According to myth, there was once a great conflict in the heavens between the two “strongest” beings.
—Long ago, there existed the tallest mountain in the world, Muspelgalve. It has long since been destroyed. No longer can one gaze or climb upon its might. Nevertheless, the daunting confrontation would still be remembered, even to the current day.
The most powerful Old Deus—Artosh, the God of War.
The most powerful Dragonia—Hartyleif, the Armageddon.
A battle of the distant past, a fierce duel for the top spot overlooking the world—
“I ask thee—what is the meaning of strength?”
At the zenith of Muspelgalve, Artosh, the God of War, spoke.
—He is the manifestation of the concept that is “war.” The embodiment of the cycle that competes with life and death to polish the soul, undoubtedly the pinnacle of the world. He’s a warrior without equal in the world, however the one whom he asked that question is, also—
“Thou shalt never know.”
In response to the God of War’s query, Hartyleif, the Armageddon, answered languidly.
—He is one of three Dragonia “kings” that scour the sky. Born from the remains of a god, he is the oldest of all Dragonia. The immortal soul and body of the solitary Dragon King who glares at the world from Muspelgalve. Nothing can hurt him, not even the gods—undoubtedly the pinnacle of the world. God and dragon. The strongest of the strongest. Their conflict began—with but a question and answer.
“—Why?”
“For thou art the strongest.”
The God of War repeated his inquiry, and the Dragon King answered immediately.
“—Then how about the strongest?”
“I cannot answer. I, too, am revered the strongest.”
“—If it be true thou art the strongest, can thee not knoweth the strongest?”
“Indeed. ‘Tis always the weakest who understand and defineth the strongest.”
“—Then how may we prove we are the strongest?”
“We do not, for ‘tis impossible. ‘Tis as if the truth could not proveth itself. ‘Tis as if the glass that is filled can no longer be refilled. An endless victory only illustrates the past. Nothing can competeth, nothing can be achieved, and said query leads to an unbound cycleth.”
Silence fell upon them. A moment or two of silence. In the face of the true transcendent, even the time of the moment lost its meaning—
“—Then who shall prove to be the strongest!?”
The Dragon King angrily responded to the words of the God of War, shaking the heavens with a weight that stirred the earth below.
“He who has no power. Only those who challenge the strongest can proveth to be the strongest. When all else fails, thee knoweth thou art the strongest.”
At the Dragon King’s answer, the God of War snorted and shook his head in disapproval.
“—Thee think thee can’t proveth thou art the strongest unless thou art defeated?”
“‘Tis true. Without knowing the weak, thee cannot knoweth the strong. Just as thee cannot perceive darkness without perceiving light.”
With a low voice, Artosh glared at the dragon in front of him.
“—Then thou art the strongest dragon.” Artosh spoke, thrusting the shining lance he’d been holding in his hand for some time and asked, “If I challenge thee and am defeated, shalt I knoweth that I am the strongest?”
“Nay. For thou canst never defeat me.”
The Dragon King’s words seemed to clearly disappoint the God of War.
“Wretched God of War, prayed for and desired, therefore strongest of the weak. Thou dost not challenge me. Thee shall only showeth yourself as thee at each moment hast. I will never understand thee, but neither can I be pessimistic.”
The Dragon King—Hartyleif—understood. The lance in the hands of the God of War will burn through time and melt away the scales, flesh, blood, and bones of the immortal. However, before his own demise, the solitary Dragon King, known as the “Armageddon,” still spoke mildly.
“I kneweth this day wouldst cometh for quite some time. A long time ago, I wast destined to be defeated by thee. Therefore, on the day at which hour the end cometh, the present day, I shall declare. Thee, too, shall be defeated. The day shall cometh at which hour thee shall hath called the strongest, and the strongest shall be defeated. Then thee shall knoweth. Thou shall knoweth what ‘tis to be strong and what ‘tis to be weak—”
Were the words of a dragon who bites his lip in happiness on his deathbed at the long-awaited arrival of the day, who also wishes the same happiness for the God of War. Artosh roared with rage, hatred, and even more so—unquenchable jealousy.
“O fool! I have won many victories in eternity and remain supreme.”
“Aye. So be it, and thou shalt inevitably be defeated.”
I wish thee well… With that sullen voice, Hartyleif slowly spread his wings. From the top of the highest mountain in the world, Muspelgalve, the entire continent was covered.
“It was but an idle question, O dragon, who abandoned the strongest.”
“A useful question and answer, the most powerful of which I shalt knoweth later, O God of War.”
—At that time, the title of “the strongest” roaring in the world became that of one sole individual. It is said that the clash of the two strongest closed the heavens and dyed the earth a deep red death. The highest point in the world, Muspelgalve, soon became the deepest great pit—and then the sea. It boils and thunders in the residue of clashing forces, as if it were still retelling the myth. Today, the straight is called Thrymr Gap by those who sweep the land.
—It is a historical moment that took place fifteen thousand years in the past—simply put, a myth.
——……
Today I killed a lot of Elves, Phantasma, and Fairies. It was a lot of fun, so I feel great.
—The Great War.
A war in which the gods, along with their kin, fought for eternity for the throne of the One True God. An endless cycle in which all living things hate, are hated, and slaughter one another. A war that closed the heavens to ashes, covered the earth with corpses, and murdered the planet itself. But even so, they’re not satisfied, and the era of endless murder persists eternally. There is no earth that is not stained with blood, no sky that does not echo with screams, only a world filled with despair, grief, and hatred. No amount of poetic genius can match the poetry of this world—a world that was dragging itself on its knees. In such a world, in such a bloody time, it’s easy to call it hell, however—
“Take it easy, relax! This is the peak of paradise!”
“Aha, that looks like a lot of fun!”
—there was a race of people who lived happily together in harmony.
“Heeey!! Listen to meeee!! My Rare 3 head, Sarakil-chan took it!!!”
“Sorry about that~ But I’m pretty sure you took it from me first, ahaha♪”
“Hey, hey, hey! The moles have built the self-proclaimed greatest fleet! Who’s up for a massacre~♪”
Needless to say, that race was…the Flügel.
—It was the paradise known as Elysian.
It was filled with the smiles of pretty maidens and the breath of life. The city that towers on the back of the Phantasma Avant Heim, drifting in the sky, is a paradise at this very moment. Overflowing with greenery, flower petals whisking through the wind, and birds chirping, beautiful angels gracefully soar through the sky—
They seemed to be enjoying their days, enjoying their lives to the fullest.
—Oh my, kukuku♪ Hihihiii killing♥ The tension is quite high.
It’s a bleak world, at full throttle for that matter. Enjoy the bloody era to the fullest. While the heavens, the earth, and the stars are dying, there’s no one who enjoys life to this degree. The ones who have turned the world into a mess that even the demons of hell would turn away from. Being Together, Love (Kill) & Peace (War), happily engaging in noisy conversations on the daily.
…Doesn’t it seem absurd?
The earthly people who hang their heads in despair, cursing their own helplessness in a dead world where they don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Far above their heads—do they think those who are enjoying life happily are unreasonable and absurd?
But frankly speaking—that’s how the world is. If someone is happy, then someone else will be unhappy. Happiness is generally structured in such a way—however! The Flügel are plunging the whole world into the depths of misery, and even further into the abyss! How unreasonable is it to have a monopoly on all the happiness in the world!? It’s just like capitalism—er, well, you know. That’s it. Frankly speaking, once more—that’s how the world is.
In the first place—absurdity is the very definition of the Flügel. To hate and to be hated, to kill and to be killed. It is that delusion, that thought, that has covered this world in war. This is the essence that gave birth to the Flügel—and by extension, their creator. In truth, there is no such thing as absurdity. This is simply the result of the natural desire of all living things to fight. These women were born as the embodiment of death, the ones who spread war throughout the world. In other words, “what goes around comes around”—
However, it would be very bold of anyone to ask you to honestly accept that fact. But the most important point is that the Flügel don’t really care about such things, they are oblivious—
And then, in this nightmarish paradise in the sky, suddenly, the loud voice of a bright, lurid, and ungainly woman rang out.
“Nyahahaha ~!! Everyone, Azril and co. have made their triumphant return~!!”
The Flügels, who had been engaged in a lively conversation, turned their gazes in unison. Next came a high-pitched sound that distorted the space—the aftershock of the shift used by the Flügel. It sounded as a sign of the return of those who had descended to the lower realms.
“Ah, Azril-sama, welcome back~♥” said the voice of one Flügel, who’s voice sounded over the shrill whistle of the spatial shift.
The Flügels continued to appear, nearly a hundred in number, daubed in blood. Among them was the youngest of the girls—a Flügel of extraordinary value.
“Outstanding job, Jibril-chan~!”
“Heeey! How many Elves did you kill!?”
Jibril—a Flügel with long prismatic hair and a cross in her amber eyes. After returning from the battle, the girl who stands out from the crowd of Flügel, covered in blood, is…
“I’ve gathered quite a lot rarity second heads. I killed every Elf I could see—and one Phantasma♥”
Licking the blood dripping from her mouth, she tells them with a smile that even the heavens looked fondly on. At Jibril’s answer, the assembled Flügel shouted in unison. They pressed for more details—how many people had been killed, and what kind of hell had been created on earth. Azril says to her sisters, who crowd around her in anticipation of the bloody tale.
“Nyaa~ Hold it, everynya! I have to report to Lord Artosh first!”
At Azril’s words, the assembled Flügel nodded and cleared the way. A few moments later they all returned and started walking with Azril in the lead.
“You’re really popular, Jibril.”
So says a Flügel, somewhat happily, as they walk past Jibril. The Flügel in question had a broken halo, appearing as if most of it were missing. She had one small wing as opposed to the generally large wings exhibited by the Flügel, and one visible eye—their name was Rafil.
—There was a battle that the Flügel once challenged an Old Deus to, and only once won, destroying the god. She was the one who led the army alongside Azril in the battle that took place way before Jibril was born, which she only knew through word of mouth, and she was the one who played a key role in the victory, puncturing and destroying the god’s essence with her own hands. In return, she received a wound that not even Artosh could mend, however—
“No, no…I’m nothing compared to you, Rafil…”
—as you can see, she is still actively fighting on the front lines, and even Jibril hung her head in respect for her. But Rafil, the god-slayer, smiles wryly and pats her younger sister on the head, telling her, “Don’t be so humble, your merits are worthy of the praise you have received. Go before the Lord with your head held high.”
“Nya-nyaa!? Rafil-chan, you’re trying to outdo me and gain Jib-chan’s affection!?”
—Suddenly, Azril brushed away Rafil’s hand that was petting Jibril’s head.
“I’m the only one allowed to pet my Jib-chan, nya! So back off, nya!”
Azril reached over and clung to Jibril, purring and hissing like a feral cat.
“Elder Azril, could you please not touch me so carelessly? Thanks♥” Jibril bites back with a smile—but also with low regard toward her elder.
“Nyaaa!? Why, nya!? Can Rafil-chan just touch anything now, nyaa!?” Azril exclaims as she leans back in a rather battered manner.
Rafil, with a dumbfounded yet slightly annoyed expression, interjected, “Jibril, you don’t have to hate Azril so much. She’s our big sister, after all.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, it’s extremely difficult to respect this thing.”
Azril couldn’t help but fall to the ground and cry after hearing Jibril’s words, and was left behind by the rest of them.
“…She wasn’t always like this in the past……forget it.” Rafil sighed, as do the rest.
Still covered in blood, she proudly made her triumphant return to the throne room—to the Lord.
—The Throne Room where the Lord resides.
There was no sign of the carefree, playful demeanor that had been present moments ago. The group of Flügel returned victoriously, many flocking around to hear their report. Without hesitation, they all kneel and quietly hang their heads. A huge, burly man, with a body stronger than rock sat on the throne of his revered supremacy. The most powerful god, the God of War. He is the creator of the Flügel—Old Deus Artosh. He glanced down at the Flügel—his beloved little birds—kneeling before him with his golden eyes, and his arrogant voice echoed throughout the hall.
“—Mine own little birds art in excellent condition, I see.” Artosh said with amusement as he stroked his strong, almost steel-like black beard.
“—Azril, Rafil, and Jibril—describe the outcome of the battle.”
With those commands, Azril began her report first.
“I’ll begin with the battle results—the enemy has been exterminated and our losses are twelve.”
The girls engaged in battle with the Elves—to be precise, a rite devised by the Elves activated for a test drive.
—This rite was capable of forcibly controlling and manipulating a magic-capable life form and make it a force to be reckoned with. Nina Clive, a clever little girl, had devised a rite that, when functioning properly, can control Phantasma, Gigant, and even them—nonetheless, Jibril did not hide her intentions as she reported.
“I educated that mongrel from the forest that her attempt to deal with one of us was a crazy fantasy, and that is was all but a pipedream. The poor bitch should’ve known better than to dream of such things♥”
Jibril reported with a look of overwhelming condescension in her eyes. The results of the battle simply confirm them as hard facts. A total of one hundred Flügel, led by Azril, Jibril, and Rafil. She brushed off any interference from the rite and simply laid waste to it with a deadly grin. All the Elves involved in the rite compilation and all related facilities were, quite literally, obliterated. Also, the Fairy village, which seemed to have assisted in the rite’s creation, was also destroyed. Then—Rafil took over.
“As you know, the Fairies involved in the rite’s development are hiding in a village—a spatial phase boundary called Spratool—and is rather difficult to find…there are only two hidden villages that we’ve been able to identify so far.”
Rafil then glanced at Jibril.
“The Phantasma, Cloud Vortex, was affected by the incomplete rite, then went out of control and attacked us.”
As if to follow, the triumphant Flügel’s gaze falls on Jibril—and then…
“—Thirty of us, led by Jibril eliminated it.”
At those words, the eyes of everyone except the now triumphant Flügel widened in shock.
