Practical War Game - Yuu Kamiya
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
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Contents
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
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ABSTRACT WAR GAME
A group of figures could be made out in the silent chambers of the Elkia
Royal Castle’s Great Hall. The tension was palpable. Two players were
seated at a table, staring wordlessly at the chessboard in front of them as a
group of spectators watched nervously from the sidelines. After taking a
while to plan his next move, a young man with dark eyes and black hair
finally broke the silence.
“…Okay, no way my mind is playing tricks on me. So yeah… Uh—?”
His face froze into a smirk befitting his personality, one that was almost
avant-garde levels of twisted.
“Mind telling me when this piece got there?! When did you move
this?!”
His yelling echoed through the castle halls—Sora, virgin, eighteen years
old.
“Why, whatever are you saying? You couldn’t pooossibly think I’d ever
get away with such an obvious way to cheat. ”
The pointy-eared Elven girl who replied had wavy, golden-blonde hair
and clover-shaped pupils. She shrugged off Sora’s claim with the sunniest
of smiles—her name was Fiel Nirvalen.
“You know what I’m talking about! When did my rook get there?! …
Aggghhh, I’m putting that back where it was!”
“You can’t just move the pieces any which way you want. Looks like
you’ve lost thiiis one—”
“I know you moved it with your magic!! If you’re gonna act like you
didn’t, at least try to sound convincing!!”
Fiel was definitely cheating. Any form of cheating would automatically
make her the loser. Sora glanced over at one of the spectators—Jibril—who
answered his look with a regretful shake of her head. She couldn’t tell when
or how the piece was moved—therefore, it was impossible to prove Fiel had
broken the rules.
Besides, there was no point in pushing the issue any further; Sora’s rook
had been moved to a spot that put Sora at an advantage!! Fiel had secretly
moved one of his pieces in order to make him look like a cheater. He looked
at her smug face and said:
“Also, couldja cut the invisible crap with Shiro before I’m forced to
hang myself?! Have mercy on my neck here!! C’mon—if you value my life
at all, you’ll hurry up and cancel your spell, kthx!!”
“Fi, don’t cancel that spell!! If we play our cards right, Sora just might
off himself for us!”
Sora was doing his best to hold it together but was basically ready to
take himself out at any moment. One spectator wasn’t going to let this
opportunity pass her by—Chlammy, who with utmost enthusiasm ordered
Fiel to keep up her spell.
“Oh? Do you have any proof that I turned Shiro inviiisible?”
Sora thrust his smartphone at Fiel, who was playing dumb as per
Chlammy’s request.
“I can still see her in my camera! To my right! She’s way whiter than
usual, see?! I dunno what you did to her, but hurry up and turn the spell off,
you damn monster!!”
“Hmm? So you have proof that picture is real, too? ”
Y-you…you bitch—!!
“Same goes for that damn sun!! Get rid of that shit!!”
Sora lost his cool, both physically and mentally. The giant, bright ball
floating above him played a large role in that. He was being pelted with
rays of hot sunlight, as if he were at the beach in the middle of summer
instead of inside a castle.
“Just how many spells do you plan on using?! I’m only a human! Take it
easy, will ya?!”
“Why, I have to use so many because you’re only an Immanity. To be
honest, I wish I could use a lot mooore,” Fiel replied with a pleasant smile,
but she was deadly serious—her eyes were as cold as ice.
Why are we doing this again? Sora searched his hazy thoughts for the
reason why a simple chess scrimmage had turned into a borderline death
match…
Once the game was finished, Jibril captured the loser’s end of the deal on
camera using Sora and Shiro’s smartphone and tablet. Meanwhile, the
siblings thought: I’ll never be able to look at a pair of scissors the same
way again…
“Fi! You better not have lost on purpose! Hey, stop—”
“Who, me? I did the best I could, hooonest… Why, I’m feeling really
down about it… Maaaybe I’ll feel better if you use the Covenants to figure
out where you should touch me right nooow. ”
“Sto… I—I can’t say that out loud— Hngh!”
Whether the Covenants had anything to do with this was another matter
entirely. The fruits of Sora’s victory were sweet indeed, but rather than
basking in it…
“…So, uh…mind if I ask what Think was like?” Sora inquired, quickly
ridding his eyes of any remaining glint before twiddling a chess piece in his
fingers. Fiel’s mouth, with Chlammy’s ear still in it, began to form a
dangerous smile. She looked straight at Jibril and answered with a strange
sense of pride:
“Why, there aren’t many details left about her… After allll—”
“Yes—evidently, she lived in the Elven capital that I destroyed with my
Heavenly Smite before I borrowed all their books. ”
Figures. That explains why Jibril knew so much about the two mages.
It’s always her fault, the siblings thought with a sigh.
On that day, Think Nirvalen lay on the hot sand—so hot, it was turning into
glass—staring aimlessly at the sky.
…Even with her long ears, all she could hear was silence. The gem
embedded in her forehead looked more like charcoal; her empty eyes with
their diamond-shaped pupils flickered with the light from the heavens. That
crimson light burned up into the detritus that filled the air: the iridescent
blue vestiges of dying spirits. With every blink, Think counted another
streak of light falling through the sky, another vessel tumbling from the
fleet of Elven airships. As she faded in and out of consciousness, as if
waking up from a dream, she thought:
I wonder what the real color of the sky used to be. I wonder what the
world was like before the Great War…
It was the first time she ever asked herself these questions…
……
When she was a child, she used to think how much better it would be if
the world were simpler. Not because of how lawless, pointless, worthless, or
cruel the world was. She merely felt simpler was better, more natural. This
clever, innocent little girl who viewed the world so disinterestedly believed
that—
—and the world finally listened.
Whenever her ideas came to fruition, this cruel, broken world slowly but
surely became simpler—better. The theorization and systemization of spells
and rites is what allowed groups of casters to perform large-scale rites in
tandem. Groups of casters were divided into battalions, which were then
divided into squads. These squads were organized into tactical formations,
which made coordinated attacks possible.
The battalions are the musical notes, the strategy is the musical score,
and the battle is the performance. Or perhaps in terms of chess: the pawns,
opening moves, and how the game plays out from there.
The war cries of soldiers, the dying throes of those cut down, the
triumphant cheering of the victorious, and the tragic wails of the fallen. It
truly was a symphony. It was all that the world and its wars amounted to for
the young genius, who had chalked up masterpiece after masterpiece on the
battlefield. None of it mattered to her; she knew it was all pointless. She
simply did her duty the same way one tidies their room—aimlessly, without
rhyme or reason.
The little girl eventually grew into a woman, and the world was more
malleable to her will than ever before. The time had come for her to pay
tribute to Kainas, the god of the forest, creator of the Elves. She got down
on one knee and bowed her head like she was supposed to do—but as
always, none of it meant anything to her.
“I commend thee for thy wisdom, thy contributions to Elfkind, and for
thy loyalty to me. The advent of a flower such as thyself is surely an
auspicious sign that the Great War is coming to an end; that the Elves shall
prevail triumphant over the other foolish races and their false gods; that I
shall take my rightful place on the throne of the One True God.”
An end to the Great War? The One True God? Of what, exactly?
She was at her wits’ end. When did the War even start? This simpleton
who thinks they’re a god doesn’t even know that. A war that never ends is a
part of homeostasis. The same way rivers cut away from the earth, the sea
crashes into the land, the land parts the sea, and earth buries its rivers.
Planets are in a state of constant change. What difference does it make if it
is nature or gods and Elves who are doing the changing?
Kainas wants to be the One True God? Sure—let them have it. And if
they can’t have that specific throne, then a porcelain one will do just fine…
Before long, Think received the title of Grand Magus—an archmage, the
epitome of mages. She continued to manipulate the world around her the
way she had since she was a child, without any shred of doubt.
Nothing in existence could stop her.
The world was her playground. She had thought that, at least until today
—this day, this moment.
……
An explosion broke the silence and hit her like a punch in the gut. Her
hearing eventually returned, along with her consciousness, which quickly
reoriented itself. But even the blazing sand she lay upon and the black ash
that pelted her like rain weren’t enough to stir her to action. The only thing
she could move was her diamond eyes. Think Nirvalen looked up and saw a
dark figure that covered her with its shadow. It was a man who shouldered a
mass of steel many times his own size. He gazed down at her.
“ ”
Think couldn’t understand what he was saying—she didn’t even know
what language it was. But now that she was fully conscious, she managed to
recall what had just happened.
…And like always, she stuck to the simplest of terms.
It was a long process, really. The process of leading the Elven army to
eliminate the Dwarf race.
She had been stopped.
Think had encountered the Dwarves—it was the first time she had ever
seen their steel armada flying through the sky. She came under fire…
…De…feat…?
She wasn’t familiar with the term…the concept…the notion of defeat. It
hit her slowly, like a droplet of water seeping through the crevasses of her
brain.
Defeat—? Who lost? How? Why?
Think was bewildered. This had never felt like fighting to her. She
crawled her way out of the fallen airship and saw him. It was about to
happen. This man was about to do it. He was going to stab her with that
mass of steel, and then…
…And…then…?
Her mind refused to grasp the situation, as did her eyes. The massive
steel object the man was now holding above his head—she could tell it was
a sword. This was the sword that would do it. This shining sword was going
to cut down her many spells, and…then…
When this sword lands, my life will be forfeit.
Think played out the scenario in her mind, which felt completely
separate from reality, while she remained motionless on her hands and
knees and watched the steel mass in a daze. The blade gleamed as it fell
toward her, when suddenly—
“ ?!”
—the moment the man tried to swing it down, it cracked down the
middle, and the lower half snapped clean off. The man looked at his blade
in astonishment…before bursting into laughter and looking up into the sky.
,
Think wouldn’t understand what had happened until later. Weapons like
the man’s sword were called spirit arms. They were tools Dwarves used to
control their magic. During his fight with Think, he put too much of a
burden on his weapon, which caused it to break. She didn’t know this yet,
though. Even more confusing was why the man was laughing so jovially.
Both armies had fallen, and the battlefield was in ruins—put simply, the
man was enjoying the fact that his supposedly invincible steel armada was
now falling apart.
“ Lóni Drauvnir.”
He told Think his name as he smoothly turned to take his leave. It was
almost humorous how thick his accent was. Doing what she imagined was
his best not to bite off his own tongue, he said one more thing in his
horrible Elven:
“Until we play again. I’ll kill you myself.”
…How many minutes, maybe hours, went by after that?
On that day, Think Nirvalen lay alone on the hot sand and black ash. She
had at last realized something, just as she finally regained control of her
arms and legs and tried to get herself up.
She’d claim the world as her own and finally see what color the sky
really was. She took a deep breath—and let out a sigh…
“…Why, you can’t leave me like this, begging for mooore. ”
That was the day Think Nirvalen was born.
…Maybe not born… More like—the day she snapped.
She didn’t know that, though. Anger was something she never thought
she’d have to deal with.
Her ominous laughter heralded the monster that had just been born, a
genius out for blood…
Think Nirvalen.
After her defeat, the genius to end all geniuses, the Grand Magus,
disappeared without a trace. The Elves were instantly thrown into utter
chaos. Now, however, the shock and horror of the whole ordeal was already
a thing of the past.
Cheers filled the Elf capital Melryln, which was hidden away in an
expansive forest. A vá-lu-plum airship floated gracefully through the skies
above, and on its deck stood a small Elf—young by even Elven standards.
She wore a celebratory sash over an ill-fitting Grand Magus robe—the
incessant stream of cheers was for her. This young, innocent little girl
commanded the deepest of respect, even from the elderly admiral of the
Elven air force, who stood next to her.
“Grand Magus… Your flawless leadership helped us see another
victory.”
She had received a title thought to be long lost to history.
“…I did nothing. My thanks to you, Admiral, and the Aseä Alanion, for
your help.”
Without an inkling of boasting over her military feats, she simply sent
out a warm gaze upon the city she protected. She was sincere when she
thanked the commander in her soft, high-pitched voice, reminiscent of a
small bell. He could hear her earnestness in her words.
Nina Clive.
The disappearance of the previous Grand Magus, Think Nirvalen, had
brought the survival of the Elf race into question. That question now almost
seemed silly, though, with the appearance of a new young genius—an octa-
caster practically sent from the heavens. This Elf soon rewrote the group of
theories that magic had previously been based on—effectively reducing the
previous school of thought to a footnote in Elven history books—which
quickly elevated her to the youngest Elf to be granted the title of Grand
Magus. She swiftly began reorganizing the Elven military, taking her
predecessor Think Nirvalen’s place. Her expansion of the army was nothing
short of revolutionary. Think Nirvalen, the unrivaled genius among
geniuses, was now a relic of the past.
The commander’s eyes squinted into a smile. This young Elf outranked
him, had more magical talent—hell, she even had more military accolades
than he did.
With such a great divide between the two of us, and in so many different
ways, I cannot even envy her…
Hence, he merely shook his head in quiet awe.
“Help, you say… You are far too humble. My, my…”
The Elves had received an urgent report from the northern front of an
incoming Dwarven fleet, and a massive one at that.
Nina Clive was stationed in the northern city of Helruin with the main
Elf army. She was charged with leading the Aseä Alanion, the Elves’ most
elite battalion, into battle. She rushed to pull troops from the eastern and
western fronts in order to build up their defense in the north—a move which
may have seemed a bit over the top at the time.
No caution was too much, however, when it came to aerial combat with
the Dwarves. Much to the Elves’ chagrin, the Dwarves dominated the skies.
The Elves went to battle thinking it was going to be a bloody one. They
knew they wouldn’t lose, but the battle wouldn’t end without paying a
significant price, one necessary to keep damages to a minimum—or so the
Elves thought…
The In-Sein Nebia, also known as the fog of death, was among the worst
of all the known Phantasmas—a calamity in its truest form. This fog could
change size and shape at will—from a dense fog large enough to engulf a
desert to a single dew drop.
It consumed anything and everything in its path—organic or inorganic—
and decayed it into oblivion. Destroying the Phantasma’s core was the only
way to stop its creeping wall of death, a feat nigh impossible given how
difficult it was to actually find the core, which could be any drop of liquid
in the entire fog cloud. The only feasible way to escape its clutches was to
freeze or evaporate large parts of it all at once.
This living absurdity had appeared right behind the Dwarven fleet,
which was moving at high speeds in an effort to force their way through the
Elf defenses. The Elves had employed a deep defense, assuming a
semicircle formation in order to try and sandwich—and potentially
surround—the Dwarves.
The Elven soldiers lay in wait, unable to scold their comrades for
cowering in fear.
The plan had fallen through. It was a nightmare scenario, especially
given how the Dwarves were hightailing it out of there. Truth be told, the
admiral almost gave the order to retreat—it was this close to rolling off the
tip of his tongue. He looked to his side and saw Nina Clive stifling a cackle
as she gave her orders:
“…Hold your positions.”
Akasha… The admiral had heard the word before. It was an experiment
being conducted in the Elven capital of Melryln. The experiment was
supposedly taking place under the creator of the Elves—Kainas’s—
sanctuary, but the rumors stopped there. Any further information about the
Hollowfication Project was above an admiral’s rank…
The Grand Magus signed the document with her petite, dainty hands.
She gave it back to the woman, who let out a small, but audible, sigh of
relief. The admiral quietly let slip another awkward chuckle.
“…Something you want to say?”
“Oh no—I was just thinking about how young the two of you are.”
He found it interesting that this woman—who took pride in being an
elite and was of a rank high enough to be involved with the Akasha
Hollowfication Project—also held the genius Magus in revere. She was no
different than he was when it came to understanding—well, not
understanding—whatever had transpired that day. Her evident relief made
her remark earlier somewhat entertaining.
…It wasn’t long ago when going up against a Phantasma was considered
suicide. Especially against the In-Sein Nebia—that was downright
laughable.
Not anymore, though…
The admiral and the veiled woman shared the same thought as they
gazed at the Grand Magus from behind.
The young Magus stood atop the stern of the ship, trying to fix the
clothes that were obviously too big for her. The tiny gestures she made with
her hands as she straightened out her gown were cute, though unbefitting,
all things considered. It only added to how terrifying her boundless genius
was.
Nina Clive was an Elf of few words. She listened, learned, imagined,
thought, and understood—therefore she never needed to counsel in anyone.
She let others know what to do, answered their questions, and did what
needed doing. They needed only to follow her commands, and everything
would work out.
The admiral knew that nobody could possibly understand the world as
she saw it through her own eyes—as she stood proudly above all else,
watching the world unravel itself before her.
He didn’t need to say this out loud; the veiled woman undoubtedly
agreed with him, albeit begrudgingly.
All he could do was thank the gods that Nina was on his side, give a
bow, and then take his leave.
Nina stood there alone against the wind. No one could fathom what went
on in her mind as she gazed down upon her homeland from the ship’s stern.
No one would ever realize what the strained grin on her face or her teary
eyes meant. They couldn’t possibly know her thoughts were as simple as:
I want to go home as soon as possible.
And go home she did. It was the first time Nina Clive had returned home in
ten days. She locked the door after closing it, then used her multi-casting to
double-check that she was alone. After scanning her mansion to make sure
no one was listening in on her, she let out a deep sigh.
“Ugggh… I don’t think I can take this anymore!!”
That was the first thing to escape her mouth. She threw off her gown,
which was weighed down by her many badges and medals. Not a single
soul in Elven Gard knew how she felt deep down. With a loud wail, she
called out to the other person in her home:
“Elderrr! You didn’t say anything about the In-Sein Nebia showing up! I
really thought I was going to die this time!! All I could do was smile and
accept my inevitable doom! Are you even listening?!”
Several thoughts passed through Nina’s mind as she stomped around her
house, looking for her elder.
“You are far too humble”?
Humble?! I’m not being humble! It’s the truth: I really didn’t do a single
thing!
“How did you know when the In-Sein Nebia would appear?”
I know, right?! Pretty crazy, right?! I’d like to know the answer to that
myself!!
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“Next time, if at all possible, I would appreciate learning our combat
strategy in full.”
That sounds fair. I’ll be sure to let’cha know when I can! Just one
problem, Admiral: I never have any idea what’s coming, either!!
She ran around the ridiculously large manor, screaming and bawling her
eyes out.
“Let me know what I’m doing, too, will ya?! And what—Capture
Vessels?! Those’re new! Wouldn’t it be nice if the Grand Magus had a wee
bit more information than whatever’s on the flash cards you always give
me? I mean—the reality is that no one got hurt, and your plans were perfect
as usual…”
The only thing Nina did for this battle was hand an encrypted message—
prepared by her elder—to the Akasha Project Headquarters. No more, no
less.
After that, she just stood next to the admiral and tried to look like
everything was going according to plan while she followed the script
prepared by her elder. The plan relied on her having complete trust in her
elder’s orders—had she done anything differently, the entire ordeal
could’ve ended very poorly. It was a testament to how much Nina’s elder
trusted her to follow orders, but… But still—!
“Elder!! Tell me—whyyy does some rando working at the Akasha HQ
know more about the plan than I do? Ugggh!! Where are you anyway?
You’d better answer me! Eld—”
Nina finally found who she was looking for but was shocked by what
she saw.
…Her elder was at the dining table—or, to be more precise, she was on
the dining table—sleeping with her rear end in the air. There was nothing
covering her exposed butt—er, her exposed everything!
Nina Clive lived together with her elder. And there she was, in all her
glory! Her secret elder, the sole reason she had to live in this absurd manor
with no servants, no help, no nothing!
“Argh, Elder! There are lines you shouldn’t cross as a dignified Elf!!”
Nina passed out for a moment, but quickly recovered before shouting
herself hoarse. She darted out of the living room as quickly as she could
before spinning around and yelling:
“Huff…huff… Wh-what did you do this time? What did you do to end up
like that?!”
Nina went back to the entrance, where she’d discarded her gown earlier.
Gasping for air, she picked up the gown and ran back to her elder, flung the
gown over her elder’s naked body, and promptly collapsed on the spot.
“…Niiinaaa? Why, you ought to know better than to wake me when I’m
getting my beauty sleeeep… You’ve sure got sooome nerve…”
Her elder squirmed atop the table, pushing off the garment Nina had
thrown over her naked body.
“I’ll have to punish you by taaaking your virginity with these weird
tentacles that ooze sooome kind of aphrodisiac. ”
“Please don’t!! And what do you mean by ‘weird’?! Don’t tell me you
don’t even know where these came from?! I definitely don’t want my first
time to be with some unknown set of tentacles! Also, why are you
summoning things that you don’t understand all willy-nilly in the first
place?!” Nina cried and pleaded for her to stop. Her elder’s tone was
friendly, but the smile on her face was absolutely sinister.
Inter-world summoning was an incredibly high-level type of magic.
Certainly not something used to chastise your roommate on a whim—
especially when the caster is still half-asleep. Nina’s elder—currently
considered a missing person—was much more frightening than anything
you’d find in this world or others. She was a true genius—the true genius—
and the only one who knew more about Nina Clive than Nina herself. This
individual was none other than Think Nirvalen.
“Don’t fall back asleep and leave me alone with this… Mghfgh?!”
Nina called out for Think, but she had fallen back asleep as if nothing
happened. What’s worse was the moment Nina opened her mouth to speak,
one of the obscene appendages jammed itself down her throat.
…Oh… I’m starting to feel dizzy…
A vile stench hit the inside of her nasal cavities from the back of her
throat, and she began to phase out of consciousness. There was nothing
Nina Clive, a penta-caster, could do to stop the creature.
“…? Why, just give in and enjoyyy it while it has its way with youuu…
What’s stopping you, your pride as a laaady?” Think muttered in her sleepy,
dreamlike state of mind. Nina, who was now bound and gagged by the
tentacles, glared at Think while she did her best to maintain any semblance
of sanity.
