According to myth, there was once a great conflict in the heavens between the two “strongest” beings.
—The towering peak once known as Muspelgalve has since been transformed into a straight called the Thrymr Gap. It was in this twilight zone that the God of War, Artosh, slew the Dragon Ruler, Hartyleif.
In the distant past, it was the fierce battleground of the heavens, the apex of which was set overlooking the world. It is said that as a result of the clash of the two, the heavens closed and dyed the blue earth red with death. And even now—the thunderous sky still rumbles, and the boiling sea still simmers.
A dragon sat in silence, waiting. Sitting motionlessly as it gazed into the heavens, its dazzling pure white scales shimmering in the dusk. Its eyes, filled with a profound knowing, suddenly wavered. Before it, out in the crimson sky, a ray of light cut through like a comet. It’s an angel. With wings of woven light spread out on their back and a halo of geometric patterns on their head—it was a Flügel.
A beautiful girl with long, dazzling prismatic hair and amber eyes that breathe a powerful will. A feather created by the God of War, a party to that myth, who has made the title of “strongest” their own. The girl came flying through the dead sky with a huge iron mass in hand, and the dragon uttered faintly:
“—It’s been a long time, O little feather.”
Jibril shuddered in front of the familiar—yet everlasting—white dragon. Her heart raced, her blood boiled, and her excitement surged.
—The unnamed Dragonia asks coyly, “You’re like a parasite. Hast thee come to taste defeat for the sixth time, or—”
At these words, Jibril’s lips rose like an arc and replied, “—Don’t worry. This will be the last time.”
Then, she readied the iron mass in her arms. With her halo spinning rapidly, she prepared for an all-out brawl. On the other hand, the pure white dragon narrows its blue eyes, spreads its mighty wings that can cover the sky, and asks, “Knowest thou, O feather, how they fought in this land?”
“Of course—but what of it?” Jibril replied coldly.
Fifteen thousand years ago—in this very place—Artosh and Hartyleif fought a fierce battle. She was at this point, as the great myth depicts, confronted with the dragon, and simply did not care for other thoughts.
—It’s not a myth, Jibril laughed silently.
What did the Lord talk to the Dragon Ruler about? What did he think, and what disappointed him in this place? Although deeply interested and curious, what is the point to knowing these answers?
One is by no means the strongest.She was a veritable loser who had challenged the white dragon before her five times and lost. In contrast—the dragon in front of her is undefeated. But in the hands of the Lord, it is one of the many things that can easily be shattered with a single blow. It is by no means the strongest. In other words—there is no strongest here. Even if this situation were compared to the myth, the premise is fatally different. This is not a clash between the invincible and the supreme, there is neither question nor answer, even the exchange of words is superfluous.
This is not a battle to determine who is truly stronger, it or I. It’s just my helplessly weak self challenging this incredibly strong opposition. This is trial of fools, fools who presume to subvert a predetermined outcome—the victory of Dragonia over Flügel. It’s simply a duel in the abyss, where the weak challenge the strong.
……And best of all, Jibril laughed, the thrill in my heart and the raging excitement boiling my blood in no way stems from the emulation of the myth. This feeling that makes my whole body tremble is simply……
“No matter how many times I am defeated, I will kill you. That’s all this war is about, right?”
……nothing short of a delight.
The dragon twisted its body round and scoffed—and with that gesture, the sea split open and a storm whipped through the crying sky. She wasn’t sure if the dragon was smiling or not, but the dragon’s voice grew happier and happier.
“So, O little feather. Shall thee continue to challenge me for all eternity, knowing that thee can never win?” the dragon laughed.
“No, because on this day, I will slay you. I shall cut off your head, the head of a dragon who declares I can never win♥”
“Very well. Until thy knife touches mine own neck, it doesn’t matter how many times thee challenge me.”
The dragon then flapped its wings to launch an attack. The white dragon laughs as a tremendous tsunami of power surges through the air.
“‘Twas a stimulating question with a beneficial answer. Then, too, let thee break miserably once again, O little feather.” the dragon snickered.