—The Cloud Vortex, or cloud with a will, as they call it, is a Phantasma. In its nature, it is literally a natural disaster, a neutral phenomenon with a will, and its existence itself is ambiguous. Defeating a Phantasma is extremely difficult, but Jibril answers their gazes without hesitation, smiling.
“I only destroyed the nucleus that the Elves kindly impeded and exposed to me♥”
While Azril and Rafil report the results of the battle in a clerical manner, only Jibril speaks with a personal touch on top of a smile. While in the presence of the Lord, she doesn’t even try to hide her mockery and pleasure.
As a result of the incomplete controlling rite, the Phantasma went out of control.
Jibril began to speculate that in order to control a Phantasma it was necessary to interfere with its core. If one were to try and find the source of the collapsed, broken magic of the Phantasma, they would trace it to the nucleus.
As it turned out, Jibril’s speculation was right on the money. She smiled even wider and continued.
Originally, to defeat a Phantasma one had to be mentally prepared for triple-digit losses of troops.
“As for the enemy death toll, well, it doesn’t really matter♪ I cleaned up any vital signs I could detect♥”
—Rafil took up the conversation and concluded:
“Wear and tear—twelve serious and minor injuries, zero incapacitations. We’ve applied restoration rites to the injured.”
A large army of Elves, dangerous rites, and an unexpected engagement with a Phantasma—
All of them destroyed. Our losses are zero.
—A complete and utter victory. That was all of the battle report.
Azril proudly took over the story.
“Cloud Vortex, it is to the credit of Jibril’s resourcefulness and command that we were able to reduce the damage to zero and even destroy the enemy, My Lord.”
Killing a Phantasma—the tremendous achievement of her sister—relinquished the tension gnawing at her face. Azril, who had almost fainted in front of the Lord, barely managed to keep her tone straight and reported that.
“Mm—”
Artosh also seemed to be impressed by the news. He turned his gaze to Jibril and carefully inspected the fresh blood that stained her beautiful body, each injury not a few and not shallow. Then, Artosh nodded in satisfaction and said, “Valorous work, Jibril.”
“What a waste of words, My Lord.”
“The power I hast given thee is not the only thing that can achieve this. ‘Tis a sign that thee hast indeed competed and combatted on the battlefield and hast polished thy soul. I am pleased with thy growth.”
Artosh’s cordial words caused a murmur among the Flügels in attendance. A piercing look of envy gathers on Jibril’s back.
“—I’m feeling quite pleasant today.” Artosh said with a smile that he rarely displayed.
“Alloweth those folk taketh their reward. Thee can inform me of anything thee like.”
“Thank you for your praise—I’ll take your word for it♥”
Jibril, who had been hanging her head, bowed, and stood up—then, the space around Jibril began to stir in a state of conception. There was such a convergence of spirits that even Avant Heim was shaken with surprise. Then—
Drifting through the air, within the Phantasma Avant Heim, a section of the city rising on it’s back disappeared. The residual light of a Heavenly Smite swept through the entire hall, leaving bursts of dust. However, the light stopped in front of Artosh and split in two. After Jibril had released the Heavenly Smite, she shrunk to the size of a little girl, and trembled in ecstasy.
“Aaaah♥ It didn’t work at all! Ahah! Next time, I’ll show you a more ingenious blow!!”
Azril deeply corrects her battle report and holds her head high.
—The damage here has increased from twelve to about twenty, she said to herself.
The Heavenly Smite that Jibril shot resulted in a shockwave created by Artosh, who caught it without even wincing.
“…Rafil, take the injured child to the restoration chamber…”
“Understood.”
Rafil, who was ordered to do so in a familiar, transferred with the injured individual.
—No one was surprised. It’s not the first time such a thing has happened.Or to put it bluntly—everyone in the room was expecting it. Before they all entered the throne room to hear that Jibril had won the battle and was kneeling before the Lord, they had long since prepared for defense and evasion. Just before Jibril shot the Heavenly Smite, the most of them felt the presence of it and fled in spatial shifts. There were injuries, but only minor—
“Jib-chan~♥ Can I have a word with you, nyaa~ What are you wanting to the point of causing more damage, nyahaha!?”
Jibril however tilted her head curiously with her shrunken body.
“But, since you asked for what I wanted, even Elder’s empty mind could have guessed that I wanted nothing more than to remove Lord Artosh from that throne—”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that!? I feel like an idiot for praising Jib-chan’s battle results, nyaa!”
“Elder, you’re being modest again~ It’s not like that, okay♪”
“—Good.”
With that one word from the Lord—Azril, who had been crowding Jibril, forgetting that she was in front of the Lord, hurriedly apologized.
“Not bad. But ‘tis not enough. Let’s look forward to next time, Jibril.”
“Ahhh♥ I’m so scared♪”
—Once the Lord said that, there was no reason for Azril to argue any further. She looks around, tired, and tells the Flügel surrounding her to mosey on out.
“…I’ll gather all the bored kids and fix this place up, nya. Make it cleaner than before it was decimated, nya.”
“Got it…”
—And, well… This was relatively the daily life of a Flügel during the Great War. On a planet consumed by war and despair, there is only Avant Heim, drifting through the sky.
…Whether they’re unorganized and irrational, in a way, they were utterly peaceful…
“Jib-chan…your sister is mad at you right now—”
As soon as they left the Lord’s throne room, Azril’s first words were to scold Jibril—
“Hmm?”
“Nya, little Jib-chan’s cuteness is up eighty percent compared to usual, nyaa—this can’t be! Sis, I’m so mad at you, nyaaaaa!!”
—She then hugged Jibril, who was now in the form of a child, and rubbed against Jibril’s cheek as she moaned. Jibril’s face twisted in anger, but Azril didn’t wouldn’t let up. Glaring at her sister, she spat out a heartfelt cry.
“If that’s to be the case, then could you please stop acting in a manner that is contradictory with your statement!? I don’t like this, yet I don’t have the strength left to shake you off or escape by spatial shift!”
“I know that, nya! I’ll take my chances, and I’ll be cheeky and angry—two birds with one stone, nyaa!”
With no way to resist, Jibril could only let out a sigh and be left to her own devices.
“What were you thinking, nyaa!? Jib-chan is crazy to have shot a Heavenly Smite at Lord Artosh!”
As she shouted this, Azril thought to herself, how many times have I asked this exact question?
—Honestly, it’s always the same. Hence why everyone around her was aware of the situation in advance and evacuated or took precautions. After all, it was just like any other day. The fact that Lord Artosh laughed and forgive her is also—
Azril, as usual, also questioned his true intentions, but…
“Well, whatever you say—but that’s right, what I’m thinking is—”
So, Jibril pondered with a look of not knowing what was wrong. Then—she continued with the answer her sister was so hellbent on knowing.
“Even though you say that, even if I can’t get through to you at all, I’m thinking that I want Lord Artosh out of that throne of his, no matter what—ah, Elder! Why don’t you try doing something useful for a change!? If we all shoot a Heavenly Smite together, including Elder—it’s possible♪”
“Or what, nya!? What am I supposed to do when someone smirks and suggests killing the Lord, nyaa!?”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine with your usual stupidity♪ How’s that?”
Azril’s knees finally buckled as Jibril puzzledly, and indifferently, cut into her sister’s heart.
“Auuhhh~ What if Lord Artosh gets angry and fights back against Jib-chan, nya? It would break my heart, nya…”
Maybe? No—definitely. Every last piece of Jibril would be exterminated. I’m sure Jibril knows that—
But Jibril, still in child form, tilted her head in a puzzled manner and muttered, “Well, it seems to me that’s exactly what Lord Artosh would want.”
“Huh—? What do you mean, nya…?”
“How, might I ask…is it not obvious?”
“—Hit me with your best shot—is written all over Lord Artosh’s face…can’t you see it in your knothole eyes?”
———
“Jib-chan…Jib-chan is a special girl. That’s why I tolerate her, but—”
—Suddenly, she stood up with an expression that seemed to have lost all emotion. Azril tells the childish Jibril in a chilling voice:
“—As the one in charge of the Flügel—I cannot let that go unheard.”
—She bows before the Lord, and even says that she wants to kill the Lord. If it’s your intention to harm and kill the Lord—no matter how much Jibril…
Azril glanced down at her emotionlessly, but Jibril—
“So, you want to purge me?”
She smiled sparsely, challengingly, and looked up at Azril.
“…………”
“I’m aware that Elder could easily destroy me if she wanted to. Much less if it were me now.”
Then she looked down at her shrunken limbs, which has used up all her strength, and smiled. And if it’s a decision and a right entrusted to her by the Lord—
“It’s Elder’s decision to exercise that right, so please feel free to do so. However—” Looking up once more, Jibril saw it in her eyes: Azril’s unsympathetic attitude was insignificant—the overwhelming hostility was just for show, “—only do so if you swear that you won’t whine if you get beaten back♪”
“—I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Azril bit back, Jibril taking up a fighting stance in response.
The youngest Flügel—Jibril—was created while Artosh’s power was at its peak. But even so—she is far outmatched by Azril, the first Flügel. Azril is in charge of all Flügel, and naturally she was created to be the strongest of them, whereas now she has used up all her power and has no power left to do even one shift.
And yet—no, that’s why, Jibril thought to herself, licking her lips, daring to take Azril’s word for it.
—I can’t miss such an exciting opportunity to challenge the strongest Flügel—!
——A momentary face-off.
The amassed gazes of many Flügel, who had been watching from afar, withdrew. The air had grown tense and was preparing to shatter, but……
“—Huh~ Jib-chan, you’re so serious, nyaa~ If Lord Artosh doesn’t mind, neither do I, nya! That’s it, Jib-chan! That’s what makes you so cute, nyahahahahaha~~♥”
In an instant, she relaxed and pounced on Jibril once again, rubbing against her. In fact, if Jibril is thinking this way—if she can think, then her thinking, that action—must be a “right” recognized and granted by the Lord. If so, it’s proof that there is a divine will there that Azril can’t fathom.
She thought to herself about it, but Azril continued to hold on to Jibril and rub against her, “…Then I have no qualms in saying that this is exactly how boring Elder is, nya.”
—Jibril looked bothered and bored to the core.
“Aah!! You mimicked my lingo, nya!? I love you sis, nya!!”
“I didn’t expect you to even understand a single sentence. I swear in the name of the Lord I will never speak like you again.”
Ignoring the mutterings of the sluggish Jibril, Azril continued to entangle her, “……I think you’ve had your fun now, Azril.”
“Nyaaaagh!?”
After forcibly pulling Azril off and slamming her into the nearby wall, Rafil scooped up Jibril.
“Jibril, you’re free to be wild and open, but think about what you’re doing first—we’re going to the restoration chamber now.”
Rafil then turned and walked away with Jibril in her arms as if she were chiding a real child.
—There were two voices of protest, also like real children.
“R-Rafil, I’m fine—being locked up for five years is the pinnacle of boredom!”
“Nyaaa!! Rafil-chan kidnapped my child, my baby girl!”
With Jibril in Rafil’s arms, her limbs, and even wings flapped in fury. Slinking away from the crumbling wall, it was Azril who crawled along the floor and wept. Looking at them both interchangeably, Rafil replied:
“—Then I’ll hand you over to Azril. You’ll naturally recover, but I don’t think she’ll ever let you go for the next fifty years—”
“Five years without having to see her would be a bliss, absolutely divine♥”
—Jibril’s sudden change in attitude was like a brief blow to Azril’s heart.
“Aaahhh, my Jib-channnnn! I can’t see her for five years!? This world is hell!!!”
She’s turning the earth into hell, as she herself would say. Rafil thinks……it’s peaceful………
Looking back at the place where Rafil and the others had disappeared to—Azril thinks, I know I’m the one who pressed Jibril, I just don’t feel like she’s satisfying Lord Artosh.
—I don’t think Jibril is right in what she says and does.
It’s outrageous that you would turn on the Lord, in fact, I can’t even begin to comprehend it.
However, the smile that the Lord occasionally shows—a smile that has been submerged in a sea of weariness since the defeat and elimination of the Armageddon—even Azril had rarely seen it directed at anyone other than Jibril.
So I guess that’s it for Jibril. No, that was fine. I mean—
“She’s so cute, nyaaaaa, I can’t resist following her, nyaa!”
Azril made a thumping sound, and the surrounding Flügel jumped in panic.
“W-Wait, Azril-sama!”
“What are you doingggg!?”
“It’s obvious, nya! If we all launch a Heavenly Smite we can all enter the restoration procedure with Jib-chan for five years, nya! The restoration room—that’s where El Dorado is!”
—Is she an idiot?
Such a question crossed the minds of everyone present, and the next moment—
A single pillar of light flashed from Avant Heim, piercing the red sky, and everyone was sure…
—Yep, she’s an idiot.
I was glad to be out in the world for the first time in five years after the restoration treatment. I was told that Elder had followed me into the restoration chamber after firing her own Heavenly Smite. When I heard that Elder was going to be in the same room as me, my respect for her diminished. Idiot. The restoration chamber is supposed to be private, and with Elder now joining in, her superior strength made the process considerably slower. As I heard Elder’s cries as Rafil-chan took me away, I really thought she was stupid, but not this stupid.
Amidst a heaven and earth engulfed in fire and ruin and a sky of dying stars, a shadow danced through the air, and leisurely muttered.
“What a beautiful day♥”
The identity of this shadow was Jibril, who was flying through the grim red sky happily. In both hands—wait…what are those things? She was carrying four head-like objects, each of which were hard to distinguish in any specific details.
—It all began about an hour ago……
“Hey-hey, wasn’t there some perverted Phantasma calling themselves the Devil or something?”
“…Mutant, they’re mutated, not perverted, OK?”
“I could care less~ Anyway, it seems that this pervert has created something called the Four Heavenly Kings.”
“The Devil created…what, you mean he created some higher form of Demonia?”
“Yep-yep♪ Guess what—he claims they’re stronger than the Flügel—”
—The moment Jibril heard that, she shifted to the Devil’s territory. As you may have guessed, those Four Heavenly Kings—were now in her hands.