“If food has been prepared for meee, I might as well do my research
at the dinner taaable!!”
And that was precisely where she had her research spread out.
Whenever she got a little hungry, she would nibble away at the food Nina
had left her. When she got tired, she would sleep right there at the table.
Indeed, she did everything at the dinner table!
Nina’s breathing was still labored, likely a lingering effect of the
aphrodisiac, as she asked:
“…Why do you need to be naked, though…?”
To a normal person, Think’s reasoning sounded more like Olympic-level
mental gymnastics.
Think sighed at Nina. Alas, the words of a genius are lost on normal
people.
“Why, otherwise my clothes would get dirrrty! And then I would have to
chaaange! What’s so efficient about that? …There’s nothiiing beautiful
about inefficiency.”
Think believed the world should be simple—that it should be beautiful.
This definition of the world therefore led her to the simplest of conclusions:
“Why go through the trouble of wearing clothes in the first plaaace? ”
…………,
That kind of defeats the purpose of clothes altogether, Nina thought as
she replied:
“So…there’s no need for self-grooming or conventional terms of
beauty…?”
Think looked somewhat confused at Nina’s question. She tilted her head
and motioned at herself.
“Why, take a gander at this. It’s pretty self-evident that I’m beautiful
juuust the way I am. ”
This is what real beauty looks like. According to Think, she was the
perfect specimen of a woman. From Think’s perspective, attempting to
enhance her already-perfect appearance with clothes and such was flat-out
superficial and superfluous. Nina looked at Think’s naked body—this self-
proclaimed real beauty—but something was off… What was this feeling
she had? She almost agreed with Think for a moment, but then she
realized…
Oh…the aphrodisiac must be messing with my head! That must be it!
“E-Elder…I’ll be honest, when you say all this without clothes on…you
look like some kind of voyeur fetishist—”
Just then, Think started casting a spell.
Ask just about anyone who Think Nirvalen was and you’ll get a variety of
answers. Nina Clive would be the first to tell you, though, that they are all
wrong.
Melvoil: Located in a pure white forest, the birthplace of the Elf race,
and one of the oldest cities. Within this hallowed ground was the oldest—
and most elite—magic school in all of Elven Gard: the Garden.
Nina Clive was once a student at the Garden, and Think Nirvalen was
her amazingly talented elder. Not just to Nina, though—the entire student
body considered Think legendary, too incredible for them to call themselves
her juniors.
Magic was difficult. It took hundreds of years of studying for anyone to
even call themselves a mage. Think was the pinnacle of genius; she had
managed to complete the entire curriculum—for each and every subject—in
less than three years. She was noble and gracious. She was humble and
never boasted of her genius. She always paid respect to her elders and
supported her juniors. She was out of the entire school’s league, a beautiful
flower that occupied a higher realm of existence.
Until the fateful day she earned the title of Grand Magus, a throne that
had been long empty throughout Elven history.
Each and every person who claimed to know Think Nirvalen said the
same thing: that she’s a genius; a blue rose; a living treasure. That she
would bring the Elves victory.
Nina didn’t disagree. She stood among the masses revering Think and
thought…
Nina was aware that she would never know the answer, and yet she
wondered…who the real Think Nirvalen was…and what Think was
missing, even if Think herself didn’t know what that was. Nina wanted to
know those answers… This wasn’t a passing thought—no, more like…she
pondered it for a long time. She still did, even on the fateful day long ago…
………
Think Nirvalen went missing after her loss to the Dwarf fleet. Her
survival was never confirmed. The news shattered Elf society like a violent
fissure through the earth. And why wouldn’t it? They had lost the
cornerstone of their entire military—the one who oversaw all research
activities, controlled all secret information, and decided their city planning.
The loss of their Grand Magus hit the Elves hard—they had put so much of
their hopes on Think. All over the country, the Elves were thrown into
chaos. Nina, who was a student at the time, had been saddled with the
pointless task of gathering information.
She was on her way home that night, tired as could be after working
impossibly long hours, when—there she was—gnawing on a cracker on
Nina’s bed. Her clothes were tattered, and there were wounds all over her
body.
“Ah. I’ve been waiting for you. Niiina. Welcome back hooome! ”
Think Nirvalen had so flippantly welcomed Nina into Nina’s own home
without a care in the world. Nina Clive felt her heart stop for a moment.
,
A few seconds passed, and Nina barely managed to self-resuscitate. Pull
yourself together and calm down first, she told herself. She knew what she
needed to do: straighten out her thoughts, then face the situation at hand.
She just had to calm down and try taking things one step at a time. First
things first:
Problem number one: Figure out what to do about Think’s injuries. Nina
was so shocked and confused that she was unable to control the healing
spell she deployed and ended up collapsing onto the floor.
“Niiina… Are you all righhht? You don’t look all right… That is, your
face and…why, eeeverything…”
“The same…goes for…you…!”
Nina was so worried, she could barely speak.
The world was in a state of chaos after the news of Think Nirvalen’s
defeat at the hands of the Dwarves and the fact that she was still missing.
Nina was dead tired after spending all her time to find out the Grand
Magus’s whereabouts, but there she was! Her famous alumnus was eating
crackers on Nina’s bed like she owned the place.
Nina worried Think was going to get crumbs on the bed—actually,
forget crumbs. Think’s clothes (at least, what was left of them) were
drenched in blood, as was the rest of her body. Plus, she was covered from
head to toe in wounds, and yet, “Are you all right?” was the only thing she
had said so far—and with a fat grin across her face, at that.
“There’s nothing all right about this! Why are you in my house?!”
“Why, isn’t it obvious? I’m heeere to see you.”
Think continued smiling as she approached Nina, who felt a chill run
down her spine.
Think’s injuries were serious—like, within-inches-of-death serious. She
was full of bruises, gashes, and scrapes, and clearly had at least three
fractures, if not more. Her head was bleeding, too, which meant she’d likely
suffered head trauma.
That smile, though. Now that’s freaky. She’s lost her damn mind.
It was nothing like her usual feminine, refined smile—this was an
ominous, devilish grin. Nina almost instinctively knew: Someone’s gonna
die.
Not just someone—not even a dozen or a hundred someones, either.
Moreover: Why was this monster in Nina’s home in the first place?
Once all these thoughts finished running through her mind, Nina came
to a realization:
To Think Nirvalen, Nina was nothing more than a stranger, one of the
masses. She was one of the many who felt Think would never so much as
spare her a glance; they’d shared a few words, and Nina remembered seeing
Think smile at her once.
Nina was silently freaking out when Think, still smiling, casually
handed her something. Nina took it without thinking and stared at it in
bewilderment. In her hand was a stack of papers clipped together.
“I’m sure you already knooow, but it’s a very busy job…being the
Grand Magus…”
“Y-yes… Th-that’s why everything is such a mess now that you’re gone
—”
“That’s whyyy…you’ll do it! You’ll be the Grand Magus, starting today!
”
……
………Nina let out a deep breath. She’d finally figured out what was
going on. She laughed quietly to herself.
“Elder, I’m going to take you to the hospital. Come, we’ll go together.
”
There was something very, very wrong with Think Nirvalen—she was
supposed to be the ultimate genius and everyone’s much-beloved elder!
What on earth had happened to her to make her say something so bizarre?
The Grand Magus? Who? Me? Hmm…? Yeah…no. No, no, no. Not
gonna happen. Not in a million years—I mean, I can’t. It’d be impossible.
And ridiculous. Not to mention, she barely knows me. Why does she know
my name? Maybe she’s just an illusion? I must be working too hard.
“I need to see a specialist to help me with these hallucinations I’m—”
Surprised at how calm she was with her accurate self-analysis, Nina
reached out for the hallucination. The moment she touched it—
“ Whawhawhawhaaat—?!”
—she suddenly felt something smack her butt. A magical strike pushed
Nina away from Think, causing her to scream and drop the papers she was
holding. She was about to fall over when a spell weaved out of nowhere and
caused her to levitate in midair.
“Hyah?! Pyah! Wha—ouch?! Okay! I’m not dreaming! You’re not an
illusion!”
Smack! Smack, smack, smack! Smack, smack, smack! Something was
rhythmically spanking Nina.
“I’m not finished yeeet. Why, I still need to use the status the Grand
Magus holds—”
“Um! You know! Normally you wake someone up—ow!—by pinching
their cheek—hey! Are you listening?!”
“I just…don’t have time for the trivial work that comes with the
posiiition,” Think continued, unfazed.
Nina’s breath caught in her throat. Not from the literal pain in her butt,
nor at Think’s claim that a Grand Magus’s work was trivial, but at the
twisted grin on Think’s face when she said:
“This worrrld—the War—is all just…a big game.”
Her blue eyes looked off in the distance, as if gazing at something, or
someone, who had made her realize this. Those once lifeless eyes now
viewed the world with a purpose. She now knew what she had to do.
“I’ll end the game by wiiinning it. I may need to get a teeeensy bit
serious this time around. ”
She was going to end the Great War.
“In order to put my full attention into the game, I need you to haaandle
all the bureaucratic stuff! ”
She wanted Nina to take her place as the Grand Magus. Nina’s mind
went blank; what Think had just said was absolutely ludicrous.
The magic holding Nina afloat wore off and she fell to the floor, but it
wasn’t enough to knock her out of her stupefied state. In fact, she had
already forgotten about the pain in her rear from being spanked so much;
she couldn’t even process what was going on.
Think picked up the bundle of paper and thrust it back into Nina’s arms,
then proclaimed with utmost levity:
“Firrrst, go submit this thesis to the Garden. I need you to graduate
ASAP. ”
“…So…why me…?”
She realized she was indulging the insanity, that she should’ve rejected
the deranged plan from the start. But she needed to know why.
Did Think choose Nina among a number of other capable candidates?
That couldn’t be it; nobody was able to keep up with Think Nirvalen in the
first place.
Was it because they weren’t particularly close? No, that couldn’t be it,
either. Think Nirvalen wasn’t close to anyone.
These weren’t the sort of answers Nina was hoping for.
Wait—since when did I have a crush on her? And since when was she
this brazen?!
Nina struggled to recall whether she had a crush on anybody in the first
place.
“…Suuurely you wouldn’t reject a fine specimen like myself? Or are
you really that eager to see what the afterlife is like?”
Think must’ve misinterpreted Nina’s silence. Nina heard the ground
beginning to crumble beneath her feet as she looked into Think’s lifeless
eyes.
“Of c-c-course not!! Me? Reject you?! I w-w-w-w-would never even
dream of it—”
She quickly denied Think’s claim, then paused for a moment.
She decided she would think about whether she had a crush on her elder
later.
Nina definitely looked up to and respected Think—and also felt like she
wouldn’t make it out of there alive if she said no to the proposal. So she
asked the next logical question.
“A-a-are you sure I’m…good enough for you…?”
Think Nirvalen liked herself. She wouldn’t use Nina just for the sake of
it. Why pick someone who would just weigh her down on her quest to
destroy the world? Nor would Think like Nina just because Nina liked her.
So why? Think came close and looked Nina directly in her eyes, which
were begging this very question. She was so close, their lips almost
touched. As Nina’s heart began to beat faster, she thought back to a long
time ago.
This was what she’d hoped for that day she decided she wanted to get to
know Think Nirvalen. After searching Nina’s eyes for a moment, Think
seemed to have an epiphany.
“Mm. I need you, Nina. Well…aaactually…” She nodded with
satisfaction and smiled the same way she had on that day:
“I need someone who knows me more than I do—you, Niiina. You need
to win the game.”
Nina finally understood what was going on.
She didn’t just want to know Think Nirvalen—she wanted more. It was
that simple. On that day, with just a look—just a smile…
Hello, world? Nice to meet you. Enjoy being destroyed by the two of us!
Kainas? Thanks for everything, but I don’t remember asking you to
create us Elves!
I—I…I will live for love!!!
Who cares if I need to destroy a world or two? Her smile is enough to
make me do anything!
Nina moved like the wind that day.
Hidden beneath Nina Clive’s abode was a small laboratory. One of the
walls was covered in various seals, while books and other documents were
scattered wildly throughout the facility.
“Hee-hee… That collar looks good on you, Niiina. Why, go ahead and
give me a nice ‘woof’!”
Nina’s all-powerful elder had dozed off in her chair, a snot bubble
appearing from her nose with every snore. Drool dribbled down her cheek;
whatever dream her beloved elder was having, it didn’t seem to be going
well for Nina. But Nina still adored her. She had zero regrets. None
whatsoever… In fact, Nina was starting to respect Think even more.
Maybe I should give up on life and become a bum like her. She
wondered if that would help her further understand Think. Then she came
to the same conclusion she always reached when she toyed with the idea—
that she could never do it. She didn’t even want to in the first place…!!
“…Elder… You truly are incredible… I—I could never live like this…!”
“ ? Oh, Niiina, you’re home? Welcome back… Yaaawn.”
Nina’s grumbling had woken up Think, who greeted her sleepily.
Something about the way Think smiled as she yawned caused Nina to
blush.
…? Think stared at Nina in puzzlement. Think smelled faintly of soap,
had on clean clothes, and her hair was nice and combed. She began
trembling and let out a small shriek.
Her thesis was titled “The Temporal Plurality of Spirits.” The gist was
that space and time were unified in the spirit gallery; it was more than
enough to have Nina graduate from the Garden. Overkill, even. In fact, the
thesis completely revolutionized how Elves perceived magic.
“Do you have any idea what I went through?! My peers despised me
after I became the Grand Magus and pretty much debunked the entire major
with your principle of indeterminate possibilities!!”
The principle of indeterminate possibilities… To put it simply:
Not even a god can know the future, dumbass. smh
Nina’s classmates never forgave her for what she did to the major.
“Divination was the one thing I thought I could learn to help you…”
Nina started tearing up.
“Nina, I don’t need you to be able to see the fuuuture,” Think said with a
forced smile. Nina didn’t know what she meant. “Hmm, I can hardly think
straight. Maybe I’m not fully awake yet… Why, I need some stimulation.
”
Not fully awake, you say? You were awake enough earlier to summon a
creature from another world…
Still teary-eyed, Nina sighed at Think’s request for stimulation. “I
expected as much, so…I bought some more of those, um…naughty
books…you’re so fond of…,” she said haltingly.
She then took out an opaque bag full of reading material: Think’s usual
erotic novels. Think claimed she couldn’t get her work done without
reading a couple of these first. Nina wondered what the bookstore staff
thought about Nina Clive…the Grand Magus…buying such books—from
the men’s section, no less—so often.
Nina held back tears as she proffered the novels, but Think appeared to
have something else in mind.
“Forget the books—I feel like playing with your cute little tits todaaay.
That should get me going. ”
“Whaaat?! P-please don’t!! I…I don’t even have—”
“Have boobs to play wiiith? I know—how about I liiick them instead?
”
Excuse me?!
“Why, I feel like that’s juuust the thing I need. You can pay me back
laaater. ”
Think steamrollered Nina like a sexual bulldozer. This situation had
several definitions of harassment written all over it. Nina backed away
despite knowing she didn’t have a say in what was about to happen.
The thorns, the dome, and the water lily bud: These were the three other
rites of spirit-breaking. But no one knew about them other than their
inventor, Think—and Nina.
Nina was dumbfounded every time she set eyes on Think’s creations,
and every time, she would ask the same question.
“Elder…why are you hiding these from the Akasha HQ?”
Nina—no…no one knew the answer to that, except for Think.
Something bugged Nina as she listened to the explanation of what these
rites could do: large-scale shifting. Magic deactivation. Spirit disintegration.
Nina knew that creating and eventually using these rites in war would
likely leave another race helpless to defend themselves.
“Niiina…have you ever played a card game before?”
Think followed up her own question the same way she always did:
“You don’t reveal your trump card until the very laaast moment: the
showdown.”
Think grinned as she loomed over her precious creations. They were
nothing more than cards to her. The same went for her giant laboratory and
all its gadgets: mere tools, every last one of them.
She was eyeing her massive desk—another dimension, in a sense. This
was Think Nirvalen’s world—a game. Laid across the desk were a
multitude of squares etched into a map…and thousands of chess pieces.
This is Think’s world, Nina thought before correcting herself a moment
later. Think had a slight smile on her face as she read through Nina’s report,
her gaze razor-sharp.
“…With the exception of the Dwaaarves, the races are oh so
predictable…as alllways.”
Think repositioned each of the chess pieces one after the other. She
looked like a completely different person as she moved the pieces to show
how the War—nay, the game—was playing out across the world. In other
words, Think Nirvalen herself was the world.
So she planned the whole thing on the Dwarves bringing the Phantasma
—without even knowing if it was possible—then proceeded to turn the plan
on its head?!
“Why would they come allll the way from the northern sea to attack
Helruin?”
Indeed, there was no reason for the Dwarves, coming from the east, to
move all the way north and cross the sea. Had they attacked from the east,
they could’ve also brought troops on the ground for an even larger
offensive. Nina couldn’t even figure out why they chose Helruin in the first
place.
The battleships were moving fast… Did they intend on ambushing us?
Nina shook her head; that couldn’t be it. The Dwarves weren’t the type
to hide in the shadows. So why had they approached from the sea…?
Think smiled as she watched Nina fail to come up with a good reason.
Then she explained:
That is, if their hand hadn’t been read by the Elves, who stood their
ground and didn’t let a single ship pass. The rest is history.
Think began fiddling with the chess piece in her hand.
“I’m going to figure out howww they predicted the Phantasma’s
appearance—and use it for our army. ”
Think smirked. Nina finally understood what had happened and started
shivering.
Can’t predict where the Phantasma will show up? Just find someone
who can!
The Elves had won more than just the battle, or even the capture of a
single Phantasma—they had acquired a new tactic they could use in the
future by stealing the Dwarves’ method of anticipating the Phantasma’s
movements. Nina shuddered at the thought, then remembered something
Think had said to her earlier.
Think had so gleefully declared whoever was left standing once the
world was destroyed would win this game.
She wanted to use every last drop of her power to annihilate everyone
and surpass even the gods.
Now, however, she called it by its name: the rite that would allow her to
do all this.
“…Áka Si Anse—all that’s left is to tryyy it out… ”
This was the goal of the Akasha Project: the final rite of spirit-breaking.
“Once we figure out how to track down the Phantasma, we can begin
creating more rites of spirit-breaking. Theeen—it’s checkmate.”
Think smiled. She could finally see world destruction on the horizon.
There was a striking beauty to her inconceivably unsettling grin. Nina
frowned to herself.
Ah, I almost forgot. This is the real Think Nirvalen.
She was the player Nina had fallen in love with even though the two of
them were in vastly different leagues. Nina Clive knew she would never be
on Think Nirvalen’s level; it just wasn’t in the cards.
The only person capable of outdoing Think was Think herself,
especially when she got serious.
Even when Nina and Think had first met, she had always been in a
league of her own. A born genius. She put her everything toward a single
goal, but it still wasn’t enough; she cast aside her prestige and status…
although Nina had to wonder if that was really necessary.
The rites they gazed out upon were the culmination of Think throwing
away her life. She was going to find out just how far the Elf race could push
their limits. As far as Think was concerned, there were no such things as
limits. Nina knew that Think embodied limitless possibilities, but she
quelled these feelings to ask the question that needed to be asked.
“B-but Elder… Do you really think the Dwarves—er, he will let you
pull it off…?”
The moles—the Dwarf race—weren’t even a footnote in Nina and
Think’s eyes. The two of them referred to their sole enemy as he and him in
order to pay him the respect he deserved. He was the only one who dared to
play against Think in this massive game of chess. The only soul to ever
make Think get serious—and the only person she wasn’t able to crush.
Lóni Drauvnir.
Nina had yet to meet him, while Think had only ever met him once. And
yet—they knew that just like Think, he was a consummate leader. He was
pulling all the strings in battle.
Dwarves couldn’t cast magic without a catalyst. Just another reason they
were lesser creatures. Lóni, however, had figured out how to engrain core
rites into weapons to create what are called spirit arms. Just like how Think
formulated new spells and magic, he crafted new weapons. A genius just
like Think, the only person in this world who had ever made her taste defeat
—another player in the game of war.
Nina knew this was a war between the two of them.
Can’t predict where the Phantasma will show up? Just find someone
who can.
He and Think were evenly matched. In which case:
Can’t control a Phantasma? Just find someone who can.
He was going to find out how the Elves caught one and what they would
do with it, in a place worth attacking:
Ohhh. Ha-ha… Ah-ha-ha. No, no. No, no, no. It can’t be. She wouldn’t.
Would she? I mean, she does kinda want to destroy the world and all. But
does that mean she actually would…?
Nina prayed her interpretation of what Think was getting at was a
mistake.
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* * *
“We have the perfect bomb righhht here in our capital. ”
Think grinned fiendishly as she pointed to the ground below her. Nina’s
prayers were in vain. Think couldn’t look more elated.
No point in praying if she’s gonna destroy the planet and all the gods
with it…
“Yeah…it’s perfect all right—perfect enough to kill you and me, too,
isn’t it?!”
Nina tearfully pointed out this little detail and managed to cling to a
semblance of her sanity. A lot more was on the line than just their own
lives. Was Think going to blow up Áka Si Anse right under Melryln?
Two hundred thousand Elves, the Senate, the sanctuary…hell, the entire
forest would be decimated. Sure, Áka Si Anse would make quick work of
the entire Dwarf armada—but she was forgetting one little detail.
“Is there even a point in killing the Dwarves if there are no Elves left?!”
Nina hollered in a panic.