“‘‘Twas a stimulating question with a beneficial answer.’ Are those really going to be your last words?”
Thus, the myth is repeated, but remains decidedly different. One dragon and one feather seen together waged conflict six times over the thundering, boiling straight. The scale of this battle is far less than the duel between the God of War and the Armageddon, and far from the myth. But there is no doubt that this will also become a legend passed down to future generations.
Even after five defeats—no, this will be the last time. Jibril moves her pen to what she is sure is the truth. It was a diary that I started writing somehow. The last defeat…in that diary, everything noteworthy was written here since my fifth defeat to the dragon.
Thinking about the years that led to her three secret strategies and one winning opportunity. Jibril’s pen was busy writing the last page of the book—……….
…Come on, can’t we do something about this boredom during the restoration treatment? After being defeated by the dragon five times in a row, it was getting rarer and rarer for me to stay outside the treatment chamber. If I don’t come up with something to pass the time soon, boredom will kill me before the dragon does……
————…………
“……Again, really? You’re really unlucky, little sister.”
“Ah, Rafil-senpai! I’m dying of boredom, so I started drawing a picture. Whaddya think?”
A little girl regains consciousness for the first time in a year in the restoration treatment chamber and slides her brush across a book.
—Jibril was defeated for the fifth time by a Dragonia, and she had shrunk once again. Rafil, who had been shown the child’s doodles with a look of pride on her face, couldn’t help but groan.
“I’m amazed you’re still in pristine condition after taking on that Dragonia five times…every time Azril won’t stop making a fuss and we’re all forced to scramble to keep up, you should at least be aware of that—”
“Huh? It’s not like I didn’t go in with a plan. And this time, I got a direct hit on it with my own Heavenly Smite, isn’t that impressive?”
—Before that, I’d never been able to hit my opponent.
Jibril, not seeming to notice the grim expression on Rafil’s face, continued with amusement, “But oddly enough, it had no effect—well, no doubt a few of its scales were pierced, but…they were instantly restored. It was as if…time had been rewound.”
—Rafil had a hunch, based on the nature of the Dragonia, that it was time manipulation.
“But if you can rewind time, then no amount of force can kill you.”
Jibril immediately denied the thought and continued. So—why can’t I kill it?
“Why is it impossible to kill it…no—is it really possible to kill it?”
It can manipulate time and space at will, and even take a direct hit from a Heavenly Smite and remain virtually unharmed.
“Is there a power far greater—than even a Dragonia itself—?”
……So, my younger sister who is not only clueless, but is even finding a way to win—sigh…
“Sorry to say, but—there will be no next time. You have to give up.”
“…………Huh?”
“Azril has been completely bent out of shape—she says it’s an order—forbidding you to take on the Dragonia alone. If you disobey this order, you will be punished…that’s what she said, and now I’ve delivered it to you.”
It would only add fuel to the fire, Rafil mumbled quietly as she turned on her heel.
When I finally finished the restoration treatment and went on my merry way, I was hit by an Elf’s flight obstruction spell. The pain of the bump made me shoot a Heavenly Smite, but after firing it, it was not worth it at all, so I was even more upset. I decided to at least bring back all their books to pass the time during the restoration treatment.
————…………
“……Again, nya? Again, nyaaaa!?”
Just three days later—after completing the restoration treatment, the recovering Jibril stepped out of the treatment chamber. Azril scratched her head and screamed at the sight of the cute little shrunken figure being back again. Jibril was compressing space with what little strength she had left, dragging what seems to be a large sum of books with her.
“Ah, no, I just shot the Elves with a Heavenly Smite. Don’t mind me.”
“Ah, nya~? Good, nya♥ Wait, what do you mean, nya!? With a hole in your stomach that’s probably from a Heavenly Smite, nya!? Even when weakened, there’s no way the Elves can touch you, so what were you really doing, nyaa!?”
Azril closes in on the little girl who has, almost literally, a hole clean through her belly, but—
“Aah. While I was rifling through my books, I had a little attack—multiple spells…very interesting♪” Jibril said happily, Azril’s hands went to her own head in frustration, feeling a headache coming on.