“I’m quite disappointed. Beings above the Flügel are pesky…” Jibril sighs deeply, thinking that she should calmly assess it. “They’re essentially a superior variant to those small fry Demonia—in other words, a stronger Demonia.”
…Should I weep for those Four Heavenly Kings of Demonia who were hunted in an hour, or should I pity them for claiming to be “stronger than the Flügel”? They should know better than to mouth off so carelessly. Even though they’re quite rotten, the Four Heavenly Kings—that is to say, the heads of them—I’ll be bringing them back with me—
“It’s been quite some time since I’ve been out and about, and I’m in perfect condition after the restoration treatment…I still feel incomplete though.” Jibril muttered in an annoyed tone, her lips pursed.
She shifted to the Devil’s territory and thoughtlessly massacred whatever she saw—among them were the Four Heavenly Kings.
I don’t feel as if I’ve fought a battle. Rather, it doesn’t feel right. A few swings of the arm is not what I’d call a battle. At best—
“…It was more of an exercise, honestly. Warfare is much bloodier and more exciting—ahhh!”
She clenched her fist, nearly crushing the head of one of the Four Heavenly Kings (or whatever they were), and then hurriedly switched to gripping them all with one hand.
“Phew, that was a close one♪ Anyway, what is warfare in the first place—!!”
Once again, Jibril clenched her fists and spoke to no one in particular.
“The grinding of souls! Blood clashes with blood, and life with life, of course! A one-sided overrun is too boring…it’s like pouring water over an ant hill and just watching…oh, that sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Hehehe~♥”
Even though I just used it as a simile, I’ve never actually done such a thing. It actually sounds quite enticing.
—There’s no time like the present—
If you thought I was going to kill you, you should’ve chopped my head off!
And in accordance with the venerable Flügel’s maxim, Jibril made a quick decision and lowered her altitude to look for an ant’s nest.
“—Oh?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. A huge, pure white body flying at high speed beneath the clouds. It was—
“A Dragonia—huh. But a white Dragonia is…quite a rare sight♪”
—Jibril’s eyes lit up and she licked her lips.
As far as Jibril knew, the only Dragonia involved in the war since the Lord’s elimination of Hartyleif are Aranleif and his followers, however—all of Aranleif’s followers are as black as darkness. Hartyleif didn’t have any followers, so the silvery white dragon flying in the distance is either a stray without a king, or—
“A follower of the Dragon King Reginleif!? I have a feeling they’re a very premium neck~♥”
I’ll get your head! Jibril promptly decided. The Demonia’s Four Heavenly Kings were just an appetizer! She suddenly turned and flung the heads of the Four Heavenly Kings.
—No Flügel has ever taken on a Dragonia alone and won.
If so, it’ll be fun for me to break that precedent!!
Instantly, Jibril flaps her wings and fallows the dragon—and at the same time, she remembered.
They say that the Lord has not moved from his throne since he slayed the Armageddon. Why did the Lord become so boring after such an exciting victory over the strongest Dragonia? She wondered, and then quickly came up with an answer.
“…Well, you’ll know it when you try it. ‘A hundred kills are just as good as one’♥”
As before, Jibril accelerated, uttering the Flügel’s venerable proverb. But—fast, and far away. Even though she flew at full speed, the distance between her and the Dragon showed no sign of shrinking at all.
Well, if you think about it, it’s only natural—Jibril smiled. The fact that such a huge body the size of a small mountain was flying in the sky was abnormal in of itself. Perhaps it’s not flying to be exact. Rather, space is moving away from the dragon, leaving it behind. Rejection of space-time interference, fixation of self-coordinates.
—Speed is not the issue.No matter how close Jibril gets to the speed of light, she’ll never be able to catch up.
Then what to do—Jibril worries a little, and then quickly finds a solution.
“Ahh, what am I doing? All I had to do was say hello and stop it♥”
—Right after, the giggling Jibril swung her arm and then released her greeting.
It overtook not only sound but even light, tearing through space. With a roar that shook the heavens and earth, it slammed the surrounding mountains into a vortex of destruction—
Jibril came forward.
“—My humblest apologies for interrupting you. My name is Jibril.”
She approaches the evaporated surface of the mountains with soaring flames and spewing sediment. In the center of the crater, which is marked by tremendous devastation, there was a dragon looking up at her.
—Great, Jibril thought. The jade body, which is considered to be immortally indestructible, is intact, as it should be.
The pure white dragon scales shine in the sunlight, clearer and more unblemished than the glaciers of the polar seas. And the most beautiful thing of all is the profoundly intelligent look in the eyes staring back at her. Eyes that seem to be looking at some time that is not now, some place that is not here, all of it—truly the most perfect of all Dragonia. The overwhelming dignity that makes one think that it’s much more divine than any Old Deus other than the Lord.
The silvery white dragon turned to her.
Foolish False God’s scraggly feather, I’ll forgive your rudeness—get lost.
—Jibril didn’t understand what the dragon had said to her. However, the words spun in the draconic language made her feel that the entire space around her—
No, the vision in the dragon’s eyes—all of it was instantly turned to rubble and obliterated.
—It was magic in and of itself—a “command” of sorts to all things in the universe, a draconic language. Everything that was told to die will die, and everything that was told to crumble will crumble and return to the earth. Fragments of power of the creation of heaven and earth. The primordial language of the stars. Known by countless names and legends, such as the “universal language” and “language of creation,” no one but the Dragonia know of its true purpose—
“————————Kaha…haha…ha…”
Jibril knew that there was no way to resist it, except to defy it with more force than she could muster. She quickly gathered all the spirits that could interfere with the Spirit Corridor, as well as all the spirits around her—
Jibril, barely breathing, endured a landscape in which everything had literally disappeared, and said to herself.
“—Oh…this, is honestly more than I imagined…well, let’s see what happens.”
But despite this, she smiled stoutly, and then tilted her head in genuine wonder.
—One word.
The dragon that made Flügel, the embodiment of death, a weapon of warriors by itself, look like a maniac. But the way Jibril still smiled at him made him slightly suspicious. Did he feel something strange about the Flügel in front of him?
“—Alone or empty, I am just God’s scraggly feather.”
She dared to speak to the dragon in the language of the Flügel—but the dragon did not notice. Or did she say so while he was aware? Whatever she said, he stepped on two of Jibril’s “landmines.”
“…You call My Lord a false god, and me a scraggly feather—you’ve got some nerve♪”
Those two—but to Jibril, who’s body was heavily wounded, all they did was escalate her desire to kill even more. The dragon changes its presence again. In a non-malicious way—from a hint of doubt—to interest.
“You have not come alone to destroy me, have you? What do you want, scraggly feather?”
——Something snapped discernibly in Jibril’s mind.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Let’s get straight to point.” With a smile twisted with anger, Jibril bowed, “I want to sink your eyes into the ground…and more specifically, I would like to chop your head off♪ A flying reptile that speaks is quite the rare specimen♥”
—To put it bluntly, Jibril was pissed. She was very angry, furious even. Her body was trembling—she had to suppress the urge to slash at him at this very moment, with or without saying a word. She was trembling with patience—she was converging her power as fast as she could, to the limit, in order to make up for the power that had been lost by the dragon’s single word earlier—in other words, to strike a blow of maximum power.
What does that mean? Jibril would ask, seemingly unaware of what it meant. The dragon, which spread its huge wings as if to cover the red-covered sky, watches in silence. The Flügel in front of him—with the intelligent eyes of a scholar who has encountered a rare phenomenon—he just looks at her. And then—what he really saw in her, the dragon tells her.
“I never thought I’d see the day when I’d witness a feather in such distress.”
This time, Jibril raises an eyebrow suspiciously at the voice that expresses genuine astonishment.
“I don’t have any issues, except for the stress of not being able to communicate with the reptile before me, even though he is clearly speaking the Flügel tongue.”
But the dragon’s eyes, which seemed to see through everything, were filled with joy—immediately after, the space shook.
“Indeed, the demise of the Armageddon was significant, and now the false gods have begun to question me.”
It took Jibril a few moments to realize the shaking of the space was the laughter of the dragon. Understanding, Jibril smiled as well—yes, a comatose smile, I admit. The power was so unexpected that it frightened her. Next, she asked herself.
When did I become so stubborn that I had to wait so long for the power I lost in my first strike♪
—I’ll kill you, here and now.
That is, to Jibril, who converges to exploit the spirits—but the dragon…
“I dare ask, O feather. Do you think you can defeat me?”
The silver dragon’s query reminded Jibril of her Lord, the ruler of heaven who can collapse heaven and earth with but a single word. But Jibril tilted her head, her smile deepened, and she replied.
“It’s impossible to communicate with a lizard, and the question is so silly it makes me laugh, but if you dare to ask, I dare to answer—of course.”
In the midst of the storm created by the flapping of the dragon’s wings—Jibril continued.
“But I can’t say I particularly care.”
Yes, it is not the victory of defeat that is important. The only thing that matters is…
“There is a strong man in front of me, and I have the chance to kill him—what choice do I have?”
—That’s what “war” is all about. I thought it would be the “soul crushing battle” that Jibril wanted.
—The dragon understands the obvious answer.
—But Jibril doesn’t understand.
The oddity of the action. The oddity of that action—the contradiction. Therefore, the dragon spreads its wings, and with an overwhelming presence that makes one think it could cover the heavens, or even the world—but with a disproportionately gentle hint—it simply tells you.
“I’ll help you answer your questions that even you don’t know you have.”
“Do you lizard’s enjoy Zen meditation? I don’t need a lecture, so come on—” Jibril replies with a ferocious grin.
“Let’s have a war. Let’s kill each other, let’s die together, let’s fight each other♥”
Her mouth hung open in an emotion that could not be described as madness, ecstasy, or anger.
—And so, Jibril conjured a great Heavenly Smite with all her power—
【CRUSH】
But faster than she could release it, the dragon uttered a single word. That’s all—a single stroke of the wing and a single word from the Dragonia.
“————————Huh?”
—Jibril half-instinctively calls out Heavenly Smite—but couldn’t attack. She unleashed everything she had just to resist the words that commanded the collapse of everything.
“We were wrong. We misjudged one another.”
—In my fading consciousness, I heard the voice of the dragon.
“Let the day come, O feather, when we know each other, and let us try again and again, and let us not be disappointed.”
So—I heard a gentle voice that seemed to be telling me something.
An absolute force swirls around them as the particle bonds of all things dissolve and the very meaning of them disappears. In the storm of destruction that threatened to destroy Jibril’s ability to hold onto her form even after she gave up her entire soul—the last she saw of the dragon after it flapped its wings and flew away, it was wrapped around her like a motherly wing.
Jibril…Flügel…God-killing weapons.
She couldn’t even resist—she was knocked unconscious by the unrelenting force.
I wasn’t disappointed to have lost to the Dragonia. Also, the seven-year restoration treatment was boring as expected, but it was good that I didn’t have to see Elder, so I was happy.
————…………
It took seven years to complete that restoration treatment. I was unconscious for more than half of that time.
On her way out of the restoration chamber, Jibril was pondering.
“Well. How did I lose…? It’s quite incredible♥” Jibril said to herself, but Azril was screaming her head off.
“—Are you serious, nya? If so, Jib-chan, excuse me for a moment while I beat your head in, nyaa!! There’s no way you can take on a Dragonia alone and win, nyaa! What were you even trying to prove, nyaaaa!?”
“Oh, you were there, Elder? Sorry to hear you’re still alive.”
“Jib-chan…sis, do you want me to start crying for real, nyaa!?”
She pushed Azril away, who then fell to the floor and began crying—
“…Jibril. I’d like to ask for an explanation.”
—well, actually, Rafil appeared in a spatial shift above Azril’s head, ignored the screams of the girl she trampled, and stared into Jibril’s eyes intently with a pious expression on her face.
“What were you thinking when you challenged the Dragonia? If you’re so overconfident I’m going to have to revise my assessment of you.”
Azril was kicked to the ground and struggled—a rather crude sight in comparison to Rafil’s dignity. However, Jibril still didn’t understand her question and responded in confusion.
“No, I never thought it’d be easy to kill one, but—”
Dragonia—she’s engaged some in skirmishes on more than one occasion. She had defeated one once or twice—and she knew more than enough about them. The Dwarves claim that a single Dragonia is on the same scale as a thousand warriors. Originally, it was only possible to gather the power of fifty or a hundred Flügel to take down a Dragonia. Their scales are harder than any mineral on the planet, so their bodies will remain forever, even after death.
The Dragonia are indeed very strong. If anything, they even rival the lowly Old Deus.
Jibril never thought they were an easy opponent to triumph against, not even in the slightest.She even believed that the Heavenly Smite she released at her best state could knock off a few of their scales. Unfortunately, she still seemed to underestimate the Dragonia.
“Facing a dragon that takes fifty to a hundred of Flügel to defeat, I’m defenseless…why is that?”
I couldn’t even get my hands on it—the Dragonia really aren’t easy to fight. I really had no power to fight back. It’s doubtful whether the dragon even “attacked” or not. Even if a bird challenged a hawk, at least the bird would be able to put up some form of resistance.
She tilted her head back in thought, not caring that she had almost died. However—Rafil’s shoulders slumped as she muttered, “I see.”
“How about this, Senpai. Jibril felt compelled to defeat it at all costs!”
Azril, still trampled by Rafil, struggles and screams, “I don’t see the slightest point in how, nya! You’re so persistent that you nearly died, nya!”
“If Elder Azril says no, then yes is the correct answer, and that dragon should be dealt with. Thank you. Rafil-senpai, I’ll be back in a bit—”
“Jibril.”
Rafil, who uttered but a single word, stiffened Jibril, who was about to spatial shift immediately.
