Uploaded February 2022 | Updated September 2026, 3 days ago
This footage is for archival purposes, feel free to use.
Chapter 1: 00:00
Chapter 2: 06:24
Chapter 3: 13:15
Chapter 4: 19:52
Boss Battle: 26:52
Character Story: Reborn Truant
This is the story of when the lonely boy arrived at a certain truth.
The boy finally fulfilled the revenge he had long been seeking,
but the truth he earned as his reward snatched away all he had
trusted in thus far.
Family, love, effort, hatred, sadness, anger, trust, hope—all were
swallowed up by somber reality.
Weapon Story: Perfect Justice IV
I want to run, but cannot. How do the scales sway when weighing
one's own life against another? Was I spineless, or simply
pragmatic? If anyone knows the answer, please tell me.
I grasp my sword with shaking hands. Can I complete my mission
like this? Perhaps it's right for my body to loathe the task I must do.
In that case, my spirit—which obeys—is in the wrong.
I complete my first mission today. The dying soldier's eyes stare
at me, and I feel like the blackness of his pupils swallow me whole.
"For justice," I say to myself. "For justice."
The soldier's blood drips from the tip of my sword, its red the
concentrated color of all the world's hate. That hate is caked on
me now; I can no longer turn back.
This footage is for archival purposes, feel free to use.
Chapter 1: 00:00
Chapter 2: 06:24
Chapter 3: 13:15
Chapter 4: 19:52
Boss Battle: 26:52
Character Story: Reborn Truant
This is the story of when the lonely boy arrived at a certain truth.
The boy finally fulfilled the revenge he had long been seeking,
but the truth he earned as his reward snatched away all he had
trusted in thus far.
Family, love, effort, hatred, sadness, anger, trust, hope—all were
swallowed up by somber reality.
Weapon Story: Perfect Justice IV
I want to run, but cannot. How do the scales sway when weighing
one's own life against another? Was I spineless, or simply
pragmatic? If anyone knows the answer, please tell me.
I grasp my sword with shaking hands. Can I complete my mission
like this? Perhaps it's right for my body to loathe the task I must do.
In that case, my spirit—which obeys—is in the wrong.
I complete my first mission today. The dying soldier's eyes stare
at me, and I feel like the blackness of his pupils swallow me whole.
"For justice," I say to myself. "For justice."
The soldier's blood drips from the tip of my sword, its red the
concentrated color of all the world's hate. That hate is caked on
me now; I can no longer turn back.