—That’s right, it’s true that multiple spells could prove troublesome. She doesn’t really care if more than one spell is used. Rather, this thing called compounding—the interaction of magic—is what’s problematic. For example, if you pour “fuel” onto one flame instead of two, the flame’s duration increases by multiplication instead of addition. Even if the amount of spirits are very small compared to a Flügels, if the magic is successfully chained together they can pierce through them, even Jibril.
“Well, I wouldn’t put it past those lowlifes that attempted to control a Phantasma—however, I’d be pleasantly surprised if they had a clue on how to kill that dragon♪”
But when the younger sister looked down at the books and continued, Azril’s eyes narrowed with malice.
“————Jib-chan. There is no next time……didn’t I tell you that, nya?”
Jibril smiled warmly glancing back at her, then turned and headed for the treatment chamber—
I immediately tried to read those Elven books that I brought home.
—But I realized I can’t read Elf.
I mean, let’s be honest here, why would I need to read the writings of those plants? Imagining myself bored to the point of conversing with grass… Now I’m just getting depressed, so I’m gonna head to bed……
It’s been two years since I decided that I didn’t care about what those plants were anymore, and now I can read their language. Boredom is a terrible thing. I found a memoir with the stupid title of “I’m a Genius♥” It was so stupid that I was immediately drawn to it.
……Three years. That memoir—“I’m a Genius♥”—I still haven’t figured it out…I feel like dying. It’s not that I can’t read it, it’s just that I can’t understand it, and my brain seems to be dumber than a plant at this point.
Although I think it’s okay to be grass, I don’t want to be worse than grass.
I was about to commit suicide, but then I found an interesting description that reluctantly dissuaded me from doing so. I don’t know the details of the story, to which are honestly far beyond my comprehension, but I wondered if it was possible to artificially manipulate closed space-time. It was a mysterious self-praise that I was unable to form an enduring vessel by practicing the hypothesis of “closed space-time” and “I survived, and I’m still a genius”……
—I see. If this is correct, I will have to reacquaint myself with the fact that there are geniuses among the plants as well.
Tomorrow is the last day of the restoration treatment, and I’ve learned that talking to the plants is not a bad way to expand my knowledge. I would like to challenge the dragon again right away, but this time, I’ll do a little preparation. There are three things I need…and this will certainly be my last chance, so it’ll be worth a try.
————…………
—It was a…kind of…well, let’s just say it was a “mass of iron.”
At the sight of the youngest Flügel carrying a huge piece of junk that was several dozen times her height and lumbering down the street.
“…Jibril. What’s that…that…thing?” Rafil asked with a hard to describe expression.
“Hope you don’t mind. It’s just a piece of one of the Dwarves toys.”
Jibril’s congenial reply only deepened her concern.
Did I overhear that some kind of Dwarven fleet was destroyed? That’s good. Destroying the Dwarves? Good. Do more. Eradication is possible. I implore it. Fight. The question is, what was the purpose of brining back more pieces of that toy—
“It’s okay, right? This time—I’ll win.”
Rafil sighed and realized a moment later that her younger sister had told her it was to kill the dragon.
……Have you ever…have you ever been so sure that you’re going to win?
“—Ah. Senpai, could please lend me the Dragonia bones?”
What is she going to use it for? What a silly question. But just in case, Rafil opened her mouth to say what she had to say—
“—Jib-chan. I gave you an order, nya.”
—but the advice she was about to give was interrupted by the inorganic hum that had spread just before. Without warning, she appeared out of a spatial shift and landed on the ground—the first number, Azril. The most powerful Flügel, Azril, glared at her with a smile on her troubled face—
“Well…? Isn’t it forbidden to challenge Dragonia alone?”
Jibril just grimaced and twisted to respond.
“—But is it just my imagination? You have not told me why I should follow your orders♥”
Rafil understood the expression on her younger sister’s face, while she was just in a battle stance, provoking her. Jibril wasn’t irritated in any way. It wasn’t the spoiling of a child or a young rebellion. She just…stood in place and welcomed Azril.