“……Answer me seriously. It was pure luck that you survived.” Rafil’s gaze sharpened as she continued, “You spent seven years recovering. You can thank the stalker for that. If she hadn’t followed you all that way, if she hadn’t found you even a little bit later—you wouldn’t have survived…Might I add that it was rather annoying, to say the least, to have the head of the Flügel root and weep in front of your treatment chamber for seven years until you recovered.”
“Nyaaa!! You can’t just say things like that, nya! You make me sound like an idiot who overindulges in her sister, nya!”
“Azril, are you okay in the head? What else would you be if you weren’t overindulging in your sister?”
I’m supposed to be grateful for this thing struggling at Rafil’s feet—
Jibril seemed annoyed by this exchange, but Rafil continued.
“—I’ll ask you once more. What were you thinking when you challenged the Dragonia?”
Jibril knew that, depending on her response, she would be ridiculed by her respected senpai.
—But still, Jibril didn’t understand her question.
“With all due respect, Rafil, let me ask you a question.”
So now I dare to ask the question—in reverse.
“Why do you assert that one cannot defeat a Dragonia alone?” Jibril asked, but the answer came from Azril, who was still being stepped on.
“That’s just the way it is, nya! Why does common sense need to be explained, nya!?”
Rafil nodded her head gently in agreement, and then explained this “common sense.”
“Even in its weakest form, a single scale from a Dragonia contains the maximum amount of spirits we can handle. Even if we assume that Jibril’s Heavenly Smite is ten, which is double the average, a single Dragonia scale is five. Hundreds of millions of them, layered on top of one another…if we don’t bind all of our power together, we fundamentally lack the strength to even hurt it. This point should be clear to you.”
Of course, Jibril knew all that and challenged them on that basis, because—
“That’s not true.”
—She replied firmly.
Azril and even Rafil stared in disbelief as their “common sense” was denied. But Jibril continues, as if stating the obvious.
“If that were the case, fifty of us—even fifty times our strength—would not be enough, since not even a single scale would be scathed, let alone would we cut through the flesh and bone. You say that we lack the strength, yet in the past we’ve penetrated through these hundreds of millions of scales and have slain many Dragonia. Please explain.”
“…Hmm.”
“Nya…nyaa……that’s…”
Azril was at a loss for words. She knew that if they take on the Dragonia in large numbers, they can break right through their defenses. But on the other hand—beyond that, she didn’t know anything. After all, when a Dragonia dies, it leaves behind bones and everything from scales to the flesh and blood goes up in flames and burns away. The complexity of their scales, and the key to their defensive techniques—they are completely unknown. She only knows that the only way to kill a Dragonia is to gather a large sum of power and rely on brute force, but nothing else. However, in response to this ignorance, Jibril gave a rationale—a hypothesis.
“If fifty Flügel can kill a Dragonia, then I alone should be able to inflict some damage to them, but that’s not the reality. Therefore, I understand that—”
—Why should I have to explain something so obvious?
Jibril thought with a genuine look of confusion—eyes tinged with doubt as to why they didn’t understand.
“There must be a condition to pierce those scales and defy that language of theirs. If not, then I will engage the dragon on my own, get a feel for them, and breakdown their overwhelming power—can you understand if I put this way?”
—After a moment of silence, Rafil smiled and giggled.
“Very well, that was a satisfactory explanation. In that case, O little sister, do as you wish.”
“Thank you, Rafil-senpai.”
After receiving a form of understanding from her respected senpai, Jibril breathed a sigh of relief and thanked her, but—
“Hey, Rafil, nya!? Do you really want to let little Jib-chan die!?”
“—Huh? Oh, sorry Azril, I forgot you were still here.”
“What have you taken me all for, nyaaa!”
As Rafil finally stepped away, Azril stood up furiously and shouted hesitantly at her.
“Order to all Flügel, nya! Jib-chan is to be restrained, now, nya!”
At this rate, Jibril would not hesitate to challenge the Dragonia again. And this time—there’s no guarantee that she’ll survive.
I can’t let her go—!
“Jib-chan, I’m sorry!”
“That thing is our commander after all~”
Countless Flügel suddenly emerged from the void and approached, but Jibril just smiled and bargained:
“If you catch Elder, I’ll tell you all where I left the heads of the Four Heavenly Kings of Demonia♥”
—Only a moment later, they all turned around instantly.
“Sorry, Azril-sama!”
“Excuse me!”
All the Flügel turned on Azril as soon as they said they would, pouncing on her.
“Nya, nya, nya!? I’m the commander of the Flügel! What is this treacherous behavior!?”
Is that really the right question to ask them?
Everyone—including Rafil—looked away and shut their mouths. But one of them said with an angelic smile, “If you want to hear it, I can list the reasons until dawn—in short,”
Jibril said what everyone had been trying to say but had refrained from saying.
“Lack of charisma♥”
—At that moment, to Azril, the sky was falling.
Jibril finished and spatial shifted away, meanwhile Azril could not help but be dumbfounded by what she had heard. She had a hard time lifting the arresting suppression of the crowding Flügel and sat down, paralyzed, on the ground and said to herself, “I…I don’t have…charisma, nya?”
—Sometimes silence speaks louder than words. Like right now, for example.
Throne Room, where the Lord resides.
Normally, Azril would gracefully enter the hall through spatial shifting, but now she deliberately pushed the door open as hard as she could. Bam! Azril crashes into the hall, tears and snot dripping down her face.
“Waaaaa, Lord Artosh, nya! Everyone is bullying me, calling me unattractive and a fool, nya!”
Artosh opened his eyes and looked down at his sobbing dependents’ leader. As the absolute god, the strongest god, the king among kings, he announced his divine will.
“—There is nothing to be upset about in the face of the truth.”
If that’s the case, time to die♥
In the shock of her beloved Lord’s words, Azril smiles with a bewildered look in her eyes, and prepared to unleash a Heavenly Smite on herself—
“I apologize for the disturbance, My Lord. Please forgive me.”
Just as she was about to unleash the Heavenly Smite, Rafil suddenly appeared behind and knocked her away with a single blow, sending her crashing through the wall. Artosh looked at the farce before him and asked gravely, “—Rafil, is that thing broken?”
“To have such concern from her Lord, she could probably die with no regrets. She just wasn’t aware that she was being treated like an outsider.”
Heh, Artosh laughed lightly at her words. As she bowed to the somewhat satisfied Lord and turned on her heel, Rafil suddenly had a question.
“…My Lord. Forgive me for questioning your profound will.”
The Lord urged her silently with his eyes to continue. Rafil fell to her knees and asked what was on her mind.
“—Why do you call the first number, Azril, ‘that thing’?”
Artosh sat motionless on his throne, his fierce and majestic face was marked by a deep knowingness, and a hint of weariness. With his unshakable will and the authority to define the laws of the world with a single word, the Lord announced:
“Nothing in particular. Nya.”
………
—Aha!
“What sublime and profound words, worthy of our sovereign, My Lord!”
Rafil trembled with excitement as if she had been inspired by heaven and bowed deeply to the Lord. She then ran towards Azril who was crying outside the broken wall.
Lord Artosh—the god among gods. The king among kings, the strongest and the highest supreme being.
His will transcends all things, and his divine will encompasses all things. The Lord is all-knowing. If so—then of course he should be able to understand all jokes. That’s why the Lord had said that—
“Waaaaaa, hated by everyone, nyaa……bullied, nya…despised, nya…”
—Azril having “that thing” as her nickname is also just a joke.
Rafil looked down at Azril who was crying like a child on the ground in pain. She kicked the thing without mercy and said with a look of contempt, “…How long are you going to pretend to cry? Get up.”
“Nyaa, I’m half crying for real, nya…Rafil is too heartless, nya. Nasty, nya!!”
Azril spilled bean-sized tears, imitating a spoiled child’s temper tantrum in almost every way.
“……Rafil-chan…does Jib-chan hate us?”
—Azril looked at her quite seriously, not joking around.
You’re a real klutz—Rafil thought to herself, sighing deeply.
“Azril, I see that you, as the first number, are too perfect…you need to learn to look at things with a rounded eye. Whether it be the Lord’s will or not, at least—” Rafil continued with a hint of sympathy, “This acting of yours is not really conveying your heart to people like Jibril.”
“………………But, I don’t know any other way, nya.”
—Azril was the first Flügel.
Her mission was to manage and command the Flügel that would later be created. A tool to offer victory to the Lord, a spark to spread the fire of war, if that’s what it takes—
She would command the Flügel to bow and scrape for the Lord, laughing as she did so—because that was her mission. However, the Lord says that he created them with other intentions. Although Rafil didn’t know the details, Azril had changed since the day she was born. Only the Lord knows what he is seeking within Azril and Jibril. But it’s as clear as day that Azril has special feelings for Jibril. Jibril is a special number, irreplaceable.
This may have turned into an obsession—Rafil thought absentmindedly.
Azril’s obsession with Jibril is at odds with her original mission—a contradiction. Thus, she did not know what to do. Rafil smiled bitterly and held out her hand to Azril. Then, with a giggle, Azril took her hand and stood up. Rafil sighed and put her mouth up to Azril’s ear.
“Jibril would be very shocked to learn that her idiot sister is the one who ripped off one of my wings.”
She lacks charisma…well, those who didn’t know her in the past might be forgiven for thinking so.
—Legend has it that Rafil was the one who struck through the divine essence in the former god-slaying battle.
The truth is though—Azril used Rafil as a shield and struck through not only Rafil herself, but along with the god’s divine essence. She did it with a smile on her face, without a hint of guilt. Rafil smiled bitterly, recalling those days.
“…‘Rafil, you’ve been useful enough, you can die now’……remember that?”
No charisma? What a joke—the Flügel are the most powerful fighters in the world and will do whatever it takes to win. The Azril of the old days terrified Rafil—and yet—
“Nya, nyaaa… I’ve apologized dozens of times, nya. I hope you’ll forgive me now, nya…~”
—now looking like this, pouting. Azril, who had never spoke a word of apology in thousands of years, had changed after Jibril was created. Having become this way, it was incredibly difficult to not bully her. It’s funny that even after all this—Azril still thinks that she hasn’t changed. She thought Jibril was special, different, even compared to herself, but—
—perhaps, every one of the Flügel were changing, constantly—
“—Ah……”
“Nya…what, nya? Are you going to bully me again, nya!?”
She smiled at Azril, who backed away in fear. Vaguely, something clicked in Rafil’s mind.
The Lord is all the world has to offer—the whole world, the concept of war he embodies—to him it’s all just a game.
It was all just for fun.
—Jibril is strong, indeed.
Flügel themselves are considered one of the strongest living things in the world. But—they are not the strongest. The strongest is always the Lord alone. It is a universal and absolute fact.
—For example, no matter how strong Jibril is, she will look “relatively” weak in front of the Dragonia.
“…Hmm, that would make for an interesting hypothesis.”
This hypothesis would answer Rafil’s long-standing question. The strongest god of all, Lord Artosh, is a supreme being capable of subjugating everything in this world with the single wave of his hand. Rafil suddenly thought of herself, Jibril, and Azril—
What was his reason for creating the Flügel?
It is a shameful act to second-guess the Lord’s divine will, but—
Rafil believes that it’s also a matter of faith to try and understand such divine will—not to weigh it, but to think it.
Was it to, perhaps, amuse and alleviate boredom?
The Lord is the God of War, the strongest god. That god takes over the world, puts it in his hands—and then what? What then? The Lord desires infinite calamity, eternal war, and therefore, spreads war. Is that why he created us? If so, then—
At the same time, Rafil thought, if the Lord’s reasoning for creating us is, as I interpreted it, “to play,” then what was he expecting from not only Jibril’s actions, but ours as well? Jibril was weak in comparison to the dragon, but she still challenged it head on out of her own free will. What is the Lord’s intention in granting her freedom of thought?
—To see the weak overcome the strong—?
What could the Lord see in that? Rafil still could not understand.
“Azril, it seems as if you’re still a failure.”
“Suddenly you’re chastising me, nya!? I can’t take this anymore, nyaaa!! I’m leaving, nya!”
Azril ran away with tears in her eyes and spatial shifted away. Rafil only looked at this unfold with a sour smile.
Creating the Flügel was nothing more than for fun—even if we were only instructed to please the Lord.
But, if that’s the case, Rafil thought, I think I understand now. I always wondered why the Lord often smiled at Jibril.
“—It would be a lie to say that I don’t envy her…but this is the Lord’s will, the privilege that belongs to her.”
Yes, perhaps Jibril will fulfill the Lord’s desire—that is…
“…Single-handedly defeating that Dragonia…which turns common sense on its head.”
What exactly is the significance of this? What is the Lord, the strongest, pursuing?
Muspelgalve: In Norse cosmology, Muspelheim, also referred to as Muspel, is a realm of fire.
Thrymr Gap: Reference to the Norse king Thymr.
Sarakil: Reference to the archangel Sariel/Sarakiel.
Kukuku: Japanese SFX for an evil laugh.
Elder: Jibril refers to Azril as Azril-senpai, but senpai is written in kana to show that she doesn’t exactly respect her. Normally senpai is written as せんぱい (i.e. Nina addressing Think), but Jibril uses it as センパイ.
El Dorado: This is used to describe a sort of “utopia” or “sanctuary” for Azril, with Jibril being the reason it is one. The kanji for this is 桃源郷, which means “The Peach Blossom Spring,” a book by Tao Yuanming in 421 CE about a chance discovery of an ethereal utopia where the people lead an ideal existence in harmony with nature, unaware of the outside world for centuries.
Pervert/Mutant: This is a joke that can’t really be translated into English well without an explanation. Basically, Jibril called the Phantasma a 変態 (hentai) which can mean pervert or abnormal/transformation. The second Flügel accompanying her corrects her by saying 変異体 (henitai) which means variant/mutant.
Zen Meditation: Zen is a philosophy of Mahayana Buddhism that originated in China during the Tang dynasty, based on spontaneous and unconventional “questions and answers during an encounter” between master and disciple.