Think pouted. “Mmm? Niiina? Whooose fault is it that the capital has
been left defenseless?”
“…The failed Phantasma experiment was—wait, that’s my fault?! But
those were your orders!!”
“Siiigh… And whooose fault was it the Dwarves are going to attack the
capital?”
“Are you trying to blame me for capturing the Phantasma?! Even though
that was your plan, too?!”
“Okay…so whooo made Áka Si Anse functional in the first place?”
“The…Dwarves…brought the Phantasma… ”
Because that…was your plan! Nina wanted to cry out, but she saw
Think’s grin was growing wider and wider with each of her retorts, so she
shut her mouth.
This was all her elder’s fault—but wait.
The strange feeling lingering at the back of Nina’s mind came into
focus. A chill as cold as ice shot down her spine.
Why? Why did the Dwarves have to bring a Phantasma, of all
things?
Why? Why did they have their troops ready by the capital after we
caught it?
Why? Why did Think Nirvalen have three rites of spirit-breaking
hidden away?!
No…way. No freakin’ way—!!
There was only one justification for detonating Áka Si Anse under the
capital.
Nina was speechless. Think affirmed her suspicions by showing her the
palms of both her hands. In other words:
“It’s time for our showdown. It’s time to show our haaands.”
Everything she’d spent the past ten years—no, decades—doing. Every
military tactic and strategy in place from here on out.
Everything was in the palm of her slender hand.
Nina stood there, shocked and dumbfounded. Think merely chuckled as
she continued.
“Niiina? Theoretically…what is the maaaximum damage Áka Si Anse
can cause with the current test spell furnace?”
Under twenty percent. That’s enough to destroy the heart of the capital—
no, it would only destroy the heart of the city! It’s not enough to defeat all of
the Dwa—
“Niiina? How will the Dwarves pose their attack on the city…when they
are trying to learn about the Phantasmaaa?”
That was easy. There was a 90 percent chance—no, 100 percent chance
that they would surround the capital.
The Dwarves’ goal was to figure out how to utilize the Phantasma. The
Elven capital’s defenses were unusually paltry—it couldn’t be a more
obvious trap. Worst-case scenario, the Dwarves would end up fighting the
Phantasma. Surrounding the city was their only option.
“Niiina? In that case, which of the three rites of spirit-breaking would be
the best to uuuse?” Think asked as she gazed at the three structures below
them.
Elder… How long have you been planning all this…?
Nina didn’t even need to ask the question. She knew why the Akasha
Project HQ had been set up here. The test furnace’s power, its effects, the
capital being left defenseless—there was no need to ask such a foolish
question when the answer was staring her right in the face.
Think had been planning this from the very beginning. Maybe even
since the day she asked Nina for her help—!
“I have five cards up my sleeve. Why, think of them as my trump
caaards, my aces in the hole for defeating him and the entiiire Dwarf
armada.”
Think smiled from ear to ear. She spun around in her chair and faced
Nina.
“Do you think he’ll see any of this coming…Niiina?” she asked in
earnest, now almost nose to nose with Nina as she gazed into her eyes.
“There’s nothing they can do… Even if they know something is coming,
they won’t be able to defend themselves against a weapon this powerful!”
Nina replied, then began shaking uncontrollably. Think’s smile never
wavered.
Best-case scenario, they got away with destroying just half the city. This
was their sole chance to defeat him, though. They wouldn’t get another. He
was the only enemy worth defeating—the only one Think knew she
couldn’t kill alone.
The Great War was a product of these two players—Think and Lóni—
turning the gears of the world.
Nina herself smiled when she internally dared the man to predict their
five trump cards. Even if he managed to read a card or two, Nina knew
Think would be one step ahead of him.
…Hmm? Nina only saw four rites of spirit-breaking here: three, plus
Áka Si Anse…
“…? What did you mean by five—? GYAAAAAAH?!?!”
“Why, things are about to get rough! I’d better lick your little titties
while I still caaan!!”
Nina tried to ask about the fifth card, but was ravaged by Think before
she could.
“Nom… You have the flaaattest chest I’ve ever seen—slurrrp—but it
works. ”
Stripped of her shirt, Nina was helpless in resisting the octa-caster’s
relentless licking. Think nommed and nommed away at Nina’s modest
bosom. The most Nina could do to resist the relentless tonguing was to
accept it was going to happen and think of something else.
As Nina thought more about this, she was met with a fleeting pang of
anxiety.
What if…Think and Lóni aren’t alone?
What if…someone outmaneuvered them: a third player who toyed with
the world just as they did?
…Regardless, the Great War was almost over. It was inevitable…
Nobody could stop what was coming……
After a long while of waiting, another figure slowly made its way
toward her. Their large frame was similarly clad in a coat and mask.
This was it. They had finally been reunited. They had both wished for
this confrontation ever since their last.
Neither of them removed their masks despite their reunion, which was
just as miraculous as it was inevitable. Neither of them needed to see each
other’s faces to know who they were, but they could tell exactly what they
had brought with them.
At the same time, a tidal wave of iron airships inched closer and closer
to the forest that shrouded the Elf capital. The ashen, bloodred sky became
a steely blue as the Dwarf armada encroached on Melryln.
“……Squad Seven—engage defensive formation six.”
The Elven regiment was made up of three thousand of its most elite
soldiers, which were broken up into squads of two hundred. They took turns
casting large-scale defensive magic to protect the capital from the incoming
bombardment. An invisible barrier above the capital and the surrounding
forest kept the enemy fire at bay—not a single shot penetrated its force. All
that could be seen was the blinding light of the shield, and all that could be
heard were the explosions of the enemy attack.
“Grand Magus! We’re using too much magic—!!”
“We need to break up their attack, or fight back—otherwise, they will
penetrate our defenses! Please give the orders!!”
Each of the commanding officers under Nina was uneasy and
completely shaken. Their status reports sounded more like pleas. The
bombardment was unlike anything they had seen before. There was only
one thing keeping the Elf troops together—
“……Squad Eight—engage defensive formation one.”
—and that was Nina. She continued to calmly whisper her orders with
pinpoint focus.
She didn’t call for breaking up the Dwarves’ attack or striking back.
Everyone knew why: There were too many of them. Even if the Elves
could block their bombardment, each two-hundred-Elf squad could only
last so long. They needed to switch between squads to keep the barrier up
and running, and even that wasn’t very sustainable. A counterattack was out
of the question. Sending out a battalion or two to fight the armada would be
like pissing in the ocean.
Not to mention, the enemy’s throngs of metal airships were state-of-the-
art. Each shot fired was followed by an invisible trail and two loud
explosions. It pierced their first wall, only to be caught by a second. The
Elves couldn’t afford to let up their defense.
The airships’ amplified spirits were being condensed into an energy too
fine to be seen by the naked eye. These were the most ships the Elven
forces had ever been up against, and new models at that… It could very
well be the entire Dwarf fleet—
“Grand Magus! The enemy fleet is positioning to flank the city we’re
being surrounded!!”
The ships pressed forward as they continued their bombardment,
eventually pushing past the defensive line and surrounding Melryln. A
single Elf remained composed amidst the chaotic onslaught.
“Yes… We need them to surround us.”
Nina had a big smile on her face; she knew everything was in the
competent hands of Think Nirvalen, who manipulated the world as she
pleased.
And just like Think, Lóni probably had his own ace up his sleeve:
maybe these new ships, or something else entirely.
“…Very impressive for mere moles. However—”
But it didn’t matter what they had. Their new toys were nothing more
than that: toys. Everything in the Dwarves’ arsenal operated on spirits.
“—those ships will be their coffins.”
The same fat grin remained on Nina’s face as she left the war room to
her subordinates.
Nina ignored the chaos and enhanced her vision with magic to search
the southern forest’s outskirts. She was looking for Think.
She eventually found her in combat but couldn’t tell what was going on.
It’s not that she was too far for Nina to see—whatever Think was doing, it
far superseded Nina’s realm of comprehension.
Nina was speechless for a moment before realizing that this reaction was
only natural. She had never seen Think out on the field before—let alone
using the full extent of her power. Those flashes of destruction were likely
the results of Think’s thesis on the convergence of space-time within the
spirit gallery. She could speed through time itself—probably something she
thought up following her defeat by Lóni—and yet, she still couldn’t shake
him off.
Think was undoubtedly going far beyond the limits of the Elves—no,
the limits of all living things. Nina closed her eyes as Think weaved in and
out of time to approach the Dwarf—
“Well…Elder will still come out victorious. Resist as you may, but
please accept your death in the end.”
—and offered a brief elegy.
Nina Clive watched as the shadows of the giant ships encroached around
the capital’s airspace, then flew back home—she needed to prepare for the
imminent showdown.
“ !!!”
Lóni swung his greatsword into the earth, only to let it go. As soon as
she saw his hands slide down the hilt, she realized she wouldn’t be able to
react in time. She gave up on the two spells she was casting and used a third
one she had on reserve.
An instant later, Lóni split his greatsword into two short swords and
sliced where she had just been. She watched from behind Lóni as the air he
slashed through instantaneously froze and began to break apart. Had she
chosen to try to cast her original spells for even a millisecond longer—had
she not chosen to demi-shift, she would’ve perished in that moment. A cold
sweat dripped down her back.
She activated three rites: one to demi-shift behind Lóni, and two she had
cast just before demi-shifting—Material Fract and Elemental Ray.
His twin short swords, which were inscribed with freezing and
decomposition spells, shouldn’t have been able to withstand Think’s
magic…
“ Ha…ha-ha!”
…but with a hearty laugh, he kicked the greatsword impaled into the
ground and grabbed the knife that flew out. By the time Think saw the
knife, Lóni had chucked his two short swords—now combined into one—
behind himself, toward Think.
Think didn’t know what to make of these supposed short swords, but she
managed to dodge the incoming knife and prepared to counter with the
Reflector rite she had compiled.
She had cast two spells in front of him, and a third, Reflector, behind
him just now. Reflector would amplify the first two spells. That included
whatever spell Lóni had engraved into his knife.
He couldn’t defend himself or dodge this attack. Think was certain she
had him this time.
“ ?!”
But she instead followed her gut and cast Reflector not behind Lóni—
but behind herself!!
A split second later, she felt the impact of a massive energy in that very
spot.
The Lóni who had been standing before her slowly dissipated as her
eyes finally processed what was happening: The Lóni she’d seen was an
illusion created by residual light. Meanwhile, behind her—
(Did he just demi-shift to where he threw his blade—?!)
—Lóni held the blade Think had deflected in one hand and swung his
knife with the other, a fiendish grin on his face. He was swinging away at
the reflection spell she had cast on herself.
It goes without saying that spirit arms are only capable of using seal rites
that have been engraved in them beforehand.
That meant using multiple catalysts at once allowed the wielder to cast
multiple spells at the same time as well. But this didn’t even remotely count
as multi-casting. Using multiple spells at once meant nothing if the spells
didn’t boost one another.
That said…Think observed Lóni’s elegant, smooth movements thanks to
her accelerated version of time. She looked at his hands and the swords they
gripped: what should have been the twin short swords engraved with
freezing and decomposition spells.
Now combined into a single blade, they became a demi-shifting anchor
point. Then…snap.
Think watched as it separated into hundreds of knives. That was when
she noticed something that wasn’t supposed to be with him.
The greatsword planted into the ground behind her—had actually demi-
shifted with Lóni.
,
That very same moment, Think cast a spatial distortion spell to create a
makeshift shield. It wasn’t enough to completely defend her from the
impact, and she was sent flying, skipping across the ground like a stone
over water.
Now covered in sand, ash, and soot, Think looked up in anticipation of a
counterattack …and found Lóni on his knees. It appeared he hadn’t made it
out of the explosion unscathed, either.
He was looking at his spirit arms, many of which had been reduced to
dust, and laughing. Think began laughing as well; she finally took in
everything that had transpired in their brief interaction.
The next moment, Lóni reached for the hundreds of blades scattered in
midair. With incredible skill, he began juggling the knives, recompiling
them into his greatsword. Their numerous seal rites fit together like pieces
of a puzzle; it was an incredible feat much like multi-casting.
Before long, he recreated the effect Think’s spatial distortion spell had
on their surroundings
This was the true form of his spirit arms—a weaponized art form.
The scene moved Think Nirvalen; this opponent of hers was a work of
art.
The spirit arms were nothing much by themselves, and this fact didn’t
change in the hands of any other grubby mole.
Even duocasting while speeding up time wasn’t enough to bring her to
his level.
His reflexes, decision-making, and the speed and accuracy with which
he could predict what was coming they exceeded his Dwarven
capabilities. This man, her enemy, was an anomaly, a living art.
“Truly incredible… Why, you’re the perfect opponent for a geeenius like
me. ”
“…? Gaaah-ha-ha!”
Think couldn’t help but respect Lóni. He sensed that from her tone, even
if he had no idea what she was saying. The same amount of respect for
Think was reciprocated in Lóni Drauvnir’s laughter. He paid respect where
it was due. After all, the creation of spirit arms was only possible through
copying magic pioneered by the Elves—no…pioneered by Think. They
followed the same formula of casting a basic rite first, then changing it
depending on the situation to cast the desired rite.
Lóni continued staring at Think with a spark of respect. He closed his
eyes—and lowered his stance, spirit arms in hand, as if to tell her:
This next attack will be my last.
Ah… At this rate, there was no way Think could win. This was clear to
Think Nirvalen from the very start. She knew she couldn’t defeat Lóni
Drauvnir.
That is—she couldn’t defeat him alone—!!
Think looked behind Lóni to the steel airships encroaching upon the
forested capital. It was just as she’d planned since the day he’d defeated her
—not a moment went by when she didn’t think about it, even in her dreams.
Every last detail, from where he was standing to the airships’ positions,
even the color of the sky and smell of the wind, was exactly as she’d
imagined.
Think spread her arms wide and announced to Lóni with the most
devilish of grins:
It was time for her to unleash the five trump cards she had hidden. Her
grin grew more twisted as she summoned her first card. She shot a spell into
the ground below her as she called out for the first rite of spirit-breaking.
It was the name she had given the thorny columns she had created:
“ Vá Iu Anse !!!”
The steel fleet of aerial warships slowly homed in on the Elf capital as they
laid siege upon it. It was enough to throw anyone into despair, but Nina
watched from atop her roof with a bashful smile. She watched as the future
Think had designed came to fruition and recalled a dumb question she’d
asked Think several times.
It was about their four trump cards. Well, five, according to Think.
In any case, the four rites of spirit-breaking that Nina knew about were
to be used on this day, at this time, in this current scenario—no, scratch
that. This was all part of Think’s master plan from the get-go, something
she’d laid out piece by piece.
It was all for Lóni Drauvnir.
With the one and only purpose—no exceptions—of killing him.
Think had steered the War in this direction. She spent all her time and
energy into setting up this situation for her lone goal.
“I kept asking why she hadn’t used them yet… My stupidity knows no
bounds,” Nina said.
A trump card isn’t a trump card unless it can’t possibly be trumped. And
when your opponent is at your level or higher, there is no such thing as a
trump card.
Unless you trap them with your secret trump card…!!
Nina watched from afar as the long-awaited moment finally arrived. She
saw the signal for their showdown—for her to unleash the trump cards she
had been sitting on for so long. As soon as Think played her first card—
Okay, let’s see who will put an end to this War—who will come out on
top and win the game. Let’s see if you’ve read our four-card hand.
I can’t wait to see what look you’ll have on your face…Lóni Drauvnir
—!!
—Nina crowed to herself and hustled deep down into her mansion’s
basement. She began casting the rite sequence for activating their second
trump card lying dormant within the massive underground hall.
Nina Clive activated the second rite of spirit-breaking in Think
Nirvalen’s stead. She called out the name of the dome with its manifold
engraved seals:
“ Ziá La Anse !”
Immediately after the words escaped her lips, the dome released a
repulsive death knell from beneath the Clive residence. The sound passed
through the capital, the forest, and bent the sky itself—and the moment this
eerie cry reached its limits…
The world fell silent.
…It was as if the planet itself had perished. The ominous shrieks spread out
from the city and could be heard by any in the vicinity for about a tenth of
the continent. Anyone who heard the shrieking and howling also heard the
silence that made it seem like time itself had stopped.
There was a simple reason for this: All spirits within range of this one
rite had been temporarily erased from existence.
Fixed Second Guard—Ziá La Anse…………
A ninety-nine-fold rite of spirit-breaking that operated on the Old Deus
Kainas’s protection. In simple terms: a spell that deactivated magic. The
theory behind it was simple as well. Instead of channeling spirits from the
spirit corridor, this spell created a magical explosion by feeding off nearby
airborne spirits. In the same way fire consumes oxygen in order to burn, Ziá
La Anse consumed spirits for fuel.
For a brief moment, the wind stopped, along with the endless rain of
glimmering black ash. The steel airships fell victim to gravity and inertia
and came tumbling to the ground
That’s right… All magic, all rites—anything that used spirits was
deactivated by Ziá La Anse. And by the same token, Ziá La Anse also
ceased function immediately after being cast.
How strange that the Dwarves managed to keep so many hunks of
metal…their armada…aloft. Or rather, from a structural standpoint, the fact
that such large vessels could hold themselves together defied the laws of
physics. The question was: What would happen if these ships could no
longer rely on spirits—that is, magic—to function…?
The answer was unfolding before Think’s very eyes.
The ships began to implode, and fell to the earth like miserable bugs at
the end of their short life spans.
I wonder what kind of expression my little flower prisoner has right
now?
…Ah, that’s it.
That’s the face I wanted to see !!
“ ?! ?! !!”
Lóni screamed frantically with his eyes wide open while Think smiled in
ultimate bliss. It made no difference what he was actually saying—his
expression was more than worth it.
And yet—no, even more so, Think felt a deep respect for her foe.
“……………”
It was the way he had positioned himself: He was completely still, on
one knee as he put all his focus into the spirit arm at his side. All his
preparation, only to be outdone and fall into a trap—and yet, he knew what
he had to do. He knew if he was going to make it out of here alive, he had
only one chance that his window of opportunity would be impossibly
short.
There was no way for him to know how long Ziá La Anse would last,
but he knew it wasn’t forever. It seemed like it wouldn’t last that long,
either, given that Think was now running toward him. He knew she was
going to finish him off the moment magic could be used again. He figured
with Think’s rite-compiling abilities, he would have a tenth of a second to
react. The instant she began casting, he needed to cut her down, along with
this floral prison, all in one fell strike.
The maneuver was simple in itself, but actually pulling it off would be
nothing short of a miracle. He didn’t think about that, though. He looked
straight at her, his blade ready to thread the needle.
As Think ran toward him, the faintest semblance of light began to
manifest at her fingertip. They were about to exchange strikes
“Ooooh, seal rites? Why, how useful. Mind if I take credit for thooose?”
But his blade never left his side…
“If you prepare them ahead of time…the spells caaast themselves. ”
Think was positively jubilant. Her sprint had been a bluff. She was now
walking elegantly toward Lóni.
“…………Ha…… Ha-ha-ha-haaa !!”
His blade crumbled in his hands before he could swing it. He looked
down at it, surprised…and began laughing. On the inside of the water lily
prison—engraved directly into each of the petals of her third trump card—
was a single phrase. His roaring laughter shook the entire budding flower;
he must’ve noticed what was written there and what it meant.
What else could he do but laugh? It’s not like he could cut the petals
even if he wanted to. The translucent water lily bud swayed back and forth
elegantly, never to bloom again. On the inside, in very fine print—so fine
he needed to squint to make it out—he saw the phrase.
It was written in Dwarvish: “Why, go fuck yourself.”
Lóni Drauvnir, the man who had been on Think’s mind for all these
years. Think Nirvalen, the woman who pitted herself against the Dwarves’
greatest genius of all time—she poured every ounce of her burning passion
into carving a seal rite into the flower’s 137 petals. It was a gift made
especially for him and him alone.
The only flower of its kind in the world, a glass lily that would bloom
for but a single moment
Think had no reason to run. All she needed to do was walk up to the
flower, touch it, and say its flower meaning. The only reason Think chose to
run was to make Lóni use his spirit arm, break it, and eliminate any chance
of him turning the tables. It took her the three rites of spirit-breaking, an
intensely deep conviction, and borderline insanity make this situation
possible.
She wanted to see Lóni Drauvnir dead. Completely, utterly,
unquestionably. Anyone who dared scoff at this glorious endeavor didn’t
know Lóni’s value nor Think’s yearning.
Lóni, who stared far off into the horizon as he continued to laugh
incessantly, caught sight of something new. Something he had been looking
for. It was the way to control the Phantasma—Think’s fourth trump card.
The Dwarf ships were helplessly spiraling toward the capital.
Had the anti-magic spell worn off before they hit the ground, Think
could have set up barriers to keep them away from the city. By the look on
Lóni’s face, he had finally realized why she let them get so close in the first
place.
“A looot of your friends will be going down with you, so you won’t feel
lonely. ”
I’m not going to tell you how I did it. I’m going to watch you die with
only the knowledge that you lost to me. The thought crossed Think’s mind
as she laughed to herself.
Áka Si Anse was at critical mass within their test furnace. Even at 20
percent full power, it was enough to turn Melryln’s center into a crater.
So what if it cost a city or two? Getting rid of the entire Dwarf armada
and every living soul who bore witness to the spirit-breaking rites was more
than worth it.
It was a deal too good to pass up. And she wasn’t going to.
Lóni didn’t have a way to understand everything that was happening, but
he had a good idea of what she was trying to do.
“…Ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Lóni looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, but he also
couldn’t hide his frustration. He began saying something in the Dwarven
tongue.