—An experiment before taking on the dragon. She’s just happy that she has no shortage of people to do her preparatory work. And yet…Azril says, with a look of concern for the fighting spirit of Jibril—
“Jib-chan is a special individual, nya… We can’t get the Dragonia destroy her, nya.”
That’s right—she stepped on a mine, in a rather brilliant way.
“I’m sorry, Jib-chan, but I’m going to set you straight, nya. I’ll take it easy so you don’t die, nya.”
————
————————A moment passed. Phew.
Jibril smiled sparsely, and a wave of light suddenly struck down with a bang. An entire section of Avant Heim was blown away, sending Azril flying far into the distance.
“W-What the hell, nya!? Why’re you suddenly at max anger, nya!?”
The shock was literally instantaneous as many Flügel rushed to see what was going on and was in an uproar.
“…Azril, are you out of your mind……?”
Azril is stunned and dismayed.
“You’re insulting that thing by calling it ‘tame’ and not even realizing it. Let me say…”
—Rafil said with a hint of disappointment, “…there is a limit to how much of a geezer you can be. You are no longer the same person you were before, back when you used me to pierce divine essence.”
—Not at all. Azril looked at Jibril again with a bewildered expression.
Jibril’s wings and aura became pitch black and absorbed even light in order to squeeze the compressed spirits. It was the embodiment of doom, and the mere sight of it was enough to make the dust that wanders the earth accept death. But no matter how many times she looks at Jibril, Azril still thinks to herself—
————She’s not strong enough.
No matter how you put it, no matter how you look at it, her power is definitely worth less than Azril’s. Azril, who was created to be the strongest, asserts on that basis that Jibril is less than half as powerful as she is. But at the same time, a paradoxical assertion can be drawn—that she may overcome herself. Two conflicting intuitions. From the confusion, Azril was at a loss for what to do. But sure enough—the instincts that they were created with as a fighting race just tell them to contradict themselves. The enemy in front of you is weaker than you are, but if you want to kill it—you must challenge it with all your might.
Weak, but maximally powerful? The irreversible destruction of Jibril—with a force that could kill her? That makes no sense. If I kill her, there’s nothing left to lose. Do I want to back out? But if I back down, the dragon will kill her. At least with my own hands—
That’s what she thought for a moment, but Azril was ashamed of herself for her insolent disrespect.
“…Wha, n…nya…don’t do this to me—” Azril muttered with her head down.
—I have no right to kill the exceptional number created by Artosh.
When Azril tried to break free from her battle stance, she was met with countless stares. The disappointment of the crowd, the anger of Jibril, the disdain of Rafil. Then—
“You’re running away, first number Azril—what a disappointment.”
—an absolute voice poured out, shaking Avant Heim and possibly even the world. The words of the Lord echoed through the air, and all eyes turned in the direction of the throne room at once. As if responding to the anticipation of the crowd, the voice continued in a deep and joyful tone.
“—What art thou hesitating for? This is a battlefield of life and death whither thee can grind thy life and polish thy soul. If thee run away before this opportunity, thy wings shall soon rot away.”
—If thou art still mine own feathered dependents, feathered decay is what thee should fear.
————…………
In response to this revelation, Azril exhaled deeply as she hung her head, then—
“…Good, nya.”
She muttered that and raised her face, but—everyone could not believe their eyes. Even Jibril gasped when she saw the look in her eyes. The Flügel’s smile was as hollow as a mask, like a puppet that had lost all emotion—
Except for Rafil, no one knew who this thing was. A voice as inorganic as steel, as cold and sharp as a blade, almost alien to the Azril they know. It tells them—
“One strike. That’s it. It’ll all be over before you can feel anything—Jibril.”
—the battle would end instantly.