According to myth, there was once a great conflict in the heavens between the two “strongest” beings.
—Long ago, there existed the tallest mountain in the world, Muspelgalve. It has long since been destroyed. No longer can one gaze or climb upon its might. Nevertheless, the daunting confrontation would still be remembered, even to the current day.
The most powerful Old Deus—Artosh, the God of War.
The most powerful Dragonia—Hartyleif, the Armageddon.
A battle of the distant past, a fierce duel for the top spot overlooking the world—
“I ask thee—what is the meaning of strength?”
At the zenith of Muspelgalve, Artosh, the God of War, spoke.
—He is the manifestation of the concept that is “war.” The embodiment of the cycle that competes with life and death to polish the soul, undoubtedly the pinnacle of the world. He’s a warrior without equal in the world, however the one whom he asked that question is, also—
“Thou shalt never know.”
In response to the God of War’s query, Hartyleif, the Armageddon, answered languidly.
—He is one of three Dragonia “kings” that scour the sky. Born from the remains of a god, he is the oldest of all Dragonia. The immortal soul and body of the solitary Dragon King who glares at the world from Muspelgalve. Nothing can hurt him, not even the gods—undoubtedly the pinnacle of the world. God and dragon. The strongest of the strongest. Their conflict began—with but a question and answer.
“—Why?”
“For thou art the strongest.”
The God of War repeated his inquiry, and the Dragon King answered immediately.
“—Then how about the strongest?”
“I cannot answer. I, too, am revered the strongest.”
“—If it be true thou art the strongest, can thee not knoweth the strongest?”
“Indeed. ‘Tis always the weakest who understand and defineth the strongest.”
“—Then how may we prove we are the strongest?”
“We do not, for ‘tis impossible. ‘Tis as if the truth could not proveth itself. ‘Tis as if the glass that is filled can no longer be refilled. An endless victory only illustrates the past. Nothing can competeth, nothing can be achieved, and said query leads to an unbound cycleth.”
Silence fell upon them. A moment or two of silence. In the face of the true transcendent, even the time of the moment lost its meaning—
“—Then who shall prove to be the strongest!?”
The Dragon King angrily responded to the words of the God of War, shaking the heavens with a weight that stirred the earth below.
“He who has no power. Only those who challenge the strongest can proveth to be the strongest. When all else fails, thee knoweth thou art the strongest.”
At the Dragon King’s answer, the God of War snorted and shook his head in disapproval.
“—Thee think thee can’t proveth thou art the strongest unless thou art defeated?”
“‘Tis true. Without knowing the weak, thee cannot knoweth the strong. Just as thee cannot perceive darkness without perceiving light.”
With a low voice, Artosh glared at the dragon in front of him.
“—Then thou art the strongest dragon.” Artosh spoke, thrusting the shining lance he’d been holding in his hand for some time and asked, “If I challenge thee and am defeated, shalt I knoweth that I am the strongest?”
“Nay. For thou canst never defeat me.”
The Dragon King’s words seemed to clearly disappoint the God of War.
“Wretched God of War, prayed for and desired, therefore strongest of the weak. Thou dost not challenge me. Thee shall only showeth yourself as thee at each moment hast. I will never understand thee, but neither can I be pessimistic.”
The Dragon King—Hartyleif—understood. The lance in the hands of the God of War will burn through time and melt away the scales, flesh, blood, and bones of the immortal. However, before his own demise, the solitary Dragon King, known as the “Armageddon,” still spoke mildly.
“I kneweth this day wouldst cometh for quite some time. A long time ago, I wast destined to be defeated by thee. Therefore, on the day at which hour the end cometh, the present day, I shall declare. Thee, too, shall be defeated. The day shall cometh at which hour thee shall hath called the strongest, and the strongest shall be defeated. Then thee shall knoweth. Thou shall knoweth what ‘tis to be strong and what ‘tis to be weak—”
Were the words of a dragon who bites his lip in happiness on his deathbed at the long-awaited arrival of the day, who also wishes the same happiness for the God of War. Artosh roared with rage, hatred, and even more so—unquenchable jealousy.
“O fool! I have won many victories in eternity and remain supreme.”
“Aye. So be it, and thou shalt inevitably be defeated.”
I wish thee well… With that sullen voice, Hartyleif slowly spread his wings. From the top of the highest mountain in the world, Muspelgalve, the entire continent was covered.
“It was but an idle question, O dragon, who abandoned the strongest.”
“A useful question and answer, the most powerful of which I shalt knoweth later, O God of War.”
—At that time, the title of “the strongest” roaring in the world became that of one sole individual. It is said that the clash of the two strongest closed the heavens and dyed the earth a deep red death. The highest point in the world, Muspelgalve, soon became the deepest great pit—and then the sea. It boils and thunders in the residue of clashing forces, as if it were still retelling the myth. Today, the straight is called Thrymr Gap by those who sweep the land.
—It is a historical moment that took place fifteen thousand years in the past—simply put, a myth.
——……
Today I killed a lot of Elves, Phantasma, and Fairies. It was a lot of fun, so I feel great.
—The Great War.
A war in which the gods, along with their kin, fought for eternity for the throne of the One True God. An endless cycle in which all living things hate, are hated, and slaughter one another. A war that closed the heavens to ashes, covered the earth with corpses, and murdered the planet itself. But even so, they’re not satisfied, and the era of endless murder persists eternally. There is no earth that is not stained with blood, no sky that does not echo with screams, only a world filled with despair, grief, and hatred. No amount of poetic genius can match the poetry of this world—a world that was dragging itself on its knees. In such a world, in such a bloody time, it’s easy to call it hell, however—
“Take it easy, relax! This is the peak of paradise!”
“Aha, that looks like a lot of fun!”
—there was a race of people who lived happily together in harmony.
“Heeey!! Listen to meeee!! My Rare 3 head, Sarakil-chan took it!!!”
“Sorry about that~ But I’m pretty sure you took it from me first, ahaha♪”
“Hey, hey, hey! The moles have built the self-proclaimed greatest fleet! Who’s up for a massacre~♪”
Needless to say, that race was…the Flügel.
—It was the paradise known as Elysian.
It was filled with the smiles of pretty maidens and the breath of life. The city that towers on the back of the Phantasma Avant Heim, drifting in the sky, is a paradise at this very moment. Overflowing with greenery, flower petals whisking through the wind, and birds chirping, beautiful angels gracefully soar through the sky—
They seemed to be enjoying their days, enjoying their lives to the fullest.
—Oh my, kukuku♪ Hihihiii killing♥ The tension is quite high.
It’s a bleak world, at full throttle for that matter. Enjoy the bloody era to the fullest. While the heavens, the earth, and the stars are dying, there’s no one who enjoys life to this degree. The ones who have turned the world into a mess that even the demons of hell would turn away from. Being Together, Love (Kill) & Peace (War), happily engaging in noisy conversations on the daily.
…Doesn’t it seem absurd?
The earthly people who hang their heads in despair, cursing their own helplessness in a dead world where they don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Far above their heads—do they think those who are enjoying life happily are unreasonable and absurd?
But frankly speaking—that’s how the world is. If someone is happy, then someone else will be unhappy. Happiness is generally structured in such a way—however! The Flügel are plunging the whole world into the depths of misery, and even further into the abyss! How unreasonable is it to have a monopoly on all the happiness in the world!? It’s just like capitalism—er, well, you know. That’s it. Frankly speaking, once more—that’s how the world is.
In the first place—absurdity is the very definition of the Flügel. To hate and to be hated, to kill and to be killed. It is that delusion, that thought, that has covered this world in war. This is the essence that gave birth to the Flügel—and by extension, their creator. In truth, there is no such thing as absurdity. This is simply the result of the natural desire of all living things to fight. These women were born as the embodiment of death, the ones who spread war throughout the world. In other words, “what goes around comes around”—
However, it would be very bold of anyone to ask you to honestly accept that fact. But the most important point is that the Flügel don’t really care about such things, they are oblivious—
And then, in this nightmarish paradise in the sky, suddenly, the loud voice of a bright, lurid, and ungainly woman rang out.
“Nyahahaha ~!! Everyone, Azril and co. have made their triumphant return~!!”
The Flügels, who had been engaged in a lively conversation, turned their gazes in unison. Next came a high-pitched sound that distorted the space—the aftershock of the shift used by the Flügel. It sounded as a sign of the return of those who had descended to the lower realms.
“Ah, Azril-sama, welcome back~♥” said the voice of one Flügel, who’s voice sounded over the shrill whistle of the spatial shift.
The Flügels continued to appear, nearly a hundred in number, daubed in blood. Among them was the youngest of the girls—a Flügel of extraordinary value.
“Outstanding job, Jibril-chan~!”
“Heeey! How many Elves did you kill!?”
Jibril—a Flügel with long prismatic hair and a cross in her amber eyes. After returning from the battle, the girl who stands out from the crowd of Flügel, covered in blood, is…
“I’ve gathered quite a lot rarity second heads. I killed every Elf I could see—and one Phantasma♥”
Licking the blood dripping from her mouth, she tells them with a smile that even the heavens looked fondly on. At Jibril’s answer, the assembled Flügel shouted in unison. They pressed for more details—how many people had been killed, and what kind of hell had been created on earth. Azril says to her sisters, who crowd around her in anticipation of the bloody tale.
“Nyaa~ Hold it, everynya! I have to report to Lord Artosh first!”
At Azril’s words, the assembled Flügel nodded and cleared the way. A few moments later they all returned and started walking with Azril in the lead.
“You’re really popular, Jibril.”
So says a Flügel, somewhat happily, as they walk past Jibril. The Flügel in question had a broken halo, appearing as if most of it were missing. She had one small wing as opposed to the generally large wings exhibited by the Flügel, and one visible eye—their name was Rafil.
—There was a battle that the Flügel once challenged an Old Deus to, and only once won, destroying the god. She was the one who led the army alongside Azril in the battle that took place way before Jibril was born, which she only knew through word of mouth, and she was the one who played a key role in the victory, puncturing and destroying the god’s essence with her own hands. In return, she received a wound that not even Artosh could mend, however—
“No, no…I’m nothing compared to you, Rafil…”
—as you can see, she is still actively fighting on the front lines, and even Jibril hung her head in respect for her. But Rafil, the god-slayer, smiles wryly and pats her younger sister on the head, telling her, “Don’t be so humble, your merits are worthy of the praise you have received. Go before the Lord with your head held high.”
“Nya-nyaa!? Rafil-chan, you’re trying to outdo me and gain Jib-chan’s affection!?”
—Suddenly, Azril brushed away Rafil’s hand that was petting Jibril’s head.
“I’m the only one allowed to pet my Jib-chan, nya! So back off, nya!”
Azril reached over and clung to Jibril, purring and hissing like a feral cat.
“Elder Azril, could you please not touch me so carelessly? Thanks♥” Jibril bites back with a smile—but also with low regard toward her elder.
“Nyaaa!? Why, nya!? Can Rafil-chan just touch anything now, nyaa!?” Azril exclaims as she leans back in a rather battered manner.
Rafil, with a dumbfounded yet slightly annoyed expression, interjected, “Jibril, you don’t have to hate Azril so much. She’s our big sister, after all.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, it’s extremely difficult to respect this thing.”
Azril couldn’t help but fall to the ground and cry after hearing Jibril’s words, and was left behind by the rest of them.
“…She wasn’t always like this in the past……forget it.” Rafil sighed, as do the rest.
Still covered in blood, she proudly made her triumphant return to the throne room—to the Lord.
—The Throne Room where the Lord resides.
There was no sign of the carefree, playful demeanor that had been present moments ago. The group of Flügel returned victoriously, many flocking around to hear their report. Without hesitation, they all kneel and quietly hang their heads. A huge, burly man, with a body stronger than rock sat on the throne of his revered supremacy. The most powerful god, the God of War. He is the creator of the Flügel—Old Deus Artosh. He glanced down at the Flügel—his beloved little birds—kneeling before him with his golden eyes, and his arrogant voice echoed throughout the hall.
“—Mine own little birds art in excellent condition, I see.” Artosh said with amusement as he stroked his strong, almost steel-like black beard.
“—Azril, Rafil, and Jibril—describe the outcome of the battle.”
With those commands, Azril began her report first.
“I’ll begin with the battle results—the enemy has been exterminated and our losses are twelve.”
The girls engaged in battle with the Elves—to be precise, a rite devised by the Elves activated for a test drive.
—This rite was capable of forcibly controlling and manipulating a magic-capable life form and make it a force to be reckoned with. Nina Clive, a clever little girl, had devised a rite that, when functioning properly, can control Phantasma, Gigant, and even them—nonetheless, Jibril did not hide her intentions as she reported.
“I educated that mongrel from the forest that her attempt to deal with one of us was a crazy fantasy, and that is was all but a pipedream. The poor bitch should’ve known better than to dream of such things♥”
Jibril reported with a look of overwhelming condescension in her eyes. The results of the battle simply confirm them as hard facts. A total of one hundred Flügel, led by Azril, Jibril, and Rafil. She brushed off any interference from the rite and simply laid waste to it with a deadly grin. All the Elves involved in the rite compilation and all related facilities were, quite literally, obliterated. Also, the Fairy village, which seemed to have assisted in the rite’s creation, was also destroyed. Then—Rafil took over.
“As you know, the Fairies involved in the rite’s development are hiding in a village—a spatial phase boundary called Spratool—and is rather difficult to find…there are only two hidden villages that we’ve been able to identify so far.”
Rafil then glanced at Jibril.
“The Phantasma, Cloud Vortex, was affected by the incomplete rite, then went out of control and attacked us.”
As if to follow, the triumphant Flügel’s gaze falls on Jibril—and then…
“—Thirty of us, led by Jibril eliminated it.”
At those words, the eyes of everyone except the now triumphant Flügel widened in shock.