It was a truly disgusting, crude language; a blight on the ears.
“Well done, woman. I enjoyed our little game. So what’s your final
trump card?”
Taking a lot of liberties with the translation, Think gathered this was
what he was trying to communicate.
She had actually taken the time to study the moles’ awful language. She
smiled as she responded.
“Why, I won’t reveal that until the veeery end… I’m not telling. ”
She thought about her fifth and final trump card, which was actually her
first, as well as the only and biggest reason she was able to match Lóni.
It was the knowledge that she couldn’t beat him on her own.
Think, the one true genius, knew herself. And she likewise knew it was
impossible for anyone to really know themselves. So she found someone
who didn’t know her and knew they never could know her, but would still
believe in her all the same—
(I have a suuuper special trump card, but youuu won’t get to see her. )
Think kept the thought to herself as she touched Ag Ni Anse and began
to utter the word “destruction,” a final “up yours.”
Nothing would be left of Lóni once this spell was deployed; the word
was about to leave her lips, when…
“ Ouchie.”
…before Think could get it all the way out—before Lóni could meet his
death—the two of them instinctively froze.
They saw a little girl who had fallen from the sky an “ouch” had
ended their battle.
The same anti-magic spell that had felled the Dwarven fleet had brought
someone else with it—and that someone had a bump on her head.
It wasn’t a little girl, strictly speaking. It wasn’t even a living thing. It
was in every sense of the word—a weapon.
“………………………………………… ”
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This smiling creature; this irregularity Yes…
The worst conceivable thing appeared with the worst conceivable
timing. The greatest enemy of all, one that couldn’t be beaten with
ingenuity or strategy.
…These things happen sometimes. You could put a ton of effort into living
the healthiest life possible, but it could all be for nothing if you die young
due to an untimely accident. This is what happened to Think and her master
plan. An accident in the shape of divine punishment fell from the sky.
So what did Think feel when faced with the unfortunate reality that a
Flügel had just fallen from the sky like a comet and landed smack-dab in
the middle of the capital?
“Why, there’s a margin of error for everything. I can’t be getting down
on myself for every little mishaaap. ”
Think laughed it off as a marginal error.
Truth be told, destroying the capital along with the Dwarf armada had
been part of Think’s plan from the get-go. It just so happened that instead of
her doing it, a little chicken passing by fell from the sky in the form of a
meteorite and did it for her. These things happen. Like how the defensive
barrier cast by three thousand of the Elves’ most powerful mages did
nothing to stop the destruction of the entire city…or how the Dwarf
armada, which had been falling to their death anyway, disintegrated from a
mere shock wave…or how that little comet murdered the surviving Elves
and stole their entire library before going on her merry way…
Such miscalculations are just part of the planning process!!
It didn’t matter, though. Think effectively got what she wanted. At the
end of the day, the entire battle was only a small part of her greater plan…
“Excellent! Why, this has been a big step in accomplishing my mainnn
goal—to end the Great War! I’m glad things are moving without any
trouble. ”
“Yeah… You’ve got nothing to worry about, Elder… I’ve…I’ve always
believed in you!!”
Nina had to hold back tears of admiration for Think, who was in an
unreasonably good mood. Who cared about how much damage the Elves
suffered, or their loss of all magic-related knowledge?! Nina certainly
didn’t! It was nothing compared to the days when Think kept everything a
secret from her!
Everything we did for all those years—the many strings we pulled! The
many victories we saw to fruition!
It’s nothing compared to finally putting Lóni Drauvnir in his place !!
The extent of the Heavenly Smite unleashed that day reached the
battlefield where Think and Lóni fought. Think realized immediately that
she needed to drop everything and demi-shift to get to where Nina was.
This led to a confrontation with an even younger version of the nightmare
from the sky, from which Think and Nina were barely able to escape alive.
The gem on Think’s forehead burned out from magic overuse, and she
nearly perished by the time they got to Melvoil. The moment they set foot
in the capital, they received word that Lóni had washed up ashore still alive
after he and Think’s Ag Ni Anse had been dragged out to sea…
Immediately afterward, Think became a recluse in Nina’s basement,
never to show herself again. Nina tried her best to convince Think to come
out—but she never held Think’s behavior against her. A few times a day,
she would bring meals and written reports to her door. A few times a day,
she would collect an empty tray and Think’s written orders.
I knew she would be back on her feet in no time! She’s so strong! I’m so
glad I kept up the act as the Grand Magus. Same with all those erotic
novels I bought for her! I’ve even managed to avoid her overtly sexual
orders for the past twenty-four years !!
Compared to how tough it must’ve been for her to come out of her rut,
this is nothing!!
Otherworldly tentacles pumped their aphrodisiac ooze into Nina’s skin,
which only made her all that much gladder to see Think.
“Your sheer courage is an inspiration! I can hardly believe you haven’t
bathed in twenty-four years with all that matted hair, and even though the
ghastly smell is enough to make me gaaaAAAH!!”
“Urrrgh, it’s been sooo long since I spoke with anyone, I’m having a
hard time making out what you’re trying to tell me… Why, were you saying
something about wanting a tentacle pounding? ”
“It was a slip of the tongue!! I was just going to say your fragrance
smells as beautiful as always— GYAAAH!!”
Think must’ve dialed up her magic, because the tentacles’ assault
intensified. As much as Nina resisted, she could feel them fondling her in
all the right places. Perhaps it was the resulting rush of blood to her head
that brought her back to her senses with an audible screech.
Same old Think? Same old tentacular antics? Not even close.
The fire in Think’s eyes and her magic had kicked up a notch or ten.
…Although I would’ve rather realized this without the help of Think’s
interdimensional sex noodles.
Nina frantically tried to cast a spell to keep the aphrodisiac from
overtaking her completely while Think went back for another soak in the
hot spring and said:
“Niiina, you didn’t really think I’d become a recluse just because I made
a little mistaaake…?”
No, not in a million years. I know you’ll get your revenge on both the
Flügel girl and Lóni—that you’ll kill them even if it’s the last thing you do,
Nina thought the moment she saw the intense fire in Think’s eyes.
“Why, I’ve got nothing to worry about. You dooo realize—I’ve never
failed even once?”
Nina gulped at Think’s bold and arrogant claim: A true genius never
fails.
“Life is but a series of tests—and my inevitable viiictory just needs a
teensy bit more of them. ”
Think chuckled to herself and held her hand aloft to produce a small
image. It showed what she had been working on in the basement all this
time—the successful result of her tests.
“ Kú Li Anse……”
The fifth rite of spirit-breaking. Think told Nina of its fearsome abilities,
and Nina immediately understood:
Ah… Lóni’s unsuccessful defeat and the sudden Heavenly Smite really
were nothing more than the smallest of marginal errors…
It certainly wasn’t good that the Dwarves knew about the four other rites
of spirit-breaking.
The loss of the Elven capital, the destruction of the Dwarf armada…
These were devastating for both camps. With the Elves and the Dwarves at
a loss for resources, they needed to find a new way to wage war. The result:
Various races formed alliances with other races to keep the fighting going.
Where did this bring the Great War? Battles took on a new strategy:
Gather as many of your enemies as possible into one place and destroy
them in one large attack. This was seen as the new way to end the Great
War—to bring an end to the game. The key to victory was this one final
move: Kú Li Anse.
“My path to viiictory is going as smoothly as possible. ”
The fate of the War was still very well in the palm of Think’s petite
hand.
The transcendent smile on Think’s beautiful face sent a shiver down
Nina’s spine.
“Pardon ?! AaaaAAAHH— GRLGRLGRL?!?!”
The tentacles suddenly disappeared, and Nina fell into the hot spring.
Nina feared she would drown for a moment before she cleared her nose of
hot spa water, only to pull herself together the moment she received a
chillingly poignant telepathic message from Think:
[…Why, there’s…something in the house…]
Nina focused on the situation at hand; she knew it had to be serious.
[……I’ll go… You stay here,] Think replied after a moment’s hesitation.
It was her way of saying, This is going to get dangerous, so you stay put.
Think transformed completely—her facial expression, her tone, her
mannerisms—as she quietly got out of the hot spring, and with a snap of her
fingers, she was fully dressed. Nina nodded deeply.
Who was this intruder here for? No—who did they know what about,
and how much did they know?
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Nina could tell that Think was going find this out for herself and silence
the intruder for good…
“…How do you do? I’m afraid I’ve made myself at home.”
There sat a ghost, his face twisted in a smile that reached his dark,
unsettling eyes.
Whatever that thing was—it really must have picked up that I was hiding
behind the pillar. Which means it’s capable of seeing through an octa-
caster’s disguises.
No one should be able to do that, let alone have any reason to!
Some more time passed, and Nina told Think what she thought about the
entire exchange.
“I think they’re playing the game with a different set of rules…”
Think Nirvalen was trying to win the War by destroying the planet. The
same probably went for Lóni Drauvnir as well. No—in this world where
even the gods went to war, everyone fought for largely the same purpose…
But as for that ghost…
“They are aiming for an entirely different kind of victory—I…think…”
They weren’t here to kill anyone, or claim victory for their own. Even
Nina knew it didn’t quite make sense, but for whatever reason, she was
certain:
“Mr. Ghost is after something a lot simpler than thaaat…” Think smiled
big for Nina, who was quivering in fear. “Why…he’s trying to do the
exaaact same thing I am. ”
Think’s plans… Nina had just listened to what they were: Form an
alliance with the stronger races, team up against their common enemies—
pit the entire world against Artosh, the creator.
Once she had them all in one place, she would use Kú Li Anse to wipe
her enemies off the face of the planet. There was just one little difference,
Think went on:
“He’s pitting everyone’s trump cards agaaainst one another—his win by
default through mutual destruction. ”
Learning of the E-bomb, a weapon that detonated the ether of the Old
Dei, came as a great shock. Even more so if it really was the Dwarves who
managed to create a weapon so lethal. The biggest surprise, however, was
that it could overpower Think’s Áka Si Anse. Those damned moles—if they
weren’t willing to learn their place, then they needed to be eliminated from
the planet.
“It only helps us if Mr. Ghost and his friends add fuel to the fiiire. ”
Minor details aside, Áka Si Anse had been used out in the open—it was
public knowledge. Lóni Drauvnir was bound to create something to rival it;
Think expected as much. Hence why she was in such a hurry to prepare the
fifth rite of spirit-breaking—
“E-Elder! Wasn’t there one more trump card you said we haven’t
used?!”
The fifth trump card, their ace in the hole… Nina never learned what
exactly it was, except that it wasn’t another rite of spirit-breaking. She
worded her question to sound more like a suggestion to use their fifth trump
card. Think twirled around and, for but a moment, smiled in frustration—
“I already used it. This is the first time I’ve hoped that it doesn’t work.
”
She poked out her tongue as if to say, I’m never gonna tell you what it
is!
On that fateful day, Think Nirvalen went outside and gazed aimlessly at the
sky. The warm sun beamed down on her; it was so warm that it almost
made her sleepy.
All her long ears could hear was the sound of grass swaying in the wind,
which only made her sleepier.
Her diamond-shaped pupils witnessed the answer to a question she’d
asked herself for ages.
The sky was a deep, captivating blue color. Beams of warm, white light
shone down upon her. Something had bested all warring parties, including
the Elves and the Dwarves. Towering along the horizon was a gargantuan
chess piece. Think chuckled to herself at what seemed like a joke.
Apparently this was the real color of the sky. With the unending Great
War now over, the world had become so utterly beautiful… It was
laughable—almost like a dream—but Think realized what this meant……
“Ohhh… I’m such a fool… I caaan’t believe I ever thought that windbag
Kainas would be of any use.”
No one said anything about a rule like thaaat…
Think cursed the worthless god incapable of communication in any
shape or form. Think hated herself.
Just what are Old Dei…?
It was far too late to consider the question now, but if her hypothesis was
correct…
That was the biggest reason for her defeat, her most foolish oversight.
Think heaved a deep sigh and lamented:
“We should have killed that worthless piece of shit Kainas from the very
staaart……”
“Wha—Elder?! Sure, that’s true, but you shouldn’t be saying that out
loud!! Aren’t you afraid of divine punishment?!”
Nina tried to silence Think, even though she’d just unwittingly agreed
with her.
Yes, that was the old way of things…but not anymore. Think
remembered what the cocky new “One True God,” the snotty brat who had
just rewritten the rules of the world, had said, and continued:
“Why…as a creator, do you have any right to sentence your creations to
death if they defy youuu? That’s like saying it’s okay for a parent to kill
their child just because they didn’t listen. Why, I always thought the only
throne our shitty little god Kainas deserved was made of porcelain. ”
She really laid it on the Old Deus. She’d wanted to get all this off her
chest for years—and she wanted to check a certain little something. Still
panicked, Nina started walking with Think—until a figure appeared before
them.
It was a man shouldering a recognizable mass of metal.
“Ló…Lóni Drauvnir ?!”
Nina’s breath caught in her throat as she shouted his name.
The two main players of the Great War identified each other.
In the very next moment, Think Nirvalen unleashed her latest and most
advanced magic.
Lóni Drauvnir likewise unsheathed his new and improved spirit arm.
It was the most natural of actions. Like a contract, or a vow. They both
unleashed their most powerful attacks, the earth crumbling beneath them as
they ran at each other with all their might to fulfill their promise of
destruction—and yet, before they could even make contact…
…the new laws of the land unequivocally denied their exchange:
“Niiina? Find me some of the best Elves you know—why, we’ve got a
country to maaake.”
“Oh, okay! Wait… What?! A c-c-c-country?! But why—?!”
At first, Nina responded without thinking, but within an instant realized
what Think had asked her to do. Think continued: Not a single Elf knew
what was going on. This crisis was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.
This was the perfect chance to split the Elves—and gain independence.
Furthermore:
“If we wait for our incompetent god to start the game, we’ll only fall
behiiind. ”
Time was of the essence. Spoils were going to whoever could get their
team up and running first. An opportunity for sure—but a predicament to
end all predicaments. The Elves needed saving, and who was Think to deny
them?
Sure, she’d lost a war. Time to start a new one.
The practical war game between her and Lóni had moved on to the next
stage.
It was now an abstract war game—here in Disboard, this new world on a
board.
No one really knew how the Great War had ended or by whom. And
Think had no obligation to tell anyone. Why squander this advantage by
leaving any written records? If anything, it was downright convenient that
the laws of magic were kept under lock and key. Without magic, every
single race was in chaos. But Think had already rewritten the laws of
magic, twice. Just gotta do it one more time, and what’s a better time than
right now—right here ?!
She was going to kill them all, no matter what. No matter how many
hundreds, thousands of years it took—she vowed to get it done. That
goddamn mole, that rat with wings, that monkey, that bratty One True God
—they were her quarries. Like hell she would let anyone take them away
from her. Think gleefully pondered all the tasks she had to do…
Think smiled at Nina while she watched her slowly recall this new
world’s laws.
“Niiina, what should I wager in exchange for your assistance in my little
war gaaame?”
“…………Elder…!”
Think was hiding something in that smile. Nina let out a small gasp.
She was grateful beyond words. Think may have lost the War—but she
was going to win the next…and she needed Nina’s help to do it. So Think
was asking what Nina wanted in exchange.
Does she mean…anything?
After a brief moment of consideration, Nina gave her answer:
“In…in that case— W-w-will you…marry me?!?!”
……,
……Heh… Eh-heh… Hee-hee-hee. Niiina… Oh, you…
Think was moved. She was waiting for something along the lines of
having to be Nina’s slave, or perhaps some revenge for all those times she’d
violated her with interdimensional tentacles.
“…Why, I never pegged you as a liberal girl, Niiina. I guess we’ll have
to make same-sex marriage one of the tenets of post-War Elven Gaaard.”
“Oh, um—! U-um… Okay, so…I—I—”
Think had always known of Nina’s feelings for her. She never really…
understood what it meant to love someone, though, let alone…marriage?
Marriage: two partners united, swearing to stay by each other’s sides
until death do them part. Thinking about it logically, they were basically
doing that already.
“Ah, w-well, that’s perfectly fiiine! I never cared for such stupid,
antiquated conventions anyway, and, if I were to get married to youuu—
why, I’m a genius, so I kind of saw this comiiing! I already created a spell
that lets two women procreate, and, uh—oh, wait. I need to rewrite that one
in accordance with the new laws of magiiic. Just gimme about fifteen
miiinutes. ”
Think wasn’t as cool, calm, and collected as she usually was. She began
recompiling the rite as she rambled on. Think didn’t know why her face had
gotten all warm or why she couldn’t meet Nina’s gaze. No, the real reason
she’d suddenly become such a shrinking violet was…well, you know…
But never mind that. Nina steeled her every last nerve to make what
might have been the most important announcement of her life:
“Uh…E-Elder—I’m actually a…guy…”
For Think…that meant the first person she’d ever shown a genuine
smile.
“ Elder…why do you always force your smiles?”
Think hadn’t really known what smiling was, or that she had been
forcing one. Nina had taught her that.
If Nina believed it possible, then it must be possible. The same went for
Nina. Whatever Think believed possible must be possible. She’d make it
possible—no matter what it took.
Conversely, once you chalk something up as impossible—it won’t
possible no matter which way you slice it…
The day Think met the ghost and believed she could do nothing to stop
him—
that was when she should have forfeited the game.
She should have given up the moment she wished for Nina to fail. It was
the moment her defeat was set in stone…
…Nina was different, though. He didn’t know any of this. Think had
never told him. All she had to do was say, “There aren’t many people who
can pull off being a Grand Magus with nothing but some orders written
onto flash cards.” Nina could do anything Think knew he could do. The
opposite was true, too—anything Think thought to be impossible, she
personally made impossible.
Think would probably tell this to Nina…someday. She smiled.
Thus, the curtain closed on the practical war game and opened for a new
world: an abstract war game.
Think Nirvalen and Nina Clive took deep breaths. Who would end up a
wife? It was a trivial wager, but of utmost importance to those involved.
This marked the start of their secret plan that would eventually result in
their country engulfing a third of the continent. It all started with a pledge:
Their ultimatum decided, they both faced this new world before them
and declared a rematch:
—Aschente—!!
OceanofPDF.com
THREEFOLD LEVITATION
Take any major incident, and you’ll find that the cause is usually something
trivial. This was another one of those cases—many such cases. It started
with an exchange of words between everyone’s favorite royal-siblings-who-
refuse-to-work and the girl they were forcing all their work onto.
—Steph, you’re such an idiot.
—I don’t want to hear that from a deadbeat like you.
Et voilà! You have yourself a shitshow that will unfold over the next five
days.
………
“Let’s start with joy—if their smile lasts longer than four seconds, it’s
fake.”
“Huh?”
“On the flip side, even if that smile lasts just an instant—if the outer
corners of the eyes don’t lower, that smile ain’t real. You can tell it’s real if
their cheeks and lower eyelids lift. But if they do this with only one of their
eyes, it’s a sneer—a sign of contempt. You can’t tell who they’re sneering at
just with microexpressions, though. The object of their loathing could even
be themselves. So ”
Usually, Steph would make her entrance by practically kicking down Sora
and Shiro’s door, but today, she was much calmer and more collected. She
knocked on the door, then entered the room slowly. It was as if she had
already won the game they were about to play.
“It’s time to get my revenge. Are you ready, Sora?”
Sora and Shiro stared at Steph, who was being much more brazen than
usual.
“I’m…probably the last person who should be asking this question,
but…”
“…Steph…have you, been…sleeping…?”
“You two are certainly the last people I want to hear that from! Now get
up!”
Sora and Shiro were used to staying up late at night. They were pretty
much nocturnal from the start. Steph, on the other hand, had spent the past
few days completing her work as Elkia’s chief minister, while her nights
had been spent…playing games with Sora. The bags under her eyes had
grown darker since the previous day, but in a way, her vitality was almost
commendable.
Alas, her efforts would be all for naught. Why, you ask?
“Today’s game is simple,” she said.
Unbeknownst to Steph, Sora and Shiro had seen the game she was going
to propose from a mile away.
“I’ve hidden a certain something somewhere in the castle. If you can
find it, Sora, you win!”
Steph loudly proclaimed the rules of her challenge. Shiro moved to put
an end to it the moment it started, but Sora shot her a look, which stopped
her.
“Oh-ho—? A ‘certain something,’ you say…? Can we at least get a
hint?” he asked.
“I left a note saying ‘found it’ on the thing I hid. That way, no one can
cheat and claim otherwise! Heh-heh.”
Steph was brimming with confidence. Sora lowered his head so that
only Shiro—in her usual spot on his lap—could see his face. After all,
anyone would be able to tell from his expression how much he was dying to
say:
—Yeah, I already know exaaaactly what and where it is!!
But his nerves of steel helped him restrain himself—and he asked what
he imagined would make the game much more interesting.
“…Do you care how I find the whatever I’m looking for?”
After many years of being together, it wasn’t hard for Shiro figure out
that her brother knew how Steph was going to respond.
“No, no! We can’t have you bringing Izuna or Jibril to sniff out the item
with their enhanced senses or magic. You need to do this game on your
own!”
Just as he’d expected. The smile on Sora’s face made that clearer than
anything. He was leading her on.
“On my own, eh…? Also, I’m assuming I can’t win by just telling you
where it is, right?”
“That goes without saying! You can search anywhere you like, but I’ll
be watching you to make sure you don’t get anyone’s help!”
It goes without saying?
It certainly did. He’d be able to just say a handful of random places to
fish out the answer; it also made sense that she would follow him around. It
was so obvious, it was almost silly. Sora, a wicked smile on his face, gently
lowered Shiro from his lap.