Unbeknownst to many of the Flügel, and a reminder to those who had forgotten—an uncanny force stirred. Azril spread her winds, instantly spatial shifting overhead to face Jibril head-on in the ruined sky. The halo above her head unfolded into multiple intricate and complex patterns, and her finely shimmering wings suddenly darkened. She now looks the same as Jibril, who is desperately trying to accumulate spirits, even as the light began to fade, but—
—she is fundamentally different from Jibril. Jibril smiled with a spurt of anger, eyes full of desire to fight. Azril on the other hand smiled without a trace of emotion, her eyes frozen cold—
“……Hmm, you’re pretty decent when you get serious. That’s our elder sister.”
Azril stood eerily in the sky, and everyone was in awe, except for Rafil, who muttered nostalgically.
—Azril’s aura is not only eerie and scary. By all accounts, anyone could see that the power stirring in her body is several times that of Jibril’s, and has clearly exceeded the limits of the Flügel—
“R-Rafil-sama! A-Are you really not going to stop them!?” asked a girl who had hurriedly spatial shifted to her side, but Rafil tilted her head and answered:
“—Stop? Stop what, and why?”
“Eh…why…? B-Because we’re all Flügel, self-inflicted wounds are really—”
Hmm, thought Rafil, looking at the two in conflict.
—Flügel. Rafil chuckled and admitted that they were a bit of a temperamental race, including herself. Grabbing each other’s heads, quarreling over some trivial matters, and dueling are all commonplace…it can be rather peaceful.
Yes, peace—because it’s the only situation in which they can afford to fight among themselves. In this case, of course, there is no such thing as mercy or taming during a fight—it’s nothing but an insult. This is why Jibril also lost her temper with Azril and has now reached this point.
However, it’s forbidden to fight to the point of total loss with a “clear intent to kill” unless there is a special reason—for example, sacrifice to win a battle. The destruction of property created by the Lord is a treacherous act deserving of death.
“Artosh forgave them. What further approval do you seek?”
—Silence. What could one say to Rafil, who proclaims the irrefutable and absolute truth?
As the silence fell, all the Flügel looked up with bated breath to see only the two stirring forces facing each other in the air.
—Then, Azril held out her hand. With just one movement, the air produced a fluctuation of spirits that even Avant Heim trembled in shock. It attracted the gaze of all, and Rafil couldn’t help but mutter a soft sentiment.
“……Jibril, now even I don’t see how you can beat that thing—”
Azril would end the fight with a single strike, as she had declared. The difference in power between the two was so absolute that anyone could be sure of the outcome. However, Rafil showed considerable anticipation and enjoyment.
“If you can’t even resist this kind of attack, challenging the dragon is simply a pipedream. O little sister, how will you behave?”
—It’s been thousands of years since I’ve exerted my full strength…and now my opponent is Jib-chan—
Azril shrugged it off, casting aside distracting thoughts to prevent herself from entertaining thoughts of mercy. Azril then secretly convinced herself—the Lord has allowed it.
Then, as she herself declared—“one strike”—all will end before her. Putting aside all feelings, Azril stared coldly at the enemy in front of her.
—A exceptional number such as yourself is very strong.
The power of the Lord—the God of War—grows indefinitely. Naturally, the later a Flügel is created by the Lord, the more powerful they are. Not to mention that this “exceptional number” is currently the youngest number, and they were created with a specific motive in mind.
But—through her own analysis, Azril concluded—it’s still not enough.
Jibril doesn’t express even a quarter of the power that the Flügel have, a race meant to be the strongest. On top of that—Jibril was mimicking her, swirling up a vortex of energy. She was putting her best effort into preparing a decisive blow at Azril, who declared it would all end with a single strike. Azril couldn’t help but sigh. Everyone watching could see the clear difference in power between the strikes the two put their all into.
—In spite of this, the exceptional number has no intention of losing, and her eyes do not waver in the slightest. Then, her intentions were clear.
A reciprocal Heavenly Smite…her goal is to dodge my Heavenly Smite and hit me from behind, nya.
The exceptional number should also know very well that if they strike each other, her power alone would be overwhelmed. That said, it’s also self-evident that if she attacks first, she will not have enough power to defend herself. With that being the case, she must choose to attack afterwards—letting her opponent deplete their power first before attacking, otherwise she has no chance of winning.