—The Cloud Vortex, or cloud with a will, as they call it, is a Phantasma. In its nature, it is literally a natural disaster, a neutral phenomenon with a will, and its existence itself is ambiguous. Defeating a Phantasma is extremely difficult, but Jibril answers their gazes without hesitation, smiling.
“I only destroyed the nucleus that the Elves kindly impeded and exposed to me♥”
While Azril and Rafil report the results of the battle in a clerical manner, only Jibril speaks with a personal touch on top of a smile. While in the presence of the Lord, she doesn’t even try to hide her mockery and pleasure.
As a result of the incomplete controlling rite, the Phantasma went out of control.
Jibril began to speculate that in order to control a Phantasma it was necessary to interfere with its core. If one were to try and find the source of the collapsed, broken magic of the Phantasma, they would trace it to the nucleus.
As it turned out, Jibril’s speculation was right on the money. She smiled even wider and continued.
Originally, to defeat a Phantasma one had to be mentally prepared for triple-digit losses of troops.
“As for the enemy death toll, well, it doesn’t really matter♪ I cleaned up any vital signs I could detect♥”
—Rafil took up the conversation and concluded:
“Wear and tear—twelve serious and minor injuries, zero incapacitations. We’ve applied restoration rites to the injured.”
A large army of Elves, dangerous rites, and an unexpected engagement with a Phantasma—
All of them destroyed. Our losses are zero.
—A complete and utter victory. That was all of the battle report.
Azril proudly took over the story.
“Cloud Vortex, it is to the credit of Jibril’s resourcefulness and command that we were able to reduce the damage to zero and even destroy the enemy, My Lord.”
Killing a Phantasma—the tremendous achievement of her sister—relinquished the tension gnawing at her face. Azril, who had almost fainted in front of the Lord, barely managed to keep her tone straight and reported that.
“Mm—”
Artosh also seemed to be impressed by the news. He turned his gaze to Jibril and carefully inspected the fresh blood that stained her beautiful body, each injury not a few and not shallow. Then, Artosh nodded in satisfaction and said, “Valorous work, Jibril.”
“What a waste of words, My Lord.”
“The power I hast given thee is not the only thing that can achieve this. ‘Tis a sign that thee hast indeed competed and combatted on the battlefield and hast polished thy soul. I am pleased with thy growth.”
Artosh’s cordial words caused a murmur among the Flügels in attendance. A piercing look of envy gathers on Jibril’s back.
“—I’m feeling quite pleasant today.” Artosh said with a smile that he rarely displayed.
“Alloweth those folk taketh their reward. Thee can inform me of anything thee like.”
“Thank you for your praise—I’ll take your word for it♥”
Jibril, who had been hanging her head, bowed, and stood up—then, the space around Jibril began to stir in a state of conception. There was such a convergence of spirits that even Avant Heim was shaken with surprise. Then—
Drifting through the air, within the Phantasma Avant Heim, a section of the city rising on it’s back disappeared. The residual light of a Heavenly Smite swept through the entire hall, leaving bursts of dust. However, the light stopped in front of Artosh and split in two. After Jibril had released the Heavenly Smite, she shrunk to the size of a little girl, and trembled in ecstasy.
“Aaaah♥ It didn’t work at all! Ahah! Next time, I’ll show you a more ingenious blow!!”
Azril deeply corrects her battle report and holds her head high.
—The damage here has increased from twelve to about twenty, she said to herself.
The Heavenly Smite that Jibril shot resulted in a shockwave created by Artosh, who caught it without even wincing.
“…Rafil, take the injured child to the restoration chamber…”
“Understood.”
Rafil, who was ordered to do so in a familiar, transferred with the injured individual.
—No one was surprised. It’s not the first time such a thing has happened.Or to put it bluntly—everyone in the room was expecting it. Before they all entered the throne room to hear that Jibril had won the battle and was kneeling before the Lord, they had long since prepared for defense and evasion. Just before Jibril shot the Heavenly Smite, the most of them felt the presence of it and fled in spatial shifts. There were injuries, but only minor—
“Jib-chan~♥ Can I have a word with you, nyaa~ What are you wanting to the point of causing more damage, nyahaha!?”
Jibril however tilted her head curiously with her shrunken body.
“But, since you asked for what I wanted, even Elder’s empty mind could have guessed that I wanted nothing more than to remove Lord Artosh from that throne—”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that!? I feel like an idiot for praising Jib-chan’s battle results, nyaa!”
“Elder, you’re being modest again~ It’s not like that, okay♪”
“—Good.”
With that one word from the Lord—Azril, who had been crowding Jibril, forgetting that she was in front of the Lord, hurriedly apologized.
“Not bad. But ‘tis not enough. Let’s look forward to next time, Jibril.”
“Ahhh♥ I’m so scared♪”
—Once the Lord said that, there was no reason for Azril to argue any further. She looks around, tired, and tells the Flügel surrounding her to mosey on out.
“…I’ll gather all the bored kids and fix this place up, nya. Make it cleaner than before it was decimated, nya.”
“Got it…”
—And, well… This was relatively the daily life of a Flügel during the Great War. On a planet consumed by war and despair, there is only Avant Heim, drifting through the sky.
…Whether they’re unorganized and irrational, in a way, they were utterly peaceful…
“Jib-chan…your sister is mad at you right now—”
As soon as they left the Lord’s throne room, Azril’s first words were to scold Jibril—
“Hmm?”
“Nya, little Jib-chan’s cuteness is up eighty percent compared to usual, nyaa—this can’t be! Sis, I’m so mad at you, nyaaaaa!!”
—She then hugged Jibril, who was now in the form of a child, and rubbed against Jibril’s cheek as she moaned. Jibril’s face twisted in anger, but Azril didn’t wouldn’t let up. Glaring at her sister, she spat out a heartfelt cry.
“If that’s to be the case, then could you please stop acting in a manner that is contradictory with your statement!? I don’t like this, yet I don’t have the strength left to shake you off or escape by spatial shift!”
“I know that, nya! I’ll take my chances, and I’ll be cheeky and angry—two birds with one stone, nyaa!”
With no way to resist, Jibril could only let out a sigh and be left to her own devices.
“What were you thinking, nyaa!? Jib-chan is crazy to have shot a Heavenly Smite at Lord Artosh!”
As she shouted this, Azril thought to herself, how many times have I asked this exact question?
—Honestly, it’s always the same. Hence why everyone around her was aware of the situation in advance and evacuated or took precautions. After all, it was just like any other day. The fact that Lord Artosh laughed and forgive her is also—
Azril, as usual, also questioned his true intentions, but…
“Well, whatever you say—but that’s right, what I’m thinking is—”
So, Jibril pondered with a look of not knowing what was wrong. Then—she continued with the answer her sister was so hellbent on knowing.
“Even though you say that, even if I can’t get through to you at all, I’m thinking that I want Lord Artosh out of that throne of his, no matter what—ah, Elder! Why don’t you try doing something useful for a change!? If we all shoot a Heavenly Smite together, including Elder—it’s possible♪”
“Or what, nya!? What am I supposed to do when someone smirks and suggests killing the Lord, nyaa!?”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine with your usual stupidity♪ How’s that?”
Azril’s knees finally buckled as Jibril puzzledly, and indifferently, cut into her sister’s heart.
“Auuhhh~ What if Lord Artosh gets angry and fights back against Jib-chan, nya? It would break my heart, nya…”
Maybe? No—definitely. Every last piece of Jibril would be exterminated. I’m sure Jibril knows that—
But Jibril, still in child form, tilted her head in a puzzled manner and muttered, “Well, it seems to me that’s exactly what Lord Artosh would want.”
“Huh—? What do you mean, nya…?”
“How, might I ask…is it not obvious?”
“—Hit me with your best shot—is written all over Lord Artosh’s face…can’t you see it in your knothole eyes?”
———
“Jib-chan…Jib-chan is a special girl. That’s why I tolerate her, but—”
—Suddenly, she stood up with an expression that seemed to have lost all emotion. Azril tells the childish Jibril in a chilling voice:
“—As the one in charge of the Flügel—I cannot let that go unheard.”
—She bows before the Lord, and even says that she wants to kill the Lord. If it’s your intention to harm and kill the Lord—no matter how much Jibril…
Azril glanced down at her emotionlessly, but Jibril—
“So, you want to purge me?”
She smiled sparsely, challengingly, and looked up at Azril.
“…………”
“I’m aware that Elder could easily destroy me if she wanted to. Much less if it were me now.”
Then she looked down at her shrunken limbs, which has used up all her strength, and smiled. And if it’s a decision and a right entrusted to her by the Lord—
“It’s Elder’s decision to exercise that right, so please feel free to do so. However—” Looking up once more, Jibril saw it in her eyes: Azril’s unsympathetic attitude was insignificant—the overwhelming hostility was just for show, “—only do so if you swear that you won’t whine if you get beaten back♪”
“—I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Azril bit back, Jibril taking up a fighting stance in response.
The youngest Flügel—Jibril—was created while Artosh’s power was at its peak. But even so—she is far outmatched by Azril, the first Flügel. Azril is in charge of all Flügel, and naturally she was created to be the strongest of them, whereas now she has used up all her power and has no power left to do even one shift.
And yet—no, that’s why, Jibril thought to herself, licking her lips, daring to take Azril’s word for it.
—I can’t miss such an exciting opportunity to challenge the strongest Flügel—!
——A momentary face-off.
The amassed gazes of many Flügel, who had been watching from afar, withdrew. The air had grown tense and was preparing to shatter, but……
“—Huh~ Jib-chan, you’re so serious, nyaa~ If Lord Artosh doesn’t mind, neither do I, nya! That’s it, Jib-chan! That’s what makes you so cute, nyahahahahaha~~♥”
In an instant, she relaxed and pounced on Jibril once again, rubbing against her. In fact, if Jibril is thinking this way—if she can think, then her thinking, that action—must be a “right” recognized and granted by the Lord. If so, it’s proof that there is a divine will there that Azril can’t fathom.
She thought to herself about it, but Azril continued to hold on to Jibril and rub against her, “…Then I have no qualms in saying that this is exactly how boring Elder is, nya.”
—Jibril looked bothered and bored to the core.
“Aah!! You mimicked my lingo, nya!? I love you sis, nya!!”
“I didn’t expect you to even understand a single sentence. I swear in the name of the Lord I will never speak like you again.”
Ignoring the mutterings of the sluggish Jibril, Azril continued to entangle her, “……I think you’ve had your fun now, Azril.”
“Nyaaaagh!?”
After forcibly pulling Azril off and slamming her into the nearby wall, Rafil scooped up Jibril.
“Jibril, you’re free to be wild and open, but think about what you’re doing first—we’re going to the restoration chamber now.”
Rafil then turned and walked away with Jibril in her arms as if she were chiding a real child.
—There were two voices of protest, also like real children.
“R-Rafil, I’m fine—being locked up for five years is the pinnacle of boredom!”
“Nyaaa!! Rafil-chan kidnapped my child, my baby girl!”
With Jibril in Rafil’s arms, her limbs, and even wings flapped in fury. Slinking away from the crumbling wall, it was Azril who crawled along the floor and wept. Looking at them both interchangeably, Rafil replied:
“—Then I’ll hand you over to Azril. You’ll naturally recover, but I don’t think she’ll ever let you go for the next fifty years—”
“Five years without having to see her would be a bliss, absolutely divine♥”
—Jibril’s sudden change in attitude was like a brief blow to Azril’s heart.
“Aaahhh, my Jib-channnnn! I can’t see her for five years!? This world is hell!!!”
She’s turning the earth into hell, as she herself would say. Rafil thinks……it’s peaceful………
Looking back at the place where Rafil and the others had disappeared to—Azril thinks, I know I’m the one who pressed Jibril, I just don’t feel like she’s satisfying Lord Artosh.
—I don’t think Jibril is right in what she says and does.
It’s outrageous that you would turn on the Lord, in fact, I can’t even begin to comprehend it.
However, the smile that the Lord occasionally shows—a smile that has been submerged in a sea of weariness since the defeat and elimination of the Armageddon—even Azril had rarely seen it directed at anyone other than Jibril.
So I guess that’s it for Jibril. No, that was fine. I mean—
“She’s so cute, nyaaaaa, I can’t resist following her, nyaa!”
Azril made a thumping sound, and the surrounding Flügel jumped in panic.
“W-Wait, Azril-sama!”
“What are you doingggg!?”
“It’s obvious, nya! If we all launch a Heavenly Smite we can all enter the restoration procedure with Jib-chan for five years, nya! The restoration room—that’s where El Dorado is!”
—Is she an idiot?
Such a question crossed the minds of everyone present, and the next moment—
A single pillar of light flashed from Avant Heim, piercing the red sky, and everyone was sure…
—Yep, she’s an idiot.
I was glad to be out in the world for the first time in five years after the restoration treatment. I was told that Elder had followed me into the restoration chamber after firing her own Heavenly Smite. When I heard that Elder was going to be in the same room as me, my respect for her diminished. Idiot. The restoration chamber is supposed to be private, and with Elder now joining in, her superior strength made the process considerably slower. As I heard Elder’s cries as Rafil-chan took me away, I really thought she was stupid, but not this stupid.
Amidst a heaven and earth engulfed in fire and ruin and a sky of dying stars, a shadow danced through the air, and leisurely muttered.
“What a beautiful day♥”
The identity of this shadow was Jibril, who was flying through the grim red sky happily. In both hands—wait…what are those things? She was carrying four head-like objects, each of which were hard to distinguish in any specific details.
—It all began about an hour ago……
“Hey-hey, wasn’t there some perverted Phantasma calling themselves the Devil or something?”
“…Mutant, they’re mutated, not perverted, OK?”
“I could care less~ Anyway, it seems that this pervert has created something called the Four Heavenly Kings.”
“The Devil created…what, you mean he created some higher form of Demonia?”
“Yep-yep♪ Guess what—he claims they’re stronger than the Flügel—”
—The moment Jibril heard that, she shifted to the Devil’s territory. As you may have guessed, those Four Heavenly Kings—were now in her hands.