“Okay, I think I get it… Man, I really don’t wanna do this…”
Shiro watched her brother poorly feign reluctance as he stood up, and
whispered:
“Brother…you’re…such an, asshole…”
“Shirooo! Don’t say something so cruel! Otherwise I’m gonna hang
myself!” Sora screeched, on the verge of tears.
“…My bad… That was…way harsh…”
Shiro was genuinely sorry about what she had said, but knowing what
her brother was about to do to Steph, she still meant it.
“Shiro! Steph is the one who decided on this game and its rules! My
hands are tied! Or what, are you saying it’s okay for me to lose?! Oompf
—?!”
Shiro was used to his antics after their eight straight years of gaming
together.
“…Brother… No, funny business… Denied…”
That was all she needed to say to keep him from pulling anything sleazy.
Sora visibly stiffened, his despair palpable. Even with the wind taken out of
his sails somewhat, he managed to activate the pervy parts of his brain to
come up with a new, although not quite as interesting, idea.
“Aw, fine… All right, Steph, gimme your hand.”
“Hmm? Huh? Pardon?”
Puzzled, Steph placed a hand on Sora’s outstretched palm.
“I’m gonna show you something fun. You ready?” He lightly gripped
her hand and grinned from ear to ear.
“The trick was the treasure in your treasure hunting game—as long as
the note was on your person, you wouldn’t make any microexpressions no
matter where I looked.”
Had Steph hidden the note somewhere in the castle, she knew her facial
expression would give its location away if Sora got close. This was even
more evident since she’d just learned about microexpressions yesterday.
She needed to stay with him to make sure he didn’t cheat, and she had to
maintain the same facial expression no matter where he searched. There
wasn’t a better spot than on her own person—furthermore…
“Steph, I genuinely think you really outdid yourself this time. You had
the note on you, but you didn’t stop there! You knew a virgin like me
wouldn’t just straight up violate you, especially with Shiro present… So
you chose a spot that was hard for me to search! Man, you were this
close…but—”
Sora was truly impressed, but
“N-no… NOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
Steph screamed as she ran red-faced out of the room.
………Meanwhile, Shiro mused:
“…Brother… Steph actually…put up, a good fight…today…”
“Agreed. She even took our relationship into account—she’s getting
better.”
Sora seemed proud of Steph as he chuckled to himself, to which Shiro
responded with a somewhat miffed expression, “…But I’m…way, better…”
“Yes, my sister. I know. Still…if she can outdo me without getting as
messed up as I am, then—”
He stopped there and just watched the direction Steph had run off to
with a grin on his face.
Day Five—Evening
……
…………
Izuna didn’t know what the word “pervert” meant, but she knew it
probably wasn’t something Steph wanted to be. She paused for a moment,
wondering if she should tell the truth, but Steph had asked her to say
whether or not she was lying, so—
“……Yup, that’s right. It’s true. I knew it would be… Thank you, Izuna.
I feel like a load has been taken off my shoulders. ”
“Are ya sure, please? Seems more like a load of bullshit, ple—”
Izuna’s words were lost on Steph. Her head was somewhere else, and
she began dancing.
“I owe you one! I know! I’ll make you allll the fish you want later as a
thanks. ”
Izuna didn’t know why, but something seemed off. All the fish she
wanted? Normally, she’d be over the moon at the idea, but—maybe it was
her Werebeast instincts—Steph sounded like she was reading out her last
will and testament.
“…Uh, S-Stuch! Never mind, please! You’re no damn perv, pl—”
Izuna’s eyes began to tear up. She knew that whatever a pervert was, it
had really upset Steph. She tried to take it back, even going so far as to tell
a lie—something she hated doing—but it never reached Steph’s ears. She
skipped through the castle before eventually disappearing into one of its
many corridors…
“HYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”
As always, the gamer siblings gamed into the deepest depths of the night
—so late that even nocturnal animals would be concerned. Someone had
kicked down their door with a mighty shriek.
It was, well…a pervert.
No, not a perversion. A real-live pervert.
“Then it stands to reason that the secret to being a good gamer lies
in…being a pervert!!”
I’ve figured it all out that was what her expression probably showed.
The panties and sunglasses on her face made it hard to tell.
“Steph…you’re clearly exhausted. We know what we did was bad. We’ll
start doing our fair share of the workload, so please get some—”
“I’M CHALLENGING YOU TO OOONE LAAAST
GAAAAAAME !!!”
Nothing they said could ever hope to reach her. Images of everything
Sora, that awful pervert, had done to her flashed through her mind. She was
going to bet her everything, and she wanted only one thing in return !
“For our wager ! If I win, Sora—you need to fall in love with
me!”
She added a loud snap of her fingers, which echoed pitifully before
eventually settling into a deep silence. A profound sense of mercy
overcame the two siblings as they watched Steph.
“Steph… You should really just go to sleep. Look, we’re sorry. We
didn’t mean to push you this far.”
Once the two siblings made sure Steph was fast asleep:
“…Phew, looks like everything worked out somehow.”
“…Mm… That was…a close one…”
Sora had just barely managed to eke out a victory against Steph (with
her unleashed inner hentai), which meant that he now owned her, body and
soul. His orders had been simple:
“Forget everything that happened today until you can figure out how
to do the same thing without forgoing sleep or going batshit crazy.”
Then he returned her bodily and mental autonomy so that she could get
more sleep. That was it.
And yet
“…I still…can’t believe, you won…Brother…”
It was a really close match, enough to make Shiro admit it. Steph’s
tactics were completely different from Shiro’s, and they were definitely new
to Sora. Both siblings acknowledged her prowess.
“I’m just lucky she was running on no sleep. I don’t think I would’ve
been able to put up a fight against her like that if she were in tip-top shape.”
The tone of Sora’s voice suggested he’d enjoyed his match with Steph.
Shiro puffed out her cheeks, slightly miffed. But she couldn’t disagree with
him. The Steph he played against had…snapped, to say the least. Under the
normal rules of the Ten Covenants, Steph wouldn’t have gotten to choose
the game she challenged Sora to, and yet, Sora accepted her terms. Even if
she ignored this small handicap, it wasn’t hard for Shiro to tell that Steph
and her brother were playing at pretty much the same level.
“If she can trigger whatever she did last night without losing her marbles
again…things are gonna get real interesting.”
Shiro could see how much her brother was enjoying himself.
“…Then, we’ll…have to play, against her…as Blank…”
“I’d rather play Steph one-on-one. If she can beat me at my own game
—”
Sora looked straight into his sister’s eyes and brandished a lethal smile.
“—I’ll just have to beat her back. Maybe then I’ll be ready to finally
take you down, eh?”
Another smirk surfaced on Shiro’s face at Sora’s provocation.
Just when everything appeared to be said and done, Steph began talking
in her sleep.
“…………”
“…………”
They both couldn’t help but wonder: Is this the real Steph?
For Steph’s sake, they pretended not to hear what she’d just said.
OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
ONE PAIR OR HEART STRAIGHT
FLUSH
That day, she was sent on an errand to pick up a parcel from a merchant
associate of the Nirvalen family in the neighboring port town. On her way
home, she caught sight of something glimmering along the shore. Chlammy
went over and picked up what turned out to be a shell about the size of her
palm. She patted the sand off it and held it up to the sun—beads of light
bounced off its surface in all colors of the rainbow.
Without really thinking about it, Chlammy held the seashell close to her
heart and looked around. The Ten Covenants forbade any and all forms of
theft. In other words, even something as seemingly insignificant as a pebble
on the side of the road could be the object of theft should it have an owner.
She kept the shell close and backed away slowly.
Nothing happened. The Covenants didn’t intervene. That meant this
shell didn’t belong to anyone—at least, that’s what it should’ve meant…
“This’d be mine if I were anyone else…”
Slaves had one additional requirement in order for them to own
something.
Chlammy chuckled in self-pity, still clutching the shell when she left the
shore.
…………
“ Master, I found a seashell.”
Chlammy bowed before an Elf woman with long, cream-colored hair—
her master, Fiel Nirvalen, surrounded by several ladies-in-waiting. Fiel
looked at Chlammy with her usual sunny smile.
“How many times must I tell you? I don’t want to hear about every little
piece of trash you pick uuup.”
Fiel eyed Chlammy as if she herself were trash, then departed the room
with her legion of ladies-in-waiting close behind.
That was Chlammy’s signal to keep the shell for herself—that one
additional requirement.
Such was the reality of being a slave in Elven Gard. Slaves didn’t have
the right to own anything—in fact, they didn’t have rights at all. They were
the property of the family who owned them, and everything they owned
belonged to their masters. These terms were bound by their covenant,
making them absolute.
There was one little difference between Chlammy and the other slaves,
though.
Her master shot her a brief look as she left the room. Chlammy knew
what the look meant:
Why, what a pretty shell. Take good care of it.
Chlammy was no “ordinary” slave. She was, in fact, friends with Fiel
Nirvalen, her master. Fiel considered herself best friends with a mere slave
like Chlammy. This was particularly unusual, considering Chlammy’s
lineage had served the Nirvalen family starting with her great-grandfather.
Typically, being called best friend by your master would probably make
you hate them more.
…Unless Fiel was the master.
Fiel always found a way to help and support Chlammy when she was
sad or struggling. Even if she had to be sneaky about it, Fiel was there to
lend Chlammy a hand. And as heiress of the distinguished Nirvalen family,
she worked as an acting member of Elven Gard’s Upper House now that her
parents had kicked the bucket. She couldn’t be seen tending to a lowly
servant’s needs. If an Elf of her stature was seen engaging in conversation
with an Immanity—or talking monkey, as they were called in Elven Gard—
it would cause a scandal. That was why the most she could do for Chlammy
was look sorry and help her in a roundabout way. Chlammy knew this,
though. It was for the best.
Chlammy’s family had been enslaved for several generations. Her
relationship with Fiel was beyond anything she could ever hope for. She
had an ally, a friend. And friendship is still friendship…even if it needs to
be kept secret.
Later that night, Fiel visited Chlammy’s room tucked away in a corner of
the Nirvalen estate.
“Chlaaammyyy! I thought you might be feeling down about earlier, so
your beloved Fi came to sleep with you—”
“Ah, w-wait, Fi, let me just—”
Chlammy quickly wiped her eyes and acted as if everything was all
right. Fiel surveyed the sparse, bare-bones room. There were no decorations
or items of note; just two sets of clothes: dirty slave garments and one
presentable outfit for when Chlammy left the manor. The pile of hay on the
floor was where Chlammy slept, though it looked more like a bird’s nest
than an actual bed. It didn’t take Fiel long before she realized something
was missing.
“ Why, where’s the seashell from earlier?”
“…I-it’s…in the trash…”
“They took it from you—they threw it away…didn’t theyyy?”
Slaves couldn’t lie to their masters, so Chlammy, shoulders trembling,
had answered Fiel truthfully. Her visible anguish spoke volumes. Chlammy
needed her master’s permission to own anything. Fiel couldn’t say yes to
her wish because it would look like she was favoring a slave over her
ladies-in-waiting, and then they would treat Chlammy even worse. So Fiel
had specifically called the seashell a piece of trash.
The Elf clenched her jaw. If the master calls it trash, then the item
doesn’t belong to anyone—it becomes trash, and nothing more. Fiel knew
her ladies-in-waiting had taken the seashell away because she’d designated
it as trash. She could picture it: They’d probably even smashed it before
Chlammy’s eyes, which were clearly bloodshot from crying. Her ladies-in-
waiting refused to let Chlammy have anything, not even a single seashell—
Chlammy’s barren room practically screamed this at Fiel. She wasn’t going
to stand for it anymore.
…Elven Gard.
This was why Fiel needed her peers to underestimate her, to think she
was useless. Fiel knew she wanted to destroy this damned country from the
core. It was the sole reason she’d pretended to be a useless ditz for fifty
whole years: That was her trump card
Fiel explained this plan to Chlammy in her room, which was undetectable
even to the trained mage eye. Fiel had preemptively set up a sound blocking
spell, then a second spell to hide this spell, and a third to erase any traces of
spirit responses. All her life, Fiel was ridiculed by those around her for
bringing shame to the Nirvalen family. Little did they know, she was a
hexcaster—one of the most capable mages of her generation.
“What do you think, Chlammy? Why, what could possibly go
wrooong? ”
“……………………”
Chlammy looked at Fiel’s smile and gulped. She knew her smile was a
mask that hid her devilish cunning.
“I won’t be able to stay in power past the next election. The other
members want me out. So before thaaat happens, we need to take Elkia and
steal all of Elven Gard’s land from under their noses little by liiittle. We’ll
fix a game against the Eastern Union under the guise of putting pressure on
them, then I’ll have you declare warrr against the Union, which would
temporarily put us one step ahead of the fools in the Senate. Why, once we
steal the land we need, we’ll cut Elven Gard off from all traaade…
effectively preventing them from challenging us. ”
Fiel’s smile was as bright as the sun.
In other words, she would betray her race. Chlammy would certainly
have an easier time in an Immanity nation. However…
“B-but what about you?! This will only make you miserable!”
Chlammy looked at her friend, who was trying to give up everything she
owned to help her. Fiel responded with an even bigger grin.
“If you’re happy, I’m happy. You promised, righhht?”
“ What……?”
Fiel had tricked Chlammy! Even when they were trying to work
together, Fiel always had her wrapped around her finger.
“Not to worry. Why, pretending to be an Immanity will be a cinch for
meee. We may have some trouble against the Werebeasts, buuut once we
reclaim the rest of Immanity territory, I’ll be able to make my own little
homestead. ”
…………
“…Fi… Tell me… Why are you doing all this…for a slave…?”
“You don’t want me to do thiiis?”
“That’s not what I mean ! I just…don’t want you to lose everything
for—”
Fiel cut her off with her usual grin. “Why, things would be far simpler if
fame or fortune could buy your happiness.”
Chlammy hung her head low. She understood Fiel’s plan as well as why
Fiel was beating around the bush about her trump card she’d had in the
works for the past fifty years—the card she would use to destroy her own
country. She was going to use it for Chlammy’s sake alone and lose
everything in return.
“…………”
Chlammy knew she’d be lying if she said the proposal didn’t make her
happy. The fact that Fiel was willing to go so far just for her own sake
brought tears to her eyes.
But why? What about me makes her go this far ?
“I’ll create a world where you can laugh and be happy, Chlammy. Just
you wait.”
Am I really worth that much?
Chlammy nodded even though the question still nagged at her.
All of this happened a mere month ago. Chlammy still couldn’t believe it
was real.
……
…………
Chlammy had persevered through a series of relentless games, including
existence Othello and the play for dominion to decide Elkia’s next ruler.
She had just returned to Elven Gard following the struggle between Elkia
and the Eastern Union. It was her the first time back in her slave quarters in
a long while. She grimaced as she played with a coin in her hand and stared
at the ceiling. Looking at the coin shifting between her fingers, she
remembered a certain man. He’d gazed into her eyes—and therefore Fiel’s
eyes as well—and made a declaration.
“……‘Don’t—underestimate humans like that,’ he said……”
The words had shocked Chlammy to her core. This man who couldn’t
even use magic himself was addressing not just Chlammy, but all of Elfkind
and every other race. He was telling the higher races, even the gods, that he
was going to beat them all.
He doesn’t expect me to buy that, does he? Any normal person with a
lick of common sense knew it wasn’t possible, particularly Chlammy, who
had seen the immovable power of magic firsthand with Fiel. The Elves had
to be all-powerful; why else would they have slaves spanning several
generations? So of course Chlammy couldn’t help but doubt the man. She
even questioned whether another race was involved.
But now that she had his memories, Chlammy realized she should have
questioned something else.
“I should’ve questioned my sanity. That man…him and his sister…
they’re out of their minds.”
Chlammy was speaking to herself aloud, unable to completely stifle her
laughter.
Sora had shared his memories with Chlammy before they challenged the
Eastern Union. He had so many memories; it was like a nightmare. She
could feel his memories eating away at her own. And yet, there was one
memory that shone bright enough to eclipse the nightmare. Chlammy
laughed again, but this time, she wasn’t grimacing. She had a brazen smile
on her face as she clenched the coin she had been fiddling with.
There’s so much I need to do.
Fiel was off sharing every detail of the Eastern Union’s game with the
Senate’s board of geezers.
But those details were false; they were based on memories Sora had
altered using the Covenants.
Chlammy left her room to attend to matters while she still could.
“I got them, Fi. Hook, line, and sinker,” she whispered to herself as she
strutted away, leaving the group of Elves in her dust.
They all tensed up, one by one, the moment their fingers brushed against
a coin.
Fiel, who was waiting for them to empty their pockets, turned to
Chlammy.
“Slave? You swear on your covenant that the coins were stolen from
youuu…?”
“Yes, Master… However, I’m afraid I cannot recall how or when it
happened…”
The ladies-in-waiting looked at Chlammy, who was hanging her head
apologetically, and began to panic—they tried their best to make sense of
what was going on.
The Ten Covenants forbade theft of any kind, but they didn’t say
anything about giving gifts. You know, the kind of gift you give someone by
dropping it in their pocket when you walk by them. What happens after
they receive the gift? Well, you just have to wait and see.
Chlammy recalled one of Sora’s memories where he’d tested this theory
by putting his underwear in Stephanie Dola’s pocket. She sneered as she
remembered Steph’s reaction.
Chlammy looked up at the women—it was about time for them to start
playing the blame game.
“I’m innocent! Behold—my pockets are empty!”
First to speak was their leader—the one Chlammy didn’t give a coin to.
How would the others react to this?
“Sh-she’s lying! She’s the one who stole the coins! She always talks
about how Lady Fiel brought shame to the Nirvalen family!” shouted
another lady-in-waiting.
Of course the rest of them thought their leader was the thief—then
things got more interesting.
“Wha—?! You’re one to talk! I know you tell your little boyfriend, Lord
Noel’s butler, everything that goes on in this house!”
Yes, yes, that’s it! Why, there’s more than enough blame to go around!
Look at them go! It’s pandemonium! The sunniest of smiles appeared on
Fiel’s face as the women continued bickering.
“I see what’s going on here. Why, it looks like everyone in the
Nirvalens’ employ is utter gaaarbage. ”
Now Fiel had a legitimate reason to fire the lot of them. They’d stolen
from their employer, and that would be on their records, too.
It doesn’t matter how much the other noble houses detest Fi. Who would
even consider hiring someone with a reputation as a thief?
Chlammy had a slight grin. She met eyes with a smiling Fiel, who led
the ladies-in-waiting to another room.
“I’ll listen to each of your excuses, one by ooone. ”
Chlammy watched Fiel leave with the women, and a phrase popped up
in her mind. It was one she’d never heard before—meaning it was from
Sora’s memories.
“All difficult things are made of simple things. Even the smallest ant
hole can breach the largest dam.”
(I’m guessing this describes how all big incidents start with small
things. That a stone wall can collapse because of an ant hole in the wrong
place.)
But apparently, that wasn’t how Sora interpreted it. Chlammy couldn’t
help but chuckle to herself when she recalled his own personal take.
“‘Everything’s simple. You can destroy an entire kingdom with a tiny
hole.’ …That’s so like Sora.”
And it was just like how Chlammy used four coins to bring down a
group of Elves. She smiled as she twiddled the fifth coin in her fingers.
Chlammy sat in the Nirvalen manor’s front garden, sipping a cup of tea at a
wooden table. Those ladies-in-waiting had picked on her for her entire life.
She watched as each of them, one by one, left the estate with a suitcase full
of their belongings.
“…I guess this is…a sort of revenge,” Chlammy muttered, but strangely
enough, she didn’t feel anything deep down. She struggled to believe that
Elves this pitiful once made her tremble with fear. This didn’t feel like an
accomplishment; it simply felt ridiculous. Chlammy got up to leave when
she caught sight of the leader—or rather, ex-leader.
“ ”
Chlammy found herself grinning and realized that Sora’s memories had
tainted her mind. It didn’t take long for the Elf woman to see her grin.
Furious, she shouted at Chlammy.
“…Wh-why, you…! It was you, wasn’t it—?”
Chlammy, meanwhile, calmly responded, “You’re better off not
knowing. Not only did you get fired from the Nirvalen estate—”
Her ear-to-ear grin looked like the grim reaper’s scythe.
“—but heaven forbid word gets out that you were tricked by a worthless
monkey. Am I right?”
But if you’re okay with the world knowing that, go for it. Tell all of
Elven Gard that you were tricked by a worthless Immanity.
It was the first time Chlammy had ever seen an Elf turn pale with
despair.
Aha—not too shabby.
From the Elves’ high-and-mighty perspective, Immanity slaves were
worth less than cattle. That was likely why this woman didn’t regard
Chlammy with anger or disgust—but shock and fear.
“Mm-hmm… I see the fun in this. I’m a little glad I got to witness your
departure.”
“Oh…oh…”
Chlammy looked at the dumbfounded attendant and remembered a
certain phrase. She didn’t want to steal Sora’s words directly; she wanted to
add her own twist to things, but—nah, never mind. She couldn’t come up
with anything better for this situation. She remembered what Sora told her
that day. She wanted to try saying the phrase herself for once.
“ Don’t underestimate humans like that, okay? ”
Chlammy wondered what her face looked like when she said this. She
had no way of knowing, but whatever it was, it made the Elf woman cower
in fear.
Now I’m satisfied.
“Fare thee well, Little Miss Worthless Ex-Lady-in-Waiting. I pray you
find happiness…in the hell that awaits you.”
The Elf scurried away as Chlammy waved good-bye with a smile on her
face.
Everything in this world is run by games, and those games are over
before they even start.