—I really must say—I’m sorry, nya.
In this situation, it’s indeed the logical choice to attack from behind, but—Azril thought calmly to herself without batting an eye—this girl is always out of the ordinary. When faced against an overwhelmingly strong opponent, she would rather take a step back and avoid them—
“Just as I said…one strike and you’re dead, nya.”
————Didn’t I tell you there’d be no “next time”?
As if time had been suspended, darkness suddenly enveloped the exceptional number. From the shocked expression on her face, it was clear that she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The audience was equally confused—Azril looked on coldly, but deep-down she smiled. She’d always thought her sisters didn’t know how to use their powers.
—Heavenly Smite.
Transforming everything that constitutes herself into a nerve that connects to the Spirit Corridor, she drew a large sum of spirits from the primary current and unleashed them upon the enemy. This forceful use of power is synonymous to the only skill to have a name among the Flügel. The strike that was delivered at a cost, indeed, possessed enough power to end all.
However—there is a definite “waste” in Heavenly Smites, and that’s the point everyone overlooks. When a vast amount of spirits are coalesced into a single defined space—excess power is consumed. If one really wanted to maximize the power of a Heavenly Smite, then don’t simply coalesce—in other words, self-destruction is the most efficient way. But then, it would lose its direction and the power would be scattered—so what to do?
—This is what Azril did.
The indefinite light formed by a power beyond the norm—even though it didn’t coalesce and wavered, it was still a tried-and-true Heavenly Smite. She swung down with her right arm, and then—the light disappeared from Azril’s hand. At the same time, the darkness enveloping the exceptional number shook the silent and lightless space, and exploded in a frenzy.
—That was the ringing of the invisible power.
A powerful force that could shake the void and next dimension, shook Avant Heim, the heavens, and the planet. With a pitch-black space at its center, the world gave a sad cry. Those who understood this gulped in terror, and Azril laughed mercilessly at the sight of it.
……She shut the enemy into a closed space, then transferred the Heavenly Smite into it. It will infinitely reflect and amplify within the confined space—its full power raging within. There was no waste of power whatsoever, all of it was just dancing meticulously to destroy, and then—
————implode. It’s as simple as that————nya.
To a casual observer, it just looked like a black ball. Flügel, however, can see spirits, space, and other things normally invisible to the naked eye. The observing Flügel couldn’t help but fall into a panic as they looked up at the black ball. They could only imagine what horrors were ensuing in the ball of darkness after the sky above cried out in rage—
All they could do was stand aside, murmuring in hoarse voices, “—Rafil-sama…Azril-sama…is—”
Rafil looked up at the scene before her, showing only a bitter smile. She knew what her sisters were trying to say. Azril is—and always has been—“terrifying.”
“…Certain-to-kill is the word you’re looking for.”
“—Eh, ah, yes?”
Rafil’s sisters were puzzled at her sudden utterance, but Rafil ignored them as she continued.
“It’s a word that the Elves, Dwarves, and some of the other inferior races use so casually. It seems that special magic, weapons—and in our case, our Heavenly Smites—are considered to be certain-to-kill. But—”
With a wry smile and bitter laugh, Rafil pointed to the sky and said:
“Since it’s certain-to-kill, it should kill in one strike, no? Such as—that thing.”
A sphere of darkness only a few meters in diameter; a black, isolated space. Azril, who had poured all of her power into the Heavenly Smite inside the space, shrunk to the size of a little girl. But even so, with a hollow smile on her face, she looked out at the darkness where her power was still running ramped. Everyone gulped at the sight—one strike, just as Azril had declared.
—The irresistible force cut off Jibril’s path of retreat—leaving her trapped at the mercy of the raging destruction.
It’s a technique that ends the moment it’s performed—indeed, a “certain-to-kill” technique. Without saying a word, without even giving the opponent a chance to fight back—it ends everything without question, terrifying the crowds of onlookers.
—Of course, just thinking about how Azril was able to perform such a technique, they were bound to feel fear.