“I’m quite disappointed. Beings above the Flügel are pesky…” Jibril sighs deeply, thinking that she should calmly assess it. “They’re essentially a superior variant to those small fry Demonia—in other words, a stronger Demonia.”
…Should I weep for those Four Heavenly Kings of Demonia who were hunted in an hour, or should I pity them for claiming to be “stronger than the Flügel”? They should know better than to mouth off so carelessly. Even though they’re quite rotten, the Four Heavenly Kings—that is to say, the heads of them—I’ll be bringing them back with me—
“It’s been quite some time since I’ve been out and about, and I’m in perfect condition after the restoration treatment…I still feel incomplete though.” Jibril muttered in an annoyed tone, her lips pursed.
She shifted to the Devil’s territory and thoughtlessly massacred whatever she saw—among them were the Four Heavenly Kings.
I don’t feel as if I’ve fought a battle. Rather, it doesn’t feel right. A few swings of the arm is not what I’d call a battle. At best—
“…It was more of an exercise, honestly. Warfare is much bloodier and more exciting—ahhh!”
She clenched her fist, nearly crushing the head of one of the Four Heavenly Kings (or whatever they were), and then hurriedly switched to gripping them all with one hand.
“Phew, that was a close one♪ Anyway, what is warfare in the first place—!!”
Once again, Jibril clenched her fists and spoke to no one in particular.
“The grinding of souls! Blood clashes with blood, and life with life, of course! A one-sided overrun is too boring…it’s like pouring water over an ant hill and just watching…oh, that sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Hehehe~♥”
Even though I just used it as a simile, I’ve never actually done such a thing. It actually sounds quite enticing.
—There’s no time like the present—
If you thought I was going to kill you, you should’ve chopped my head off!
And in accordance with the venerable Flügel’s maxim, Jibril made a quick decision and lowered her altitude to look for an ant’s nest.
“—Oh?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. A huge, pure white body flying at high speed beneath the clouds. It was—
“A Dragonia—huh. But a white Dragonia is…quite a rare sight♪”
—Jibril’s eyes lit up and she licked her lips.
As far as Jibril knew, the only Dragonia involved in the war since the Lord’s elimination of Hartyleif are Aranleif and his followers, however—all of Aranleif’s followers are as black as darkness. Hartyleif didn’t have any followers, so the silvery white dragon flying in the distance is either a stray without a king, or—
“A follower of the Dragon King Reginleif!? I have a feeling they’re a very premium neck~♥”
I’ll get your head! Jibril promptly decided. The Demonia’s Four Heavenly Kings were just an appetizer! She suddenly turned and flung the heads of the Four Heavenly Kings.
—No Flügel has ever taken on a Dragonia alone and won.
If so, it’ll be fun for me to break that precedent!!
Instantly, Jibril flaps her wings and fallows the dragon—and at the same time, she remembered.
They say that the Lord has not moved from his throne since he slayed the Armageddon. Why did the Lord become so boring after such an exciting victory over the strongest Dragonia? She wondered, and then quickly came up with an answer.
“…Well, you’ll know it when you try it. ‘A hundred kills are just as good as one’♥”
As before, Jibril accelerated, uttering the Flügel’s venerable proverb. But—fast, and far away. Even though she flew at full speed, the distance between her and the Dragon showed no sign of shrinking at all.
Well, if you think about it, it’s only natural—Jibril smiled. The fact that such a huge body the size of a small mountain was flying in the sky was abnormal in of itself. Perhaps it’s not flying to be exact. Rather, space is moving away from the dragon, leaving it behind. Rejection of space-time interference, fixation of self-coordinates.
—Speed is not the issue.No matter how close Jibril gets to the speed of light, she’ll never be able to catch up.
Then what to do—Jibril worries a little, and then quickly finds a solution.
“Ahh, what am I doing? All I had to do was say hello and stop it♥”
—Right after, the giggling Jibril swung her arm and then released her greeting.
It overtook not only sound but even light, tearing through space. With a roar that shook the heavens and earth, it slammed the surrounding mountains into a vortex of destruction—
Jibril came forward.
“—My humblest apologies for interrupting you. My name is Jibril.”
She approaches the evaporated surface of the mountains with soaring flames and spewing sediment. In the center of the crater, which is marked by tremendous devastation, there was a dragon looking up at her.
—Great, Jibril thought. The jade body, which is considered to be immortally indestructible, is intact, as it should be.
The pure white dragon scales shine in the sunlight, clearer and more unblemished than the glaciers of the polar seas. And the most beautiful thing of all is the profoundly intelligent look in the eyes staring back at her. Eyes that seem to be looking at some time that is not now, some place that is not here, all of it—truly the most perfect of all Dragonia. The overwhelming dignity that makes one think that it’s much more divine than any Old Deus other than the Lord.
The silvery white dragon turned to her.
Foolish False God’s scraggly feather, I’ll forgive your rudeness—get lost.
—Jibril didn’t understand what the dragon had said to her. However, the words spun in the draconic language made her feel that the entire space around her—
No, the vision in the dragon’s eyes—all of it was instantly turned to rubble and obliterated.
—It was magic in and of itself—a “command” of sorts to all things in the universe, a draconic language. Everything that was told to die will die, and everything that was told to crumble will crumble and return to the earth. Fragments of power of the creation of heaven and earth. The primordial language of the stars. Known by countless names and legends, such as the “universal language” and “language of creation,” no one but the Dragonia know of its true purpose—
“————————Kaha…haha…ha…”
Jibril knew that there was no way to resist it, except to defy it with more force than she could muster. She quickly gathered all the spirits that could interfere with the Spirit Corridor, as well as all the spirits around her—
Jibril, barely breathing, endured a landscape in which everything had literally disappeared, and said to herself.
“—Oh…this, is honestly more than I imagined…well, let’s see what happens.”
But despite this, she smiled stoutly, and then tilted her head in genuine wonder.
—One word.
The dragon that made Flügel, the embodiment of death, a weapon of warriors by itself, look like a maniac. But the way Jibril still smiled at him made him slightly suspicious. Did he feel something strange about the Flügel in front of him?
“—Alone or empty, I am just God’s scraggly feather.”
She dared to speak to the dragon in the language of the Flügel—but the dragon did not notice. Or did she say so while he was aware? Whatever she said, he stepped on two of Jibril’s “landmines.”
“…You call My Lord a false god, and me a scraggly feather—you’ve got some nerve♪”
Those two—but to Jibril, who’s body was heavily wounded, all they did was escalate her desire to kill even more. The dragon changes its presence again. In a non-malicious way—from a hint of doubt—to interest.
“You have not come alone to destroy me, have you? What do you want, scraggly feather?”
——Something snapped discernibly in Jibril’s mind.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Let’s get straight to point.” With a smile twisted with anger, Jibril bowed, “I want to sink your eyes into the ground…and more specifically, I would like to chop your head off♪ A flying reptile that speaks is quite the rare specimen♥”
—To put it bluntly, Jibril was pissed. She was very angry, furious even. Her body was trembling—she had to suppress the urge to slash at him at this very moment, with or without saying a word. She was trembling with patience—she was converging her power as fast as she could, to the limit, in order to make up for the power that had been lost by the dragon’s single word earlier—in other words, to strike a blow of maximum power.
What does that mean? Jibril would ask, seemingly unaware of what it meant. The dragon, which spread its huge wings as if to cover the red-covered sky, watches in silence. The Flügel in front of him—with the intelligent eyes of a scholar who has encountered a rare phenomenon—he just looks at her. And then—what he really saw in her, the dragon tells her.
“I never thought I’d see the day when I’d witness a feather in such distress.”
This time, Jibril raises an eyebrow suspiciously at the voice that expresses genuine astonishment.
“I don’t have any issues, except for the stress of not being able to communicate with the reptile before me, even though he is clearly speaking the Flügel tongue.”
But the dragon’s eyes, which seemed to see through everything, were filled with joy—immediately after, the space shook.
“Indeed, the demise of the Armageddon was significant, and now the false gods have begun to question me.”
It took Jibril a few moments to realize the shaking of the space was the laughter of the dragon. Understanding, Jibril smiled as well—yes, a comatose smile, I admit. The power was so unexpected that it frightened her. Next, she asked herself.
When did I become so stubborn that I had to wait so long for the power I lost in my first strike♪
—I’ll kill you, here and now.
That is, to Jibril, who converges to exploit the spirits—but the dragon…
“I dare ask, O feather. Do you think you can defeat me?”
The silver dragon’s query reminded Jibril of her Lord, the ruler of heaven who can collapse heaven and earth with but a single word. But Jibril tilted her head, her smile deepened, and she replied.
“It’s impossible to communicate with a lizard, and the question is so silly it makes me laugh, but if you dare to ask, I dare to answer—of course.”
In the midst of the storm created by the flapping of the dragon’s wings—Jibril continued.
“But I can’t say I particularly care.”
Yes, it is not the victory of defeat that is important. The only thing that matters is…
“There is a strong man in front of me, and I have the chance to kill him—what choice do I have?”
—That’s what “war” is all about. I thought it would be the “soul crushing battle” that Jibril wanted.
—The dragon understands the obvious answer.
—But Jibril doesn’t understand.
The oddity of the action. The oddity of that action—the contradiction. Therefore, the dragon spreads its wings, and with an overwhelming presence that makes one think it could cover the heavens, or even the world—but with a disproportionately gentle hint—it simply tells you.
“I’ll help you answer your questions that even you don’t know you have.”
“Do you lizard’s enjoy Zen meditation? I don’t need a lecture, so come on—” Jibril replies with a ferocious grin.
“Let’s have a war. Let’s kill each other, let’s die together, let’s fight each other♥”
Her mouth hung open in an emotion that could not be described as madness, ecstasy, or anger.
—And so, Jibril conjured a great Heavenly Smite with all her power—
【CRUSH】
But faster than she could release it, the dragon uttered a single word. That’s all—a single stroke of the wing and a single word from the Dragonia.
“————————Huh?”
—Jibril half-instinctively calls out Heavenly Smite—but couldn’t attack. She unleashed everything she had just to resist the words that commanded the collapse of everything.
“We were wrong. We misjudged one another.”
—In my fading consciousness, I heard the voice of the dragon.
“Let the day come, O feather, when we know each other, and let us try again and again, and let us not be disappointed.”
So—I heard a gentle voice that seemed to be telling me something.
An absolute force swirls around them as the particle bonds of all things dissolve and the very meaning of them disappears. In the storm of destruction that threatened to destroy Jibril’s ability to hold onto her form even after she gave up her entire soul—the last she saw of the dragon after it flapped its wings and flew away, it was wrapped around her like a motherly wing.
Jibril…Flügel…God-killing weapons.
She couldn’t even resist—she was knocked unconscious by the unrelenting force.
I wasn’t disappointed to have lost to the Dragonia. Also, the seven-year restoration treatment was boring as expected, but it was good that I didn’t have to see Elder, so I was happy.
————…………
It took seven years to complete that restoration treatment. I was unconscious for more than half of that time.
On her way out of the restoration chamber, Jibril was pondering.
“Well. How did I lose…? It’s quite incredible♥” Jibril said to herself, but Azril was screaming her head off.
“—Are you serious, nya? If so, Jib-chan, excuse me for a moment while I beat your head in, nyaa!! There’s no way you can take on a Dragonia alone and win, nyaa! What were you even trying to prove, nyaaaa!?”
“Oh, you were there, Elder? Sorry to hear you’re still alive.”
“Jib-chan…sis, do you want me to start crying for real, nyaa!?”
She pushed Azril away, who then fell to the floor and began crying—
“…Jibril. I’d like to ask for an explanation.”
—well, actually, Rafil appeared in a spatial shift above Azril’s head, ignored the screams of the girl she trampled, and stared into Jibril’s eyes intently with a pious expression on her face.
“What were you thinking when you challenged the Dragonia? If you’re so overconfident I’m going to have to revise my assessment of you.”
Azril was kicked to the ground and struggled—a rather crude sight in comparison to Rafil’s dignity. However, Jibril still didn’t understand her question and responded in confusion.
“No, I never thought it’d be easy to kill one, but—”
Dragonia—she’s engaged some in skirmishes on more than one occasion. She had defeated one once or twice—and she knew more than enough about them. The Dwarves claim that a single Dragonia is on the same scale as a thousand warriors. Originally, it was only possible to gather the power of fifty or a hundred Flügel to take down a Dragonia. Their scales are harder than any mineral on the planet, so their bodies will remain forever, even after death.
The Dragonia are indeed very strong. If anything, they even rival the lowly Old Deus.
Jibril never thought they were an easy opponent to triumph against, not even in the slightest.She even believed that the Heavenly Smite she released at her best state could knock off a few of their scales. Unfortunately, she still seemed to underestimate the Dragonia.
“Facing a dragon that takes fifty to a hundred of Flügel to defeat, I’m defenseless…why is that?”
I couldn’t even get my hands on it—the Dragonia really aren’t easy to fight. I really had no power to fight back. It’s doubtful whether the dragon even “attacked” or not. Even if a bird challenged a hawk, at least the bird would be able to put up some form of resistance.
She tilted her head back in thought, not caring that she had almost died. However—Rafil’s shoulders slumped as she muttered, “I see.”
“How about this, Senpai. Jibril felt compelled to defeat it at all costs!”
Azril, still trampled by Rafil, struggles and screams, “I don’t see the slightest point in how, nya! You’re so persistent that you nearly died, nya!”
“If Elder Azril says no, then yes is the correct answer, and that dragon should be dealt with. Thank you. Rafil-senpai, I’ll be back in a bit—”
“Jibril.”
Rafil, who uttered but a single word, stiffened Jibril, who was about to spatial shift immediately.