Just like how the coin toss Sora used to bring the Eastern Union over to
his side was already decided before he even tossed the coin. If that’s the
way this world works, then how about this? If games are over before they
start, is there even a reason to participate in them? Just let the fools play a
game among themselves, and watch them destroy one another. Sounds like
a good idea, right?
“ I bet Sora would say something like, There’s no beauty in a win by
default. Sorry, Sora, but I’m going to use every card at my disposal until I
get to your level, and oof!”
“Chlaaaaammyyyyy! ”
Chlammy, who was trying to finish her monologue with grace, was
interrupted by Fiel, who came flying out of nowhere and latched on to her.
As in, she literally flew from the second floor using magic and landed on
Chlammy, practically suffocating her with a hug.
“Hee-hee-hee, now it’s just youuu and me in this house big ol’ house. ”
Come again?
“H-hold on, Fi, don’t tell me you fired everyone who works here and not
just those five?!”
Chlammy had planned on a little spring cleaning for the manor, but Fiel
had just cleaned summer, winter, and fall as well. Fiel stared at Chlammy in
confusion.
“Why, I thought that’s what you wanted me to dooo? You made them
doubt each other, so I took them in for questioning. They ratted out
everyone, even those who weren’t related to thiiis incident.”
Another phrase Chlammy didn’t recognize popped into her mind:
The Prisoner’s Dilemma
So that was why Fiel insisted on asking each of her ladies-in-waiting
individually.
“If only they had stood up for one another, no one would have been
fired. All you have to do is put them under a liiittle stress, and they all
betray each other. Now they’ve all lost their jobs and brought shame to
their familiiies. Why, they even told me juicy secrets about one another’s
families. Heh-heh-heh. ”
Chlammy wasn’t surprised, though. She knew Fi was going to love this,
but as always, she was one step ahead of her. Honestly, “love this” was an
understatement—Fiel simply lived for this kind of carnage. Nothing
surprising about that—but there was one problem.
“And with that, Chlammy, it’s just you. And. Me. Two little lovebirds
with the nest allll to ourselves. ”
Maybe I’m the one being sent to hell…?
Fiel had knocked Chlammy onto the grass and was slowly getting closer
and closer, when—
“Fi, Fiiiii! C-calm down, will you?! There’s a chance someone might
still be here, you know—!”
“Why, you may have a point there… Looks like we had better take this
to the bedroooom. ”
“That’s not what I’m trying to—wait, where’d she gooooooo?!”
Chlammy clutched her head as she called out for her friend, who must
have teleported using magic. Then she had a thought:
Sora was going to beat all the races, whether they be Elves or gods.
Chlammy knew this by the look in his eyes. So she wondered: Was she
herself even capable of pulling one over on Fiel—?
“Get ahold of yourself, Chlammy Zell!! What, are you going to just give
up? She’s the perfect opponent!”
…Indeed she was. A little…over the top, for sure, but Fiel was, by all
means, the perfect opponent…
“…………”
“The plans I told him about were your plans, not mine.”
She recalled that day with a touch of self-loathing.
“He knew that the fate of an entire race couldn’t be left in the hands of a
person with a slave mentality—someone like me, who believed Immanity
couldn’t win against Elf. You know, Sora actually liked your plan. If I’d
been the one to come up with it…then he would’ve let me win. At the end
of the day, those two—they’re gamers, not politicians.”
That was why they needed Stephanie Dola to run Elkia for them. They
knew that being good at games didn’t make them good leaders.
“But I’m—different now.”
Chlammy looked up at the ceiling. Her eyes weren’t empty like they
once had been—like how Fiel knew them. They were full of purpose,
gazing far off into the distance—they saw something.
“I promise I’ll rely on you more and stop shouldering everything on my
own all because I don’t want to cause you trouble. So, Fi—there’s just one
thing I want to ask you.”
I won’t run away anymore, no matter what—so please…
“Fi…could you help me?”
“Why, you don’t have to ask me twiiice. We’ll be together forever.”
Fiel answered without hesitation.
Tears began to spontaneously erupt from Chlammy’s eyes.
“We are a team, you and I. We’ll do everything hand in haaand, step by
step, shoulder to shoulder.”
Something about that threw Chlammy off.
No, Chlammy realized. That’s been on my mind since the very
beginning.
“Hey…Fi… I, uh…really like you, y’know…?”
“Yuuup. I really like you, toooo!”
“R-right. That’s great to hear… But I just want to check: Are you and I
?”
“Hmm? Why, we’re partners. ”
“Yeah, about that. That’s better than slave and master, but by partners,
you mean ”
Chlammy was thinking about the covenant that bound them together as
slave and master, and how vague it was. What did Fiel actually mean by
“partner”? How much of that covenant was genuine on her part? Fiel’s eyes
were full of concern as she watched Chlammy ponder over this question.
“Chlammy… Does it bother you that…we’re different races?”
“N-no, not at all! You’ve always been the one person I can truly trust;
that hasn’t chang—”
Fiel’s expression brightened the moment she heard this. “Why, in that
case, I suppose it really doesn’t matter that we’re both womeeen. ”
“Wait, what?! That’s—so sudden! And an entirely different topic!”
“I love you, Chlammy… How do you feel about meee…?”
Chlammy noticed Fiel looked terribly uneasy asking the question, and
took a moment to think about her answer. “Love” in Elven was a little
different from “love” in the Immanity tongue. The former was a more
general term used to describe affection between family and friends, for
example. For humans, however, telling someone “I love you” meant
something a little more…serious. But right now, Fiel and Chlammy were
speaking in the Immanity tongue. And in that case, the meaning Fiel was
referring to was
“Is it that…you don’t—love me?” Fiel asked on the verge of tears, voice
quavering.
Chlammy answered her in a fluster, “Aaaah, all right! I love you! I love
you! Now quit it with the sad puppy dog eyes!!”
As per usual, Fiel’s expression changed instantaneously, as if she were
swapping out a mask.
“Okaaay! The feeling is mutual, then. That means you won’t have a
problem with thiiis. ”
She reached out and put her hands on Chlammy’s clothes, but Chlammy
cried, “Don’t try to take my clothes off! I’m n-not ready for that kind of
stuff yet!”
“Yet. That sounds like a promise. Why, I suppose I’ll just have to wait a
little looonger. ”
Fiel was back at it again, toying with Chlammy’s emotions, only to
back down at the drop of a hat. Chlammy sheepishly asked her a question.
“Hey… Fi… How much of that was a joke?”
“Hmm? I haven’t said a single joke all niiight.”
“ I’m, uh, g-going back to my room! I’m not ready for that kind of
stuff yet!”
“Eh-heh-heh… Why, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not going to
ravish youuu. ”
“So you’re saying you weren’t just actually trying to take my clothes
off?!”
…………
After a short while, Chlammy finally managed to fall asleep. Fiel lay
next to her, gazing at her sleeping face. As much as she toyed with her
friend, Fiel herself didn’t know why she felt this way about her. Her Elf
heritage—her common sense—told her there was no reason to get so
attached to an Immanity. But she had another type of logic about her—one
that Chlammy thought so highly of—and it resonated even more:
Who gives a shit why I care about this girl so much? I’d do anything for
her.
As she considered this, she also pictured those two siblings—Sora and
Shiro.
“I thought Chlammy would understand my feelings now that she has Mr.
Sora’s memories…but perhaps my expectations were too sky hiiigh.”
Evidently, not even Sora had an answer to Fiel’s feelings. She was still
curious, but knowing what Chlammy thought now wouldn’t make a
difference. Fiel was going to continue following her gut, moving forward
hand in hand with Chlammy. That was it—except…
“Why, if we can beat Mr. Sora and his sister to the title of the One True
God, Chlammy’s life span and race won’t matter anymooore.”
—she was going to help Sora with his plan.
However, she and Chlammy would be the ones to defeat Tet. A slight
grin appeared on her face. Sora—no, both he and his sister—were only
interested in playing games. And not against just anyone. They wanted to
play against a strong opponent; someone stronger than them. They were
gamers to the core—and mere children.
Fiel knew that Chlammy had likely picked up on a certain important
detail from Sora’s memories. Although he fully intended on fighting
together with Fiel and Chlammy, there was one reason why he didn’t bind
them by the Covenants.
Legend has it that the two strongest beings met in the heavens, seeking to
end the contradiction that was their dual existences. Their battle took place
on what was once the world’s highest mountain—Múspellskjálf. The
mountain is now long gone, no longer lingering on the horizon. And yet, the
fearsome battle that occurred atop its peak is still talked about to this very
day.
The mightiest of the Old Dei—Artosh, god of war.
The strongest Dragonia—Hartileif the Final.
It was a time before the world as we know it existed. High above the
summit overlooking the world below was the site of a heavenly duel from
the distant past
“Answer me this—what is strength?” the god of war, Artosh, asked atop
the summit of Múspellskjálf.
He was the manifestation of war. The embodiment of slaughter, the
ultimate cycle of souls struggling between life and death in battle. He was
the zenith. Incomparably strong.
“’Tis something thou shalt never know,” Hartileif the Final answered
solemnly.
The Dragonia Ruler’s massive wingspan engulfed the skies. This was
Hartileif, the oldest of all Dragonias, born from the mortal remains of a god.
This unparalleled being who stood high atop Múspellskjálf was
indestructible in both soul and body. He knew no injury; even the gods
heeded his words—he, too, was the zenith.
A god and a dragon. The two strongest beings. Their battle began with a
series of questions and answers.
“ Why is that?” the god of war asked.
“Because thou art the strongest,” came the Dragonia Ruler’s immediate
reply.
“ Then what does it mean to be the strongest?”
“I cannot answer, for I, too, am considered the strongest of all beings.”
“ Dost thou believe the strongest being cannot know what it means to
be the strongest?”
“Indeed. ’Tis something only the weak can comprehend.”
“ Then you and I shall not prove who is the strongest.”
“That would be impossible. In the same way one cannot know the
unknown. As a filled glass can hold no more wine, endless victory naturally
leads to questions left unanswered. ’Tis but an endless cycle.”
Silence fell—some would call it brief, others eternal. The two ultimate
beings faced each other until time seemed to lose all meaning
“ Then we can indeed prove it!” the god of war shouted in rage. His
voice shook the heavens, but the Dragonia Ruler held the earth together and
replied:
“O powerless one. Only he who challenges the strongest can prove that
he is the strongest. The day thou knowest defeat shall be the day thou
understand what it means to be the mightiest being.”
The god of war shook his head. The Dragonia Ruler’s answer appeared
to disappoint him. “ Thou claimest one must know defeat to know
strength?”
“Verily. One cannot know true strength without experiencing true
weakness. The same way one cannot know light without darkness.”
Artosh glared at the Dragonia and spoke quietly.
“ Then, almighty Dragonia.” He gripped his glittering spear and
asked:
“ If I challenge thee and lose, shall I finally know what true strength
is?”
“No. For thou cannot possibly lose to me.”
The god of war seemed to despair.
“Poor god of war. All those hopes and prayers offered to thee, and yet,
this is why thy strength is so utterly empty. Thou dost not challenge me;
thou merely seek the knowledge of the strongest being, but thou shalt never
truly comprehend—yet I do not lament for thee.”
Hartileif understood that the spear clenched in Artosh’s hand—so hot it
burned time itself—could melt his indestructible scales, flesh, and bone.
And yet, Hartileif the Final spoke warmly as he faced impending death.
“I knew this day would arrive. Thou already defeated me so many years
ago. Thus, I knew what I would say to thee on this day: Thou shalt know
defeat because thou art the strongest. And when that time comes, thou shalt
know what it means to be strong or weak.”
He suppressed the joy he felt from having finally reached this moment
and hoped the god of war felt the same way.
Artosh struggled to conceal his anger, his hatred. “Nonsense,” he spat,
his voice tinged with envy. “My victory is eternal. I shall remain on top till
the end of time.”
“Indeed. This is precisely why thou shalt eventually know defeat,”
Hartileif said, then made an empty addendum: “I wish thee the best of
luck.”
He slowly spread his gargantuan wings. From the mountain’s summit,
they seemed to cover every speck of land.
“I see this discussion was meaningless, dragon. You will soon forfeit
your title of mightiest being.”
“’Twas a fruitful discussion, god of war. You shall soon learn what it
means to possess that title.”
These were the final words spoken before there was only one
strongest being left standing. Their contradicting existences collided; they
blotted out the heavens and scarred the earth with a blue death.
That lofty peak Múspellskjálf was turned into the deepest of craters,
which eventually became an ocean. This transformation is living proof of
the legendary clash between zeniths, and the remaining raw energy
continues to permeate the sea. The area today is a channel the land dwellers
dubbed Thrymgap.
This cataclysmic event—what can only be described as a true legend—
occurred one hundred and fifty thousand years ago.
…………
“Can you believe this?! Sarakil stole my rarity level three kill!”
“Well, ‘stealing’ isn’t a nice way of putting it… How about, ‘I got ’em
first’? Ha-ha-ha. ”
“Hey, hey, hey, apparently those filthy moles built the strongest ship in
the world! Who wants to go exterminate them and their ship with me? ”
That’s just how the world works, though. If one person is happy, then
somebody else is equally unhappy. That’s basically the nature of happiness
—and yet! It was the Flügel who brought this world to the deepest pits of
hell—nay, to a place even deeper! How unfair is it that they get to
monopolize all the world’s happiness?! It’s exactly how capitalism works in
our— Er, well… You know…
Let me start over—that’s just how this world works.
“Nyaaah!! Hey, everybooody! The girls and I are back! We’ve made our
triumphant return!!”
The Flügel paused their brutal conversations and turned their heads to
see the sky warping—a byproduct of Flügel shifting. The resulting high-
pitched sound signaled their sisters had returned from the earth below
victorious.
“Oh! Sister Azril, welcome hooome. ”
Another Flügel greeted the arrival with a smile, and many more shifting
sounds followed. About one hundred more Flügel appeared, all covered in
blood. The youngest of them, also known as the Irregular Number, was
among them.
“Jibril! Welcome back!”
“Hey, hey! How many of the Elves do you think you offed this time?!”
The Irregular Number—Jibril—had remarkably long, prismatic hair and
amber-colored eyes with cross-shaped pupils. Of all the blood-drenched
Flügel who had returned from battle, she had the most commanding
presence.
“I did not count how many rarity level two kills I claimed. I merely
slaughtered everything in sight—including a Phantasma. ”
She licked the blood off her cheek and gave a smile that even a god
would die for.
The crowd of Flügel cheered when they heard of Jibril’s quarry. They
wanted to know everything—how many lives their sisters took, what kind
of hellscape they produced on the surface below. The sisters got closer,
excited to hear all the bloody details, but Azril hushed them. “Nyaaah! Hold
it, everyone! We’ll tell you what happened later, after we tell Lord Artosh!”
The crowd reluctantly opened up a path, and the rest of the Flügel who
had returned from battle followed Azril, the First Number, through.
“Nya-ha?! Raf! Since when did you get so close to Jibs?!” Azril scurried
over and shooed Rafil away from Jibril. “No one’s allowed to pet my little
Jibs but me! Stay back!”
Azril latched on to Jibril and hissed at Rafil like a cat.
“Elder Azril, please stop touching me without my permission. It’s
getting quite annoying. ”
“Nyaaaah! Why, though?! Do you like Raf better than your big sister?!”
Jibril was smiling, but she stared at Azril like she was a piece of
garbage. Azril slowly backed away after yelping in despair. Rafil smiled,
slightly frustrated, and intervened.
“Y’know, Jibril, there’s no reason for you to be so nasty to Azril. Keep
in mind that she’s our leader.”
“Forgive me, my elder, but I fail to see how anyone could possibly
respect this thing.”
Rafil looked at Azril, who was on the floor, crying. “She didn’t used to
be like that… Ah well.”
She heaved a sigh, and then the still blood-covered group proudly made
their way to their creator—to announce their triumphant return.
“It was as simple as destroying the core those brainless Elves were kind
enough to point out for us. ”
Azril and Rafil were quite formal with their reports, but Jibril was
different. She was smiley and more expressive. Mind you, this was in front
of their creator. She didn’t even try to hide her smug joy.
The incomplete Elven rite had caused the Phantasma to go on a
rampage. Jibril had deduced that the target of the failed rite was whatever
the rite used to control the Phantasma—its core. And her deduction was
correct; hence her satisfied grin. Going against a Phantasma usually ended
with casualties climbing up into the triple digits
“Enemy casualties came to… Well, does it even matter? We
eliminated every life-form we could detect. ”
Rafil followed with a general summary:
“Twelve of our number were injured, but none sustained mortal wounds.
Their injuries are being treated as we speak.”
The Flügel had defeated a massive Elf army, a dangerous spell, and even
an unexpected Phantasma. They annihilated their enemies, and all without
any losses of their own. It was a victory in its fullest form.
Azril mentally revised her battle report as she clutched at her head.
Jibril just doubled…tripled our casualties.
The Heavenly Smite Jibril used on Artosh left barely a scratch on him,
but it did create a massive shock wave.
“Raf… Could you bring the girls who were injured from the attack just
now to the Chamber of Restoration…?”
“Understood.”
Rafil moved quickly—she seemed used to this kind of situation—and
teleported away with several injured angels in tow.
There was nothing to be surprised about. This certainly wasn’t the
first time such an incident had occurred.
To be honest, everyone in the room saw it coming as soon as they heard
of Jibril’s achievements on the battlefield and learned that she was going to
see Artosh. Right before entering the throne room, they had readied their
evasive and defensive magic. The majority of Flügel in attendance had
shifted away the second they sensed Jibril preparing her Heavenly Smite.
Thus, most of the injuries were on the light side. However
“Jiiiiiiiiibs. Got a second? Mind telling me why you thought it’d be a
good idea to add more casualties?!”
The child version of Jibril cocked her head to one side in confusion.
“But Lord Artosh said he’d grant me a wish. You know I only wish to
try to move him from his throne. Surely even you, regardless of your low
IQ, saw this coming—?”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?! It makes me look
like a dummy for singing your praises!”
“Oh, no need to be so humble, Azril. It doesn’t make you look like a
dummy—you already are one. ”
“ Good.”
Their creator uttered a single word, which reminded Azril that she was
still in his presence. She immediately sank back down onto one knee.
“A fine attempt. But thou still hast much to learn. I look forward to thy
next attempt, Irregular Number.”
“Ah-haaa! Your words are wasted on me. ”
If that was all their creator had to say, then there was nothing further
for Azril to add. She began wearily giving orders to the Flügel who were
still present.
“…Bring everyone who has their hands free to come help repair the
throne room. Let’s make it look better than it did before.”
“Yes, ma’am…”
This was, well, more or less an average day for the Flügel during the
Great War. The floating city of Avant Heim was like no place else on this
desperate, war-ravaged planet.
…As absurd as it may sound, it was, in a sense, a peaceful time…
“Jibs… You’ve really gone and done it now—”
As soon as they left the throne room, Azril tried to scold Jibril in her
child form—
“What?”
“Nyaaaah! Jibs gets eighty percent cuter when she’s all teeny tiny—
wait, no! I’m actually really mad this time!!”
—but ended up yelling at her and rubbing her face against her cheeks.
Azril may have looked angry, but that didn’t keep her from nuzzling against
Jibril, who grumbled, “Is that so…? In that case, could you act more like it?
Highly unpleasant as this is, I haven’t the energy left to break free or
teleport.”
“I know that! That’s why I need to take advantage of this opportunity! I
get to be mad and enjoy your cuteness—it’s two birds with one stone!”
Jibril couldn’t do anything to free herself, so she sighed and simply
acquiesced. Azril continued to interrogate Jibril as her cheek rubbing
intensified.
“What were you even thinking?! Why do you insist on Heavenly
Smiting Lord Artosh?!”
Azril wondered how many times she’d asked Jibril this same question.
This was par for the course. It’s why everyone picked up on what
was going to happen ahead of time and took the necessary precautions. It
was just a part of being a Flügel at that point, like a family tradition. In the
same way Artosh always enabled Jibril’s behavior with a smile, Azril
always questioned why Jibril would do such a thing.
“Hmm, how should I put this…? Ah yes, let me think about it—”
And, as always, Jibril took a moment to think about her answer without
any clue as to what she did wrong.
“I know my attacks won’t hurt him, but seeing them have so little an
effect only makes me want to at least budge him off his throne all that much
more—ah, Azril! Here’s an idea should you like to be useful for once! How
about you and the rest of the girls all fire off your own Heavenly Smites, or
maybe—? ”
“No maybes! How am I supposed to react when I hear you talk about
harming our creator with a smile on your face?!”
“I think your usual dopey-looking expression should work just fine.
What do you think?”
Jibril’s comment was a dagger to her elder’s heart. Azril fell to her
knees; her eyes had glossed over. “Ugh, feels like my heart’s gonna give
out. What are you going to do if Lord Artosh gets mad and attacks you
back?”
Jibril would probably—no, definitely—get reduced to ash, if anything
remained at all. Jibril herself knew this as well—but, still in her child form,
she looked at Azril with the same baffled expression she always had when
she spoke with her.
“Hmm? Personally, I believe that challenging Lord Artosh is precisely
what he wants me to do.”
“Whaaat ? What do you mean by that?”
“Um, I mean exactly what I said… It’s rather self-explanatory, don’t you
think?”
The earth was stricken with hellfire and death, spiraling through space
toward its demise. A single shadow floated leisurely in midair and said to
herself:
“Such lovely weather today. ”
Jibril cheerfully took in the sky above, which was obscured by a thick
red mist. In each of her hands, she had—well…it was kind of difficult make
out what exactly, but they appeared to be four heads.
One hour earlier…
“Hey, didja hear about the deviant Phantasma going around calling itself
a Devil?”