Flügel, a race created by the strongest god, the God of War, can split the heavens and earth with just a wave of their hand.
—What was she considering engaging in battle with to unleash such a powerful certain-to-kill attack?
It’s obviously overkill to use it on one of your own. However, the strike in that closed space would be meaningless against an opponent stronger than oneself. Azril simply relies on the power she has over Jibril to create the closed space.
Phantasma, Dragonia, Old Deus—using such techniques against existences whose power far outrank your own, space itself will surely tear apart, rendering the technique useless.
“Her mission is to take charge of the Flügel—so it’s not surprising that she knows a technique meant for execution…am I wrong?”
—There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ve invented this to kill your own kind.
Even though her body was weakened to the form of a child, she stared into the darkness coldly and calmly, smiling mercilessly. The way Azril appeared to all revealed a side of her that most were unaware of—a side that’s absolutely terrifying.
“…Don’t worry, she has her reasons for using it in plain sight. She has no intentions to use it on us.”
Rafil felt that her words scared them, so she smiled indignantly at the end. However, it didn’t shift the lingering unease. Everyone who heard it thinks—well, as Rafil said, it really is certain-to-kill. It would be over as soon as it was unleashed, and even if you knew beforehand, you could do nothing to stop it. To release such a certain-to-kill strike in front of all can only be to express one thing.
——A warning to all: Do not make an enemy of me.
————Is this really Azril?
Witnessing the scene before them, everyone questioned the fear in their hearts and was sure that Jibril was dead—however, Rafil saw something no one else did, and smiled smugly.
“Incidentally—in heaven and earth, in the three thousand worlds, only the Lord is worthy enough to use the word certain-to-kill.”
“————Eh?”
No matter how strong Azril may be, since Lord Artosh did not issue the attack, her certain-to-kill technique has a fatal flaw.
—Since she is not an absolute existence, there is nothing certain, and because there is no solid principle of absolution in her, flaws are inevitable. Just like that thing.
“……Well, what the hell. That’s it. Rejoice, Azril. You’ve seemed to regain some of your lost charisma.”
“R-Rafil-sama…y-you’re laughing?”
—That’s right, at the same time Azril released her certain-to-kill strike, Rafil caught something out of the corner of her eye, forcing her to bare a smile and try not to laugh. But by now, her patience had probably run thin—and she couldn’t help but giggle.
This thought might not be the most courteous—despite laughing bitterly, Rafil continued to think to herself, but calling that a certain-to-kill technique? Ridiculous.
“Azril, that’s why you’re Azril—haha…hahahaha!”
As long as such power is incapable of scathing the Lord, right in front of them even, calling it a “certain-to-kill technique” is a joke.
—Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pillar of light erupted from Azril’s chest—a light that pierced her from behind, and she gulped. No one but Rafil could understand what was going on. As if the mask had fallen off, a familiar voice that was both wimpy and useless—weakens all who hear it.
“…Heh……that’s the one. Elder, you should see…the stupid look…on your face.”
“Eh, h-how, w-what happened, nya—nyaaaa why is there a huge hole in my chest nyaaaaghhhh!?”
—The one who ran through Azril from behind without warning was none other than Jibril. She had shrunk to the size of a little girl as well, and looked unbelievably exhausted. Everyone couldn’t help but say in their hearts:
————Ah, it is Azril.
“Eh……Eheheh……A-Ahaha~ J-Jib-chan…w-what have you done to me, nya…?”
…Azril’s charisma just now had long since disappeared, and the seriousness of the situation was completely destroyed. Azril, with a dry smile on her face, asked painfully in a muddled voice—a voice in which everyone saw her as weak.
—With all her heart, she sent a Heavenly Smite inside the closed space, a strike that she was absolutely sure would hit. But to her dismay, light pierced through her chest. Azril couldn’t do anything since she had used up all her strength, resulting in her shrinking to the size of a little girl from lack of spirits.