“……Answer me seriously. It was pure luck that you survived.” Rafil’s gaze sharpened as she continued, “You spent seven years recovering. You can thank the stalker for that. If she hadn’t followed you all that way, if she hadn’t found you even a little bit later—you wouldn’t have survived…Might I add that it was rather annoying, to say the least, to have the head of the Flügel root and weep in front of your treatment chamber for seven years until you recovered.”
“Nyaaa!! You can’t just say things like that, nya! You make me sound like an idiot who overindulges in her sister, nya!”
“Azril, are you okay in the head? What else would you be if you weren’t overindulging in your sister?”
I’m supposed to be grateful for this thing struggling at Rafil’s feet—
Jibril seemed annoyed by this exchange, but Rafil continued.
“—I’ll ask you once more. What were you thinking when you challenged the Dragonia?”
Jibril knew that, depending on her response, she would be ridiculed by her respected senpai.
—But still, Jibril didn’t understand her question.
“With all due respect, Rafil, let me ask you a question.”
So now I dare to ask the question—in reverse.
“Why do you assert that one cannot defeat a Dragonia alone?” Jibril asked, but the answer came from Azril, who was still being stepped on.
“That’s just the way it is, nya! Why does common sense need to be explained, nya!?”
Rafil nodded her head gently in agreement, and then explained this “common sense.”
“Even in its weakest form, a single scale from a Dragonia contains the maximum amount of spirits we can handle. Even if we assume that Jibril’s Heavenly Smite is ten, which is double the average, a single Dragonia scale is five. Hundreds of millions of them, layered on top of one another…if we don’t bind all of our power together, we fundamentally lack the strength to even hurt it. This point should be clear to you.”
Of course, Jibril knew all that and challenged them on that basis, because—
“That’s not true.”
—She replied firmly.
Azril and even Rafil stared in disbelief as their “common sense” was denied. But Jibril continues, as if stating the obvious.
“If that were the case, fifty of us—even fifty times our strength—would not be enough, since not even a single scale would be scathed, let alone would we cut through the flesh and bone. You say that we lack the strength, yet in the past we’ve penetrated through these hundreds of millions of scales and have slain many Dragonia. Please explain.”
“…Hmm.”
“Nya…nyaa……that’s…”
Azril was at a loss for words. She knew that if they take on the Dragonia in large numbers, they can break right through their defenses. But on the other hand—beyond that, she didn’t know anything. After all, when a Dragonia dies, it leaves behind bones and everything from scales to the flesh and blood goes up in flames and burns away. The complexity of their scales, and the key to their defensive techniques—they are completely unknown. She only knows that the only way to kill a Dragonia is to gather a large sum of power and rely on brute force, but nothing else. However, in response to this ignorance, Jibril gave a rationale—a hypothesis.
“If fifty Flügel can kill a Dragonia, then I alone should be able to inflict some damage to them, but that’s not the reality. Therefore, I understand that—”
—Why should I have to explain something so obvious?
Jibril thought with a genuine look of confusion—eyes tinged with doubt as to why they didn’t understand.
“There must be a condition to pierce those scales and defy that language of theirs. If not, then I will engage the dragon on my own, get a feel for them, and breakdown their overwhelming power—can you understand if I put this way?”
—After a moment of silence, Rafil smiled and giggled.
“Very well, that was a satisfactory explanation. In that case, O little sister, do as you wish.”
“Thank you, Rafil-senpai.”
After receiving a form of understanding from her respected senpai, Jibril breathed a sigh of relief and thanked her, but—
“Hey, Rafil, nya!? Do you really want to let little Jib-chan die!?”
“—Huh? Oh, sorry Azril, I forgot you were still here.”
“What have you taken me all for, nyaaa!”
As Rafil finally stepped away, Azril stood up furiously and shouted hesitantly at her.
“Order to all Flügel, nya! Jib-chan is to be restrained, now, nya!”
At this rate, Jibril would not hesitate to challenge the Dragonia again. And this time—there’s no guarantee that she’ll survive.
I can’t let her go—!
“Jib-chan, I’m sorry!”
“That thing is our commander after all~”
Countless Flügel suddenly emerged from the void and approached, but Jibril just smiled and bargained:
“If you catch Elder, I’ll tell you all where I left the heads of the Four Heavenly Kings of Demonia♥”
—Only a moment later, they all turned around instantly.
“Sorry, Azril-sama!”
“Excuse me!”
All the Flügel turned on Azril as soon as they said they would, pouncing on her.
“Nya, nya, nya!? I’m the commander of the Flügel! What is this treacherous behavior!?”
Is that really the right question to ask them?
Everyone—including Rafil—looked away and shut their mouths. But one of them said with an angelic smile, “If you want to hear it, I can list the reasons until dawn—in short,”
Jibril said what everyone had been trying to say but had refrained from saying.
“Lack of charisma♥”
—At that moment, to Azril, the sky was falling.
Jibril finished and spatial shifted away, meanwhile Azril could not help but be dumbfounded by what she had heard. She had a hard time lifting the arresting suppression of the crowding Flügel and sat down, paralyzed, on the ground and said to herself, “I…I don’t have…charisma, nya?”
—Sometimes silence speaks louder than words. Like right now, for example.
Throne Room, where the Lord resides.
Normally, Azril would gracefully enter the hall through spatial shifting, but now she deliberately pushed the door open as hard as she could. Bam! Azril crashes into the hall, tears and snot dripping down her face.
“Waaaaa, Lord Artosh, nya! Everyone is bullying me, calling me unattractive and a fool, nya!”
Artosh opened his eyes and looked down at his sobbing dependents’ leader. As the absolute god, the strongest god, the king among kings, he announced his divine will.
“—There is nothing to be upset about in the face of the truth.”
If that’s the case, time to die♥
In the shock of her beloved Lord’s words, Azril smiles with a bewildered look in her eyes, and prepared to unleash a Heavenly Smite on herself—
“I apologize for the disturbance, My Lord. Please forgive me.”
Just as she was about to unleash the Heavenly Smite, Rafil suddenly appeared behind and knocked her away with a single blow, sending her crashing through the wall. Artosh looked at the farce before him and asked gravely, “—Rafil, is that thing broken?”
“To have such concern from her Lord, she could probably die with no regrets. She just wasn’t aware that she was being treated like an outsider.”
Heh, Artosh laughed lightly at her words. As she bowed to the somewhat satisfied Lord and turned on her heel, Rafil suddenly had a question.
“…My Lord. Forgive me for questioning your profound will.”
The Lord urged her silently with his eyes to continue. Rafil fell to her knees and asked what was on her mind.
“—Why do you call the first number, Azril, ‘that thing’?”
Artosh sat motionless on his throne, his fierce and majestic face was marked by a deep knowingness, and a hint of weariness. With his unshakable will and the authority to define the laws of the world with a single word, the Lord announced:
“Nothing in particular. Nya.”
………
—Aha!
“What sublime and profound words, worthy of our sovereign, My Lord!”
Rafil trembled with excitement as if she had been inspired by heaven and bowed deeply to the Lord. She then ran towards Azril who was crying outside the broken wall.
Lord Artosh—the god among gods. The king among kings, the strongest and the highest supreme being.
His will transcends all things, and his divine will encompasses all things. The Lord is all-knowing. If so—then of course he should be able to understand all jokes. That’s why the Lord had said that—
“Waaaaaa, hated by everyone, nyaa……bullied, nya…despised, nya…”
—Azril having “that thing” as her nickname is also just a joke.
Rafil looked down at Azril who was crying like a child on the ground in pain. She kicked the thing without mercy and said with a look of contempt, “…How long are you going to pretend to cry? Get up.”
“Nyaa, I’m half crying for real, nya…Rafil is too heartless, nya. Nasty, nya!!”
Azril spilled bean-sized tears, imitating a spoiled child’s temper tantrum in almost every way.
“……Rafil-chan…does Jib-chan hate us?”
—Azril looked at her quite seriously, not joking around.
You’re a real klutz—Rafil thought to herself, sighing deeply.
“Azril, I see that you, as the first number, are too perfect…you need to learn to look at things with a rounded eye. Whether it be the Lord’s will or not, at least—” Rafil continued with a hint of sympathy, “This acting of yours is not really conveying your heart to people like Jibril.”
“………………But, I don’t know any other way, nya.”
—Azril was the first Flügel.
Her mission was to manage and command the Flügel that would later be created. A tool to offer victory to the Lord, a spark to spread the fire of war, if that’s what it takes—
She would command the Flügel to bow and scrape for the Lord, laughing as she did so—because that was her mission. However, the Lord says that he created them with other intentions. Although Rafil didn’t know the details, Azril had changed since the day she was born. Only the Lord knows what he is seeking within Azril and Jibril. But it’s as clear as day that Azril has special feelings for Jibril. Jibril is a special number, irreplaceable.
This may have turned into an obsession—Rafil thought absentmindedly.
Azril’s obsession with Jibril is at odds with her original mission—a contradiction. Thus, she did not know what to do. Rafil smiled bitterly and held out her hand to Azril. Then, with a giggle, Azril took her hand and stood up. Rafil sighed and put her mouth up to Azril’s ear.
“Jibril would be very shocked to learn that her idiot sister is the one who ripped off one of my wings.”
She lacks charisma…well, those who didn’t know her in the past might be forgiven for thinking so.
—Legend has it that Rafil was the one who struck through the divine essence in the former god-slaying battle.
The truth is though—Azril used Rafil as a shield and struck through not only Rafil herself, but along with the god’s divine essence. She did it with a smile on her face, without a hint of guilt. Rafil smiled bitterly, recalling those days.
“…‘Rafil, you’ve been useful enough, you can die now’……remember that?”
No charisma? What a joke—the Flügel are the most powerful fighters in the world and will do whatever it takes to win. The Azril of the old days terrified Rafil—and yet—
“Nya, nyaaa… I’ve apologized dozens of times, nya. I hope you’ll forgive me now, nya…~”
—now looking like this, pouting. Azril, who had never spoke a word of apology in thousands of years, had changed after Jibril was created. Having become this way, it was incredibly difficult to not bully her. It’s funny that even after all this—Azril still thinks that she hasn’t changed. She thought Jibril was special, different, even compared to herself, but—
—perhaps, every one of the Flügel were changing, constantly—
“—Ah……”
“Nya…what, nya? Are you going to bully me again, nya!?”
She smiled at Azril, who backed away in fear. Vaguely, something clicked in Rafil’s mind.
The Lord is all the world has to offer—the whole world, the concept of war he embodies—to him it’s all just a game.
It was all just for fun.
—Jibril is strong, indeed.
Flügel themselves are considered one of the strongest living things in the world. But—they are not the strongest. The strongest is always the Lord alone. It is a universal and absolute fact.
—For example, no matter how strong Jibril is, she will look “relatively” weak in front of the Dragonia.
“…Hmm, that would make for an interesting hypothesis.”
This hypothesis would answer Rafil’s long-standing question. The strongest god of all, Lord Artosh, is a supreme being capable of subjugating everything in this world with the single wave of his hand. Rafil suddenly thought of herself, Jibril, and Azril—
What was his reason for creating the Flügel?
It is a shameful act to second-guess the Lord’s divine will, but—
Rafil believes that it’s also a matter of faith to try and understand such divine will—not to weigh it, but to think it.
Was it to, perhaps, amuse and alleviate boredom?
The Lord is the God of War, the strongest god. That god takes over the world, puts it in his hands—and then what? What then? The Lord desires infinite calamity, eternal war, and therefore, spreads war. Is that why he created us? If so, then—
At the same time, Rafil thought, if the Lord’s reasoning for creating us is, as I interpreted it, “to play,” then what was he expecting from not only Jibril’s actions, but ours as well? Jibril was weak in comparison to the dragon, but she still challenged it head on out of her own free will. What is the Lord’s intention in granting her freedom of thought?
—To see the weak overcome the strong—?
What could the Lord see in that? Rafil still could not understand.
“Azril, it seems as if you’re still a failure.”
“Suddenly you’re chastising me, nya!? I can’t take this anymore, nyaaa!! I’m leaving, nya!”
Azril ran away with tears in her eyes and spatial shifted away. Rafil only looked at this unfold with a sour smile.
Creating the Flügel was nothing more than for fun—even if we were only instructed to please the Lord.
But, if that’s the case, Rafil thought, I think I understand now. I always wondered why the Lord often smiled at Jibril.
“—It would be a lie to say that I don’t envy her…but this is the Lord’s will, the privilege that belongs to her.”
Yes, perhaps Jibril will fulfill the Lord’s desire—that is…
“…Single-handedly defeating that Dragonia…which turns common sense on its head.”
What exactly is the significance of this? What is the Lord, the strongest, pursuing?
Muspelgalve: In Norse cosmology, Muspelheim, also referred to as Muspel, is a realm of fire.
Thrymr Gap: Reference to the Norse king Thymr.
Sarakil: Reference to the archangel Sariel/Sarakiel.
Kukuku: Japanese SFX for an evil laugh.
Elder: Jibril refers to Azril as Azril-senpai, but senpai is written in kana to show that she doesn’t exactly respect her. Normally senpai is written as せんぱい (i.e. Nina addressing Think), but Jibril uses it as センパイ.
El Dorado: This is used to describe a sort of “utopia” or “sanctuary” for Azril, with Jibril being the reason it is one. The kanji for this is 桃源郷, which means “The Peach Blossom Spring,” a book by Tao Yuanming in 421 CE about a chance discovery of an ethereal utopia where the people lead an ideal existence in harmony with nature, unaware of the outside world for centuries.
Pervert/Mutant: This is a joke that can’t really be translated into English well without an explanation. Basically, Jibril called the Phantasma a 変態 (hentai) which can mean pervert or abnormal/transformation. The second Flügel accompanying her corrects her by saying 変異体 (henitai) which means variant/mutant.
Zen Meditation: Zen is a philosophy of Mahayana Buddhism that originated in China during the Tang dynasty, based on spontaneous and unconventional “questions and answers during an encounter” between master and disciple.