“Deviant…? For the fifth time, it’s variant… Say it with me, ‘var-i-ant.’
Okay?”
“Whateverrr! Apparently the little deviant made something called the
Four Guardians.”
“If this so-called Devil made them…they’re probably just higher-level
Demonias, I’d imagine.”
“Mm-hmm. And get this—they’re going around claiming they’re
stronger than the Flügel ”
The moment Jibril caught wind of this, she teleported to the “Devil’s”
territory.
This brings us back to the four heads—they used to belong to the
aforementioned “Four Guardians.”
“Well, that was a letdown. Stronger than the Flügel… What an absolute
load of hot air…”
Jibril realized she should have known better. She heaved a dramatic
sigh.
“They were just stronger types of Demonias. But even the strongest
insect is still an insect. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”
…Should we feel sorry for the Four Guardians that got hunted down and
slaughtered within the span of an hour? Or was it their fault for not
watching their mouths, with their “stronger than the Flügel” business? At
the end of the day, they were still the Four Guardians—a rare Demonia kill
—so Jibril decided to bring them back with her despite her disappointment.
“That was my first battle in five years, so I was in tip-top shape… I was
hoping it’d be a bit more of a challenge,” Jibril said with a pout.
She had teleported to the Devil’s territory and destroyed everything she
saw. It just so happened that the so-called Four Guardians were caught in
the destruction as well. It certainly didn’t feel like a battle. She barely
batted an eye. With a few waves of her hand, the entire territory was
cleaned out. Hardly a fight; at best, it was
“…A nice warm-up, I suppose. I want my battles to be a bit more
thrilling—ah! Whoops!”
She accidently clenched her fist and almost crushed one of the heads
(mind you, these used to belong to the strongest Demonias) so she switched
them all over to one hand.
“Phew, that was close! Ahem, right. Battles are supposed to be !!”
After rearranging the four craniums, Jibril continued talking herself.
“They need to be all-out brawls! I want each and every blow to force me
and my opponent to wrestle with the reins of death! There’s no fun in one-
sided domination… It’s like pouring water on an ant-hill and watching them
drown… Although that sounds like it’d be pretty fun, too! Geh-heh-heh. ”
Jibril had never actually done that to ants before. So she figured, why
not try?
It brought to mind a famous Flügel idiom:
“There’s no time like the past.”
In other words: If you feel like killing someone, hurry up and go cut off
their head!
Jibril immediately sprang into action. She started descending in order to
locate an ant’s nest.
“ What’s this?”
She could see something far off in the distance. A massive white being
was flying at a high speed just under the clouds. It was
“A Dragonia—hmm. But I’ve never seen a white one before… It must
be my lucky day. ”
Jibril licked her lips. Her eyes glinted dangerously.
As far as she knew, the only Dragonias left after Artosh had vanquished
Hartileif the Final was Aranleif the Ultimate and his Followers. However,
Aranleif and all of his Followers were the color of nighttime, and Hartileif
had no Followers of his own. That meant the white dragon ahead of her
either had no Ruler, or perhaps
“ Cough……hack……wheeze……”
Jibril knew that to fight against such mighty power, she would need to
hit this Dragonia with something even mightier. She’d collected nearby
spirits along with others from her spirit corridor to defend herself from the
devastating attack.
“ Well…that was much stronger than I expected… What…
happened?”
With the same endearing grin plastered on her visage, she cocked her
head in genuine bewilderment.
A single word was all it took to wound a lethal weapon (read: a
Flügel) from head to toe. Something was off, though. After being hit with
such a powerful attack, this Flügel was laughing. The Dragonia stared at her
warily and then asked:
“ Art thou alone, frail-feather, follower of the Empty God?”
He spoke to Jibril in her native tongue. Unfortunately, he phrased his
question poorly—or perhaps he phrased it this way on purpose—and
simultaneously pushed two of her buttons.
“…You dare call Lord Artosh an ‘empty god’ AND you belittle my
wings…? I must say, you’re quite the brazen lizard. ”
The blood-drenched angel was even more murderous now. The dragon’s
attitude shifted; he was no longer hostile or confused, but instead…curious.
“Surely you do not seek to challenge me on your lonesome. What is thy
bidding, frail-feather?”
Something within Jibril audibly snapped.
“Surely, I do seek as much. I shall be straightforward with you.” She
bowed and offered a smile twisted in rage. “I want to throw you off your
sky-high horse so that you sink to the surface below… More specifically, I
wish to rip your head from your shoulders. It’s not every day you
encounter a talking, flying lizard. ”
Jibril was fairly peeved—quite livid—flat-out furious, even. Her
body quivered as she attempted to keep herself from lashing out at the
dragon. She was making herself quiver so that she could regain the energy
she’d lost defending herself from the dragon’s one-word attack. She needed
all the energy she could muster to kill him in one blow.
Jibril wasn’t thinking about the consequences.
The white dragon, with his massive wings that spanned the reddened
heavens, watched the angel in silence. He gazed upon her small wings as if
he were an archaeologist who had just discovered a rare fossil. A few
moments passed before he seemed to realize something. He then spoke.
“How fascinating. To think I might see the day when a troubled set of
feathers would appear before me. O, the wonders never cease during a life
eternal.”
He sounded impressed. This time, it was Jibril’s turn to be confused.
“Troubled…? There’s not much troubling me, other than the fact that I
can’t understand this filthy lizard’s Flügel.”
The dragon’s all-seeing eyes showed what appeared to be joy—and then
the air began to vibrate.
“I see the Empty God has finally begun questioning the significance of
slaying Hartileif.”
It took Jibril a few moments to realize that the billowing vibrations were
her opponent’s laughter. She started laughing as well, and with a dark grin,
she finally realized: This dragon was unspeakably powerful. She flinched
ever so slightly, then asked herself a question: Does it always take me this
long to recharge my energy?
“—let us do battle. Let us kill and be killed. Let’s vanquish each other.
”
I was quite upset after I lost to that Dragonia. I spent another seven
boring years in the Chamber of Restoration, but at least it gave me that
much time away from Azril. That part was rather nice.
…………
Seven years passed before Jibril emerged from the Chamber. She had
been unconscious for more than half the time she spent there. The first thing
that left her mouth the moment she emerged was:
“Hmm, I wonder why I lost… Quite peculiar, really. ”
As she speculated to herself, Azril caught sight of her from far away and
audibly gasped.
“ Jibs, you can’t be serious!! I’m gonna bop you on the head! Why
did you think you could beat a Dragonia?!”
“Oh, Azril. You’re still alive after seven years? What a shame.”
“Jibs… You’re gonna make your big sister up and cry!”
Azril was already sprawled out on the ground and crying when a second
angel brushed her aside.
“Jibril… I’d also like an explanation.”
It was Rafil. “Brush aside” wasn’t entirely accurate; rather, she demi-
shifted on top of Azril, who squawked in pain. Rafil ignored her and
questioned Jibril with a puzzled look on her face.
“What were you thinking…going up against a Dragonia? Maybe we
trusted you too much—I may have to reevaluate your position.”
Rafil was much more dignified than the self-proclaimed elder sister
kicking and screaming beneath her. But Jibril didn’t have any idea why they
were reprimanding her.
“Jibril.”
Rafil stopped her from teleporting away.
“…Answer me seriously. It was a coincidence that we even managed to
save you.”
Rafil fixed Jibril with a piercing glare.
“You just spent seven years in the Chamber of Restoration. You should
be thankful you have a stalker. Had Azril not been following you, it
would’ve been too late to save you… I should add that our Flügel leader
planted herself in front of the Chamber for all seven years, crying nonstop.
It was really annoying, honestly.”
“Nyaaah! You don’t have to tell her that! You’re making me sound like
an overprotective idiot of a sister!”
“Azril, you’re not right in the head. What are you if you’re not an
overprotective idiot of a sister?” Rafil retorted. She was basically asking
Jibril to be thankful to the angel freaking out beneath her feet. Jibril clearly
felt that was unreasonable, but Rafil continued.
“I’m going to ask you one more time: What were you thinking
challenging a Dragonia to a battle?”
Jibril knew that her much-respected elder might look down on her
depending on how she answered. And yet…she still genuinely had no idea
what she was being criticized for.
“My apologies, Elder Rafil, but please allow me to ask you a different
question.”
Therefore, Jibril was going to respond with a question of her own:
“What makes you believe I can’t defeat a Dragonia by myself?”
Azril (who was still under Rafil’s feet) was the one to answer her.
“That’s just the way the world works! Do you need someone to knock some
sense into you after all this time?!”
Rafil gave a small nod to Azril’s statement. “Even a single scale of the
weakest Dragonia harbors at least the maximum amount of spirits a Flügel
is capable of using. That means just two of a Dragonia’s scales are as
powerful as your average Heavenly Smite, Jibril. Multiply that by the tens
of millions of scales on a Dragonia hide… You’d need to be infinitely
stronger to even hope to penetrate their defenses. I know you know this.”
Jibril did know this, and yet, she’d challenged the dragon fully aware of
this fact. So why?
“That’s not possible.”
She answered without hesitation.
Azril and Rafil were shocked to see Jibril reject their notion of common
sense. Jibril continued her explanation as if it were something obvious.
“If what you say is true, then we would need a lot more than fifty Flügel
to penetrate a Dragonia’s scales. Even if we managed to do so as a group,
there’s another layer of tough flesh and bones underneath that scaly hide. If
Flügel aren’t strong enough to penetrate all of that, then I’d like one of you
to explain how we have been able to defeat Dragonias in the past.”
“…Hmm.”
“Nyah…nyaaah… I, uh…”
Azril couldn’t admit she didn’t know the answer to that question. Flügel
can penetrate a Dragonia’s defenses with enough numbers, but that was the
extent of their knowledge of the race. This is because when a Dragonia dies,
its body disappears in a fiery blaze. Nobody knew anything about how their
scales or defensive magic worked. All that the Flügel did know was that
they could overpower the dragons as a group.
However—Jibril had a theory based on that lack of knowledge.
“If Flügel can defeat Dragonias with numbers, then I should have been
able to do at least some damage against a Dragonia on my own. But, as you
already know, that was not the case. So I’m trying to figure out what
happened ”
She wasn’t happy that she had to explain something so painfully
obvious. It confused her—why couldn’t they understand where she was
coming from?
“There must be some kind of condition that’s met when we attack as a
group. A way to defy the Dragonian tongue. There has to be, or else it
makes no sense why I have been able to defeat other Dragonias in the past,
but I could do literally nothing against this one alone. Is that any easier for
you to understand?”
Azril and Rafil were silent for a moment. The latter broke this silence
with a chuckle and a sigh.
“Fine, sounds logical to me. If that’s how you feel, youngest sister, then
you’re free to do whatever you please.”
“Thank you, Elder Rafil.”
She curtsied to her respected elder, the one who understood her logic.
“Hey! Raf! Whaddaya think you’re doing?! You trying to get Jibs
killed?!”
“ Oh, sorry, Azril. I forgot you were still here.”
“Why do you guys all treat me like this?!”
Rafil finally got off Azril, who leaped right to her feet.
“I’ll tell you ladies where the heads of the Demonia Four Guardians are
if you restrain Azril for me. ”
The Flügel all turned on their heels in unison.
“Sorry, Sister Azril!”
“Sorry, boss! Brace yourself!”
All at once, the horde of angels set themselves upon Azril.
“Nyaaaah! What’re you guys doing?! I’m your leader! Why are you
treating me like this?!”
No one was sure if they should answer that question. Even Rafil looked
away when she heard it. Everyone was silent—except for one smiling
angel.
“If you must know, I could spend the entire night listing the reasons, but
if I had to pick a single one—”
Jibril said plainly what everyone else wanted to but could not.
“—perhaps your lack of charisma. ”
The news hit Azril like a ton of bricks.
Artosh was seated on his throne. The large doors to the throne room—a
place Flügel normally entered by shifting—were kicked open. Azril came
stomping toward her creator in a fit of tears.
“Waaah! Lord Artosh! Everyone keeps saying things like I have no
charisma, and that I’m a stupid idiot!!”
Artosh set his eyes upon his feathered followers’ leader, who was
bawling on the floor before him. The almighty god, the strongest of the
gods, her creator, shared with her his divine words:
(Lord Artosh a god among gods, king among kings, the strongest and
most supreme being.)
His divine will was all-encompassing, omnipotent. He knew all. So it
was only natural for him to understand all forms of jest.
It explained his choice of words.
“Ugggh, I hate everyone… I’ll show you allll…” Azril grumbled.
He’d meant that Azril’s entire existence was a joke.
Rafil looked down at Azril weeping on the ground like a child. Without
much thought, she kicked the angel aside and glared at “it.”
“…Quit it with those crocodile tears already and get up.”
“They’re not all crocodile tears! You’re so mean, Raf! I can’t stand
youuu!!”
Azril was sprawled out on the ground with large tears pouring out of her
eyes like a spoiled brat.
“…Raf… Do you think Jibs hates me?”
Rafil let out a big sigh. Was Azril seriously asking her this question?
You’re so awkward, she thought before replying:
“The way I see it, Azril, is that as the First Number, you’re almost too
perfect… You need to try being a little more flexible. At least, that’s likely
one of Lord Artosh’s wishes.”
A part of Rafil also felt for Azril.
“Jibril will never be able to tell that you like her with that act you’re
putting on.”
“……… But…this is all I know…”
Azril, the first of the Flügel, was responsible for watching over and
commanding the Flügel born after her. She was a tool for bringing her
creator victory in battle, the cause for great destruction throughout the
world. Even when faced with certain death, she would lead as many Flügel
as required into war with a smile if it needed to be done to actualize her
creator’s will.
But then there was Artosh’s special creation: the Irregular Number.
For reasons unknown to Rafil, Azril had changed ever since that day
Jibril was created. Only Artosh knew what he wanted from Azril and Jibril,
but it was evident that Azril had particularly exceptional feelings for Jibril.
She was a special unit; they couldn’t afford to lose her.
Rafil wondered if those feelings had developed into this strange
obsession Azril had with Jibril. This obsession contradicted Azril’s original
purpose; it was likely the reason she struggled to communicate how she felt
about the Irregular Number.
With a smile, Rafil offered Azril her hand, which she used to slowly
prop herself up. Rafil looked at Azril and muttered:
“Jibril would freak out if she knew her dumb oldest sister was the reason
I lost my wings.”
A lack of charisma, she’d said… Indeed, anyone who didn’t know how
Azril used to be might think that about her.
It was maintained that Rafil had been the one to puncture an Old
Deus’s ether in a past god-killing battle. This wasn’t the entire truth,
though.
What really happened was Azril used Rafil as a shield, then as a weapon
to penetrate the ether. She never showed any signs of remorse after the fact,
either. She’d merely smiled and, what’s worse
Rafil grinned uncomfortably as she remembered what Azril had said to
her.
“…‘Raf, you’ve been super helpful. Now it’s time for you to die’…
right?”
Charisma? Who needs that when you’re the strongest Flügel in
existence, who will do anything to win? Azril used to strike fear into the
hearts of all—including Rafil—but…
“Nyah, nyaaah…uh, I’ve apologized like a hundred times. Wouldja
forgive me already…?”
Azril was hanging her head down low in dejection.
This was the Flügel who had never apologized, not once, over thousands
of years. And now—she’d been this way ever since Jibril appeared on the
scene. It was quite fun to tease her. The best part was—Azril thought she
hadn’t changed a bit. Isn’t that rich?
Rafil knew that Jibril was different from the rest, but perhaps every
Flügel was constantly changing
“ Ah……”
“Nyah…wh-what, are you looking to pick on me some more?!”
Rafil snickered as Azril backed away from her in fear. Then something
seemed to vaguely click into place within Rafil’s mind:
In Artosh’s eyes, everything—including the concept of war and even the
world itself…
Legend has it that the two strongest beings met on this very land seeking to
end the contradiction that was their dual existences.
The channel known as Thrymgap was once the spot where the
world’s loftiest peak, Múspellskjálf, stood—where the Old Deus Artosh,
god of war, vanquished the Dragonia Hartileif the Final. Dusk had fallen.
High above the summit overlooking the world below was the site of this
heavenly duel from the distant past, said to have turned the sky red and the
earth a deathly blue.
Even to this day, that same sky trembles with incessant thunder over the
channel. Within the channel’s endlessly boiling depths lay a lone dragon,
quietly biding his time. His white scales shone brilliantly amidst the
twilight as he looked up at the heavens, remaining perfectly still. The
dragon’s eyes, filled with profound knowledge, caught sight of something
up ahead. The bloodred sky showed a single glimmer of light flying toward
him like a comet.
It was an angel.
Above the being’s head was a geometric halo, on her back were wings
of light—she was a Flügel. The beautiful young girl had long hair that
glimmered in all colors of the rainbow and amber eyes that gleamed with
volition. She was a single feather, created by the almighty god of war to do
his bidding. The dragon called out to the angel; she was carrying some sort
of enormous steel mass.
“ Well met, Little Feather.”
Jibril was quivering before the white dragon. Though she was used to his
grand physique, she was also captivated by it. Her heart started beating
faster. She could barely contain her excitement; her blood was boiling. The
yet-unnamed Dragonia teased her.
“Thou art a woman of fine taste, albeit somewhat peculiar. Art thou here
for thy sixth defeat, or—?”
Jibril cut him off there, and with a grin on her face—
“ You need not worry, dragon. This will be the last time we meet.”
—she readied the mass of steel into a fighting stance. With her halo now
spinning, she prepared herself for an all-out battle. Her opponent, the
dragon, squinted his azure eyes and spread his expansive wings so they
almost covered the sky. He asked her:
“Little Feather, dost thou know who fought at this very location a long
time ago?”
“Of course I do—why do you ask?”
Jibril spoke without the slightest hint of enthusiasm.
A battle between the Flügel creator and the most powerful Dragonia
took place over one hundred thousand years ago at this very spot. She’d
never given this legend much consideration.
Jibril laughed to herself. This is no legend.
What had their creator discussed with the Dragonia? What was he
thinking? What disappointed him? Jibril was curious about these questions,
but was there much of a point to knowing the answer? She knew she wasn’t
the strongest. Five times she had challenged this white dragon, and all five
times she had lost. He was unbeatable—unless he came to blows with
Artosh, who could surely vanquish him in a single blow.
So this dragon was nowhere near the strongest being in existence.
Hence, the battle about to transpire was going to be very different from the
legendary tale that occurred here. This wasn’t a clash between titans.
Without a question of who was the strongest, there was no need for
answers. It was merely a tale of a hopelessly weak Flügel challenging a
hopelessly strong Dragonia—nothing more, nothing less. A fool’s attempt
to prove that Dragonias were not in fact superior to Flügel; a hellish duel of
a weak opponent challenging a strong one.
Jibril smiled to herself. Most importantly…her pounding heart and
surging blood had nothing to do with imitating a legendary tale. The reason
she couldn’t stop trembling was simply because…
“I will defeat you no matter how many losses I must face in the process.
This battle is merely a game.”
Jibril’s words, which were brimming with ecstasy, caused the dragon to
stir and with this minimalistic motion, the sea parted and the heavens
burst open. Perhaps he had just laughed, for his voice was rather jovial as
he asked Jibril:
“Is that so, Little Feather? Then thou shalt continue to fight me for all
eternity, even with the knowledge that thou shalt never win?”
“No, I will show you that it is possible now and today. It won’t be as
confusing once I’ve beheaded you. ”
The dragon began to flap his wings, pushing a tidal wave of raw energy
against Jibril. He laughed.
“Ours was a fruitful discussion. Prepare to be torn asunder once again,
Little Feather.”
“It was a rather meaningless discussion. Are you fine with those being
your last words?”
…………
“…Again? Not again… You have the worst luck, youngest sister.”
“Oh, if it isn’t Elder Rafil! I have so much free time on my hands that
I’ve taken up drawing. What do you think?”
After a year in the Chamber of Restoration, a certain little girl had
finally regained consciousness and was scribbling away in a book.
Jibril had once again shrunk after being defeated a fifth time by the
Dragonia.
Brimming with confidence, she showed her pictures to Rafil, who
couldn’t help but groan in response.
“It blows my mind that you could go up against a Dragonia this many
times and still be in one piece… Every time you do this, Azril causes a
giant ruckus and creates heaps of problems for us. How about going
forward, you try thinking of a plan before—?”
“Hmm? I most certainly do have a plan, I’ll have you know. This time, I
was able to hit him directly with a Heavenly Smite.”
You mean you haven’t been able to do that the first four times?
Without picking up on the intense expression on Rafil’s face, Jibril
cheerfully continued, “What’s strange is, there was no effect—I mean, I was
able to pierce through a few scales…but they grew back almost instantly.
It’s as if…time itself was reversed.”
Rafil figured that the Dragonias were probably capable of time
control.
“If they had the ability to reverse time, then we wouldn’t be able to kill
them no matter how much we threw at them.”
Jibril rejected Rafil’s thought on the spot. The question wasn’t why
couldn’t she defeat the Dragonia, but
“Why can we defeat the Dragonia…? Rather—have we actually ever
defeated one at all?”
They could manipulate time and space at will and take a full-blown
Heavenly Smite virtually unscathed.
“Surely the power of one Dragonia could overcome that of another ?”
Rafil sighed not only did her sister have a plan, she was starting to see
a path to victory.
“Well, here’s some bad news—there will be no next time. You need to
stop this.”
“…………Pardon?”
“Azril is livid with you—this is an order. She’s forbidding anyone to
fight a Dragonia alone. Apparently…disciplinary action awaits anyone who
defies this order. At least, that’s what she said. So I thought I’d tell you.”
