natsuki."
His voice carried absolute sincerity.
"You remain the only person capable of confirming my existence."
"That's a horrifying amount of responsibility."
A small laugh escaped him.
The first genuine one I'd heard all day.
"Indeed."
His expression hardened.
The uncertainty vanished.
In its place stood resolve.
"My blade is yours."
The statement carried no hesitation.
The quasi-spirits drifted lazily around him.
One landed on his shoulder.
Another circled his head.
None responded when he reached toward them.
Julius watched them for a moment.
"My spirits..."
A shadow crossed his face.
"They remain with me."
The nearest spirit rubbed affectionately against his cheek.
"...But they no longer hear my commands."
I winced.
Right.
That.
The spirit-radar plan.
The entire reason I had been relatively calm about walking into Petelgeuse's territory.
Gone.
Deleted.
Broken.
Fantastic.
Julius lowered his hand.
"I will continue attempting to restore the connection."
"Please do."
Because otherwise we were about to fight invisible murder-hands completely blind.
No pressure.
The rivalry was gone.
Burned away somewhere between the White Whale and Gluttony's finger-lick of doom.
What remained was trust.
Dangerous, irrational trust.
The kind that only formed after surviving disasters together.
Julius released my hand and glanced toward the waiting soldiers.
The nameless knight.
The forgotten knight.
The ghost in the white uniform.
And somehow, despite everything, he still looked every bit the hero.
Maybe names mattered.
Maybe memories mattered.
But some people were too stubborn to stop being themselves just because reality forgot the paperwork.
That was probably why he was the Greatest of Knights.
Even if nobody remembered it anymore.
Exactly twelve hours after our midnight departure, the Mathers domain came into view.
I checked my pocket watch.
Noon.
Perfect.
Or as perfect as anything involving Witch Cultists could be.
The moment we crossed into the forest surrounding Irlam Village, the atmosphere changed.
The midday sun vanished.
Ancient trees stretched overhead, their thick canopy swallowing the light whole.
The road narrowed.
The air grew colder.
Darker.
Claustrophobic.
Like the forest itself was holding its breath.
I adjusted my collar and stared into the gloom ahead.
Somewhere in there was Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti.
Archbishop of Sloth.
Professional lunatic.
Future problem.
I couldn't see the Unseen Hands.
Never could.
That was why I'd planned to cheat.
Julius's quasi-spirits were supposed to act as an invisible detection grid. A thermal radar. A magical early-warning system capable of identifying spatial distortions before they reached us.
A perfectly reasonable plan.
Unfortunately, reality had decided to conduct an unscheduled audit.
Julius stepped beside me.
"The spirits remain unresponsive."
I closed my eyes.
Briefly.
Professionally.
Internally.
The screaming lasted approximately three seconds.
Then I reopened them.
"We'll try anyway."
Julius glanced at me.
"They do not obey."
"I heard you."
"They may not respond at all."
"I heard that too."
The knight remained silent.
I adjusted my collar again.
The spirit-radar was broken.
The script was shattered.
The timeline was off the rails.
And I was marching into a dark forest with a magical hangover severe enough to qualify as a workplace safety violation.
Wonderful.
I checked my pocket watch one last time.
Then snapped it shut.
I had saved my golden parachutes.
Mostly.
The problem was that everything else had exploded.
Nothing is according to keikaku.
This was going to be terrible.