Rafil turned to leave. She knew her warning would only make Jibril
want to challenge the dragon that much more.
I dived right into the books I’d taken from the Elves only to realize…I
can’t read Elven. Why should I have to read their plant language in the first
place? I’m starting to feel depressed picturing myself talking to grass just to
pass the time, so I think I’ll get some sleep…
…Three years later, and I have yet to decode the “I’m a genius. ”
memos… I’m starting to feel suicidal. It’s not that I can’t read them, I just
don’t know what they mean. I must be dumber than a blade of grass. I
thought I’d get down to the grass’s level, but it appears I was never really
above it.
I was just about to do something drastic when I came upon a particularly
interesting note. The logic involved is far beyond my own powers of
comprehension, so I don’t quite understand all the details—but it sounds
like the author tried to create their own closed temporal space only for the
experimental container to fail. Then they proceeded to toot their own horn
despite their failure: “Why, I really must be a genius to have survived that.”
Whatever the case—it looks like I may need to revise my opinion of the
Elves. There certainly are some traces of genius living among those plant
people.
…………
What Jibril held in her hands could only be described as, well, a
giant mass of steel. Rafil caught sight of the massive hunk of metal that was
at least twenty times larger than her youngest sister, who shouldered it.
“Jibril… What have you…got…there…?” Rafil approached Jibril with
an indescribable expression on her face.
“Pay this no mind. It’s merely some Dwarf toy I happened to pick up.”
Jibril’s cheerful answer only left Rafil with more questions.
Come to think of it, I did hear something about Jibril destroying a Dwarf
armada. Nothing wrong with that. Annihilating the Dwarves? Sounds good
to me. Let’s do more of it. Drive them to extinction. I’m all for that.
Excellent. Keep up the good work.
The issue here was: What did Jibril plan on doing with that giant piece
of scrap metal ?
“You have nothing to worry about—I’m going to win this time.”
Why do I even bother asking? Rafil sighed; her youngest sister was
fiercely determined to defeat a Dragonia on her own. Then, a moment later,
she realized something.
…She said she’ll win this time… Was she this confident the last five
times?
“ Ah, Elder, may I borrow a Dragonia bone?”
What’s she need that for—? Never mind.
Rafil needed to say it, though. She was about to do so when
“Thou darest abandon a fight in front of thy creator, First Number? Thou
hast failed me.”
…………
With her head still hanging low, Azril took a deep breath and mumbled:
“…Then so be it.”
She lifted her head—no one could believe their eyes. Even Jibril, the
target of Azril’s gaze, gulped audibly. The Flügel before her looked like a
doll, void of all emotions except for the smile painted on her face.
With the exception of Rafil, no Flügel present had any idea who they
were looking at. She looked like the Azril they knew, and yet, she wasn’t.
Her voice was as cold and unfeeling as a steel blade when she declared:
“One strike. That’s all this will take. It’ll be over before you feel any
pain—Irregular Number.”
It’s been thousands of years since I’ve shown my true power. And against
Jibs, of all
Azril stopped herself there. She didn’t want her affection for her little
sister getting in the way of annihilating her. Azril told herself again and
again—her creator asked for this. All she needed to do was let out one
attack, just like she’d said, and everything would be over. Azril tossed aside
her emotions and calmly gazed upon her enemy like an unfeeling machine.
The Irregular Number was certainly strong. Their creator’s power
never stopped increasing; it was an endless process. So it only made sense
that the later a Flügel was born, the more power it had. This was especially
true for the Irregular Number, Artosh’s most recent creation. Not only that,
the Irregular Number was made with a special purpose.
But Azril knew that Jibril’s power was not great enough. She had less
than a quarter of Azril’s strength—and Azril was the strongest Flügel in
existence.
Moreover, Jibril was imitating Azril.
She, too, was readying a single attack for her fight against Azril.
Sigh. There wasn’t a soul in the crowd who couldn’t see the blatant
difference in power between the two.
Despite this, the Irregular Number looked utterly confident. She
didn’t even flinch. It was obvious why.
(This is a battle of Heavenly Smites… She’s going to dodge mine, then
go for a counterattack… Nyah.)
Should they pit their Heavenly Smites against each other, there was no
way the Irregular Number would be able to win. Even if Jibril managed to
attack first, it wouldn’t be enough to defeat Azril which meant one thing:
Jibril needed to hit Azril after she made her attack, otherwise she would
lose the match.
(Might as well say it now—sorry, Jibs.)
A counterattack in these circumstances seemed like the best course of
action however. Azril apathetically thought, This girl doesn’t understand
how things work.
Against such overwhelming power, there would be no after for Jibril
once Azril made her move.
“Like I said…this is a one-hit kill.”
Her Heavenly Smite did not converge into a single beam, nor did it so
much as waver.
She took that absurdly powerful amorphous light and brandished it in
her right hand—and then the light disappeared.
In the same moment, the darkness that had engulfed the Irregular
Number, without making a noise or letting off any light, began to vibrate
violently until it burst.
The invisible power rumbled, shaking the air, the very dimension.
A sound rang out, causing Avant Heim and the heavens—the planet—to
quake. The resulting black space elicited shrieks from the crowd when they
realized what was going on. Azril apathetically laughed to herself.
…She had moved her target and her Heavenly Smite to a sealed-off
space: her own pocket dimension. Her Heavenly Smite bounced off the
walls, amplifying infinitely within this dimension; she unleashed her
Heavenly Smite at full power within the confined space. It was fully
efficient, with every ounce of power dedicated to destroying her target.
Heavenly Smites are supposed to implode… It’s that simple
Nyah.
Anyone else would see a black orb, but the Flügel, who could see spirits,
space, and even the invisible, watched on in horror. After all, they could
imagine what was happening within the darkness by the fragments of air
whirling violently out of the epicenter.
The entire crowed doubted their eyes as the angelic child waited to
confirm Jibril’s death. But Rafil picked up on something else, and with a
big smile on her face…
“I should mention—the phrase ‘ultimate attack’ is reserved for our Lord
and our Lord only.”
“ What?”
No matter how powerful Azril may be, unless the ultimate attack was
produced by their creator, there was always a flaw, a way to counter it.
An ultimate attack could only be deployed by an ultimate being.
There was always a way to circumvent anything less than ultimate. The
attack they were watching was no different.
“Well…how should I put this, Azril? I know—you should be happy.
Looks like you got some of your charisma back.”
“S-Sister Rafil… Are you l-laughing?”
She was. The moment Azril used her ultimate and final attack, Rafil
caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye, something that made
her have to keep herself from laughing the entire time. Rafil could no
longer keep it in, though, and laughter burst out of her like a breeched dam.
How disrespectful of Azril, she thought as she snickered to herself. Azril
called this her ultimate attack. It was precisely why
“Azril, this is exactly why you’re Azril…… Sigh… Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Their creator probably thought this was hilarious, calling an attack not
strong enough to kill him “ultimate.”
Everything I’ve done has been for this day, this moment. I don’t intend
to write anything further in this journal, so I’ll end with one heartfelt wish
—all I desire:
“I, a Flügel, have defeated a Dragonia.”
…………
Jibril scrawled one last sentence, then closed her journal and flew
toward the dragon she could see in the distance. It wasn’t her utmost
determination or desire that drove her, but her will. After losing five times,
and going in for her sixth try, she remembered the question she had when
she first fought against the white dragon, on that fateful day that felt like so
long ago.
“Why did I lose?”
It was a question with an answer so painfully obvious that she didn’t
understand why she even thought it in the first place, but the real essence of
the question was
“EXPLODE.”
In that very moment, the dragon’s tail came swinging toward Jibril at an
incomprehensible speed, especially considering the size of his body. It
sounded like planets colliding when it hit the ground, producing a massive
sound that resonated throughout the entire sea. In a flash, the dragon’s tail
parted the heavens, earth, and ocean. The shock wave likely pushed several
races closer to extinction with the damage it brought them. Nevertheless,
the white dragon seemed to be enjoying their battle.
A battle that would change all logic as it was understood at that time
began in the next moment.
Wings of a tiny angel clashed with wings of a giant dragon.
As if they were recreating the legend from so long ago, their clash went
beyond the sea where they battled and shook time itself. The dragon used
its tail, claws, fangs, and words to fight against the Flügel. The angel
responded by evading, blocking, and parrying his onslaught of attacks.
The battle tore through space and twisted through time, sending the
world into a screaming frenzy. It was a phenomenon that far surpassed
human knowledge, to the point where it couldn’t be called a battle. Those
who could distinguish between this clash and the one between the unrivaled
god of war and the supreme Ruler of Dragonia knew that only gods
themselves were capable of such destruction.
The sea beneath the two foes boiled over, and the mountains came
crashing down with the sky.
All light disappeared in a single flash, without leaving a trace. The sight
was apocalyptic, as if heaven and earth were collapsing—you had to
wonder how someone capable of comprehending such destruction would
describe it.
The dragon continued his onslaught of fatal attacks without signs of
stopping, but not a single one reached the angel. Some might call it a
miracle that she was able to keep up, but the dragon and the angel both
knew more than anyone:
She was barely putting any effort into it at all.
The gap in power was still evident, but the little angel gracefully weaved
her way through her opponent’s attacks, using his power against him. Every
time the dragon slipped through space and time, the angel demi-shifted
through each wave, just barely escaping death. It was almost ironic; the
incredible power of the dragon was what protected the angel.
Thus the dragon couldn’t help but admire her; he was moved by the
fight.
It was hard to believe that such a small being, created by the incarnation
of emptiness, could come up with such ingenuity.
“Incredible—astounding, even—but alas…”
The dragon was laughing.
“Thou hast not come here to dodge my attacks, hast thee, Little
Feather? Is it time for the reveal thou spoke of?”
He sarcastically pointed out how Jibril had yet to launch her own attack.
The comment clearly bothered her.
“You’re quite the chatty lizard… Did anyone ever teach you something
called a climax?”
She snapped back with some sarcasm of her own, but she definitely
wasn’t in as good a spot as she wanted to be in.
She wasn’t contending with the dragon at all.
The source of this destruction was a mighty dragon unleashing an
onslaught of attacks and a tiny angel dodging said attacks for her life,
nothing more. Jibril was using the dragon’s power against him to nullify his
attacks, but doing so was like walking along a tightrope; there was no room
for misjudgment.
From the dragon’s perspective, no matter how hard the angel tried, she
wasn’t strong enough to defeat him.
He was certain of this after their previous five battles.
Even if neither of them landed a finishing blow, he had a great
advantage, since Jibril needed to use significant energy to dodge the attacks
he effortlessly threw at her. Should the fight push on—eventually time itself
would determine the winner. However—Jibril had a way to reverse this
outcome.
“…Authors typically structure their writing with plot development
followed by a climax ”
Though she was dodging for her life, Jibril never lost the smile that
showed her confidence in her victory.
“I’d say we are just about at the point right before the climax, where the
plot falls apart…” She was laughing. “You exist on multiple planes of time,
don’t you?”
No matter what time even meant for a battle like this, Jibril’s next three
attacks all happened at nearly the same moment.
Jibril had forcefully rewritten the magic used by Artosh to create the
Flügel. Had Azril been there, she probably would’ve reprimanded the act as
blasphemy against their creator.
“ Will thou not vanquish me?” the dragon quietly asked, to which
Jibril cocked her head in confusion.
She remembered a particular phrase in one of the Elf books she’d
read while killing time in the Chamber of Restoration: “Let your enemy cut
your flesh so that you will smash his bones.” At the time, she felt bad for
the low-intelligence race and how pitiful of an idea it was to do so.
However, if her one and only desire was to truly prove it was possible for a
single Flügel to defeat a Dragonia, then
“I have vanquished you. What difference does it make if a small
footnote says I died in the process?”
Jibril needed to be prepared to have her own bones smashed.
She didn’t care whether she lived or died so long as she vanquished a
Dragonia on her own. Even if she perished, only one thing mattered—her
victory.
Jibril’s body began to shine brightly.
“ Incredible.”
The Dragonia praised Jibril as she lit up the sky the same way she had
many times before. Her third and final attack was going to pierce through
the dragon’s body, a vessel in which time and space converged. She only
needed a tiny amount of energy to make it into said vessel, where it would
amplify infinitely, eventually blowing the dragon’s head off. But Jibril
never witnessed this, for at that very moment, she lost consciousness…
So I, um…survived.
The last line I wrote in this journal makes me want to bury myself in a
deep hole. I think I’ll be more careful about what I write in here moving
forward…
P.S. I have the most annoying older sister in the world.
…Jibril was flipping through the journal she’d sworn to never open
again when she noticed the aforementioned annoying older sister.
“Azril, would you please let go of me?” she asked, her voice cold as ice.
“That’s gonna be a no.”
It took her four years to regain consciousness, and it was going to
take another six years to make a full recovery. Azril was there in the
Chamber of Restoration, latched onto Jibril.
“I hafta stick to you to make sure you don’t go off and do anything
ridiculous again! What were you thinking, trying to rewrite your core magic
like that?! That was amazing, though, killing a Dragonia by yourself and
all. I spoke with the girls about where the best place to hang that dragon’s
bones would be, and we decided that once you’re outta here, we’re gonna
throw a parade to celebrate your recovery! But I’m sticking by you until
then. Do you know how incredible a feat it is to take down a Dragonia?! It’s
quite the accomplishment!!”
From the moment Jibril woke up, Azril hadn’t stopped talking to or
hugging her. Normally, she would chase her eldest sister out of the room,
but Rafil was there to stop her.
“Jibril, don’t even think about it. This sister of yours literally spent the
past four years clinging to you while you were asleep. Until you get all your
strength back—I’m thinking another two years at least—she’s gonna be
stuck to you like glue.”
Jibril almost felt like passing out again.
She managed to pull herself together and heaved a sigh. “Ugh…forget
Annoyril. Why are you here, Elder Rafil?”
“‘Annoyril’? Is that supposed to be me?! That’s a little blunt, wouldn’t
ya say?!”
“Hmm? Is there a problem with me wanting to see my youngest sister,
who’s accomplished an incredible achievement that I’m very proud of?”
Rafil ignored her older sister and patted Jibril on her head. She smiled and
continued warmly:
“ You sure are something, Jibril. Don’t do something that insane ever
again—but still, you’ve done well.”
Jibril looked up at Rafil; she was so cool. “Sister Rafil… I’d rather you
be the leader of the Flügel.”
“What?! Why?! And did you just call her Sister Rafil?! No fair! That’s
it! I challenge you to a duel, Raf—”
Azril didn’t know this as she whined away, but just outside their room
was a crowd of Flügel, and each of them agreed with Jibril’s sentiment.
The moment was cut short when the air began to vibrate, quietly, like
a distant earthquake. No one there could ignore the extraordinary power
that affected itself on the room. The cramped room—which changed to an
expansive space—and the commotion it contained found itself hosting a
towering man with an imposing appearance, as if he had been in the room
since ancient times. The three girls froze up when they saw him. The god of
war, the Ultimate God, their creator, Artosh, had appeared before them.
He who hadn’t left his throne in hundreds, perhaps thousands of
years was making a personal visit to the Chamber of Restoration. His
arrival must have had an impact on time, or space, or the law of causality,
because the room they were in had expanded to hundreds, thousands of
times its original size. Having seen their creator stand for the first time, they
felt like mere insects in his presence.
“ I hear thou vanquished a dragon, Irregular Number.”
Artosh proudly gazed upon his angelic servants, who were frozen in
disbelief.
“What shalt thou do next, my Wings? Wilt thou hone thy strength until
thou can vanquish me?”
He spoke with a kind tone, as if that was what he wanted her to do.
Azril, Rafil, and all the Flügel listening couldn’t believe their ears; they
were on the verge of fainting.
“ It may be blasphemous of me to question you, Lord, but I must
insist: Did you come all the way here to ask me that? Was it always that
easy to get you to stand up?”
Some of the Flügel actually did faint when they heard Jibril’s response.
Even Azril was beginning to dip in and out of consciousness, but Jibril
wasn’t finished.
“I couldn’t possibly compete with your divine strength, Lord. I am still a
weakling.”
She spoke with pride in front of her creator.
“I will one day prove I can drag you from your throne by myself so
for now, please take your seat on the throne where you belong, Lord.”
Sit down and shut up.
The rest of the Flügel proceeded to swoon at Jibril’s blatant challenge to
their creator’s authority.
“HA—HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-
HA !!”
Artosh let out a boisterous laugh like he had never before. He grinned
from ear to ear as he addressed Jibril in a markedly savage tone:
“ Very well. I’ll be waiting atop my throne Godspeed to thee, my
beloved weakling.”
He then disappeared, and the room reverted back to normal. He left
behind an infinite number of questions and
“…Jibs…that—that was…”
“ Huh?”
Jibril looked at her oldest sister, whose eyes were lit up like light bulbs
as she shouted.
“You made Lord Artosh smile! And a fighting smile at that!! Does this
mean you’re gonna fight Lord Artosh next?! Where do you get the guts to
do that? That tiny journal of yours is gonna get massive!!”
“Azril, please calm yourself. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“N-no, Jibril… This is a fight too great even for you—” Even Rafil was
caught off guard by what just happened, as were the rest of the Flügel who
had been listening. Chaos broke out as the angels—now a mixed bag of
envy, astonishment, and admiration—set Avant Heim alight with their
chatter.
He was all by himself, seated on his throne, resting his hand on his
cheek, as always. Artosh muttered to the powerful dragon he once
vanquished from the top of the world in a legendary battle:
“…Hartileif, O Final one: I see our discussion was indeed fruitful—and
yet, it truly wasn’t.”
They say dragons can see through the crevasses of time. There wasn’t a
doubt in Artosh’s mind that Hartileif knew this day would come. In which
case, what he’d told Artosh turned out to be incredibly true—but it was also
something Artosh never wanted to hear.
That pathetic dragon, the one Artosh had almost forgotten he’d ever
fought—that very dragon had challenged the god of war knowing he was
weaker than him, but he didn’t have the mettle to try and overcome him
despite his weakness. If you know you are weak, shouldn’t you try to push
forward regardless?
He should have greeted the strongest being with open arms. Artosh
would never understand Hartileif, who had accepted his death gracefully.
Challenging the strong is all I desire, yet it is also why I cannot
attain happiness…
“And yet the day I await may not be so far off.”
It was the year the Great War would come to an end
twelve years later. But the god of war, even with his divine knowledge, had
no way of knowing this.
Artosh quietly sneered as he imagined the battles that awaited one of his
Wings.
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AFTERWORD
“War. War never changes.” A quote from the opening of Fallout.
…Anyway.
If I were a pessimistic person, I’d probably finish the afterword here, but
I ain’t no pessimist. I’d like my dear readers to take a second and really
think this through.
I mean, it’s not like people want to go to war with each other, right?
Like, if there was some sort of war-obsessed masochist out there, I think
most people would be pretty put off. ’Cos, you know…war looks pretty
painful, am I right or am I right? Really though, who wants to get shot? It
looks like it hurts like hell. Let’s be real here: If there were that many
masochists running around, the human race would’ve gone extinct a long
time ago.
So then why do people wage war? Heh… The reason is actually very
simple.
Before, it was like that—but now, it’s like this.
Last time, that happened—but what will happen this time?
That’s the gist.
Time and time again, what we’ve learned from history is that people
don’t learn anything from history—well, not necessarily! The actual
problem is much simpler: History doesn’t literally repeat itself!
That’s why people always think, “Oh, this time, things are gonna be
different,” or “It’ll work out next time!” Driven by a bold vision and
wishful thinking, humans repeat the same mistakes we have for centuries…
And so, dear readers…I ask you not to give up on humanity. Those who
carved out their place in history merely believed “This time, things are
gonna be different” or “It’ll work out next time !” They struggled, they
fought, they fretted—and they went to war…!
Oh, but what do you know? It was a mistake this time, too! We turn our
mistakes into the foundations for our next mistake… We don’t reprimand
ourselves for what happened, but commend ourselves for it.
In order to prevent the same mistakes from happening again, we don’t
get rid of the bad actors—but write off our blunders as “Hey, people make
mistakes!”
And that gives us the confidence to say—we won’t make the same
mistakes ever again!!
“Good! Let’s get straight to the part where you commend yourself for
repeating the same mistakes! (grin)”
Oh! If it isn’t my editor, T! Thanks for once again pointing out my habit
of shirking responsibility!!
Man, y’know, you can be real helpful someti
“(deadpan) I noticed you submitted 180 pages for the first draft.”
,
…Y-yeah.
See, writing about all the intricacies involved in warfare gets pretty
complex…
I know—let’s be constructive about this. The question you need to ask is
not “Why did you?” but rather “Why didn’t we stop you?” An ounce of
prevention is worth a pound of repeated mistakes, wouldn’t you say? Do
you remember what you told me when I first showed you the plot for this
draft?
“(confused) I believe I said (with a smile) ‘Sounds good! Let’s go with
that.’”
YES! YOU DID!! DIDN’T YOU?!?!?!
That is where the first mistake happened. What I needed you to say was:
I did this all while we were making the No Game No Life: Zero movie
and the No Game No Life, Please! manga!!
There was a lot of work on my part that went into making those, you
know! I multitasked my ass off and still hit the deadline, by the skin of my
neck! …Or is it skin of my teeth?
“Teeth don’t even have skin. I’ve always thought that was a strange
expression. (smile)”
I-i-i-in any case! I’ve already started the writing the tenth installment of
No Game No Life!! And there you have your obligatory line of promo, so
I’m thinking you guys could cut me a little slack!
Anyway, that’s enough for this afterword! See you next time!
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