Almost in tears under her masked smile, she asked the person who she was sure should have perished—Jibril, who was right behind her—about the light running through her chest and where it came from, but…
“……Elder was arrogant and looked down on her opponent, and as a result was attacked from behind…that’s what happened…”
—From her tone, it sounded as if she had no intention of informing Azril what she had done.
“‘One strike. That’s it. It’ll all be over before you can feel anything—Jibril’—that’s what you said, right?”
—Jibril simply said so weakly, falling helplessly along with the penetrated Azril. Jibril shot up with an ironic grin—only to ask:
“How’s it feel to be smacked in the face after bragging about it so proudly, Elder♥”
—But Azril just replied with a carefree smile on her face.
“Eheheh…Jib-chan is still alive nyaaaa, I feel great nyaaaaa!!”
…………
Looking at the two falling, each one rolled their eyes…but said with reassuring smiles—
—“Welcome back Azril-sama~”—……
“…Huh!? I-I lost, nya!? Why? Nyaaa, what’s going on, nyaaaaaa!!”
—I didn’t have to kill Jibril.
Azril slumped to the ground and laughed in disgust, savoring her happiness. It only hit her a few moments later though that she realized she had lost, and she suddenly flapped her arms and legs and began making a fuss. Like a child—well, no, rather, she is a child in now, at least in appearance—she threw a temper tantrum.
“…As expected of Azril. Your wimpish appearance cancels out any and all charisma you’ve earned.”
Rafil looked down coldly at Azril, rolling her eyes. Azril seemed to carry on though, ignoring Rafil.
“Why, nyaaaa……I-I…I-If I don’t have strength as an advantage—w-waaahhhh, ahh, nyaaaaa what the hell nyaaa…nyaaaa…………”
—Azril was soberly depressed, and the one who replied to her unexpectedly turned out to be—Jibril.
“…Don’t worry, to…be honest…Elder was much stronger…than I thought…” her faint, weak voice continued, “…my trump cards for that lizard…I was…forced to use…all but one of them, so…”
Azril’s mood rose from hell to heaven—
The first time I heard words of respect, Azril broke into tears and smiled.
“Nyaa!? Jib-chan praised me, nyaha! This calls for a celebration—”
“But—it doesn’t change the fact that you’re an idiot.”
But Jibril still didn’t forget to immediately push Azril back down to hell again as she laughed.
“Nyaaaaaaa, I’m gonna cry, and no one’s gonna stop me nya—nyaaaaa!”
“…Then I’ll stop it. You need to get a grip on the situation, idiot…”
Rafil kicked Azril in the face, forcing an end to her cries. Azril jerked to her feet like a spring-loaded toy. Obviously, her strength at this point had diminished, having been attacked defenselessly and shot to the ground, but oddly enough she was still quite energetic in her protest—
“Nyaaa! Didn’t Jib-chan win, nya!? Why did it turn out like this, nyaaa~!?”
However, when she finally noticed Jibril’s condition, what came out was a scream.
—She had shrunk to the size of a little girl like Azril.
But even with the use of a Heavenly Smite, the spirits should not have depleted to this extent. It became difficult for Jibril to maintain her childish body however, as various places along it were missing, and her figure began to shake.
—What the hell did she do to turn out like this?
“…No matter what the cause is, if we don’t apply a restoration rite this instant, she’ll suffer irreversible damage—”
“Nyaaaaaa, we have to save Jib-chan, everyone quickly—nyahaa~ the sky is spinning, nya……”
“You too, idiot! Don’t make a fuss with that hole in your chest! Hey, someone get her!!”
The surrounding Flügel sprung to the clamorous Azril, restraining her. Rafil ignored her cries and turned to pick up the weak Jibril, thinking to herself:
—What did she do? That’s all I want to know.
It was impossible for Jibril’s power to break through that closed space Azril created. Azril’s strike should have been certain-to-kill.
—But Rafil, who had been watching from a distance, was sure she saw it.
It was only for a second, maybe even less than that, but she was sure she saw Jibril. The moment Azril trapped her, her face was tinged with astonishment—and in the distance, there was another Jibril.
—Rafil saw it with her own eyes that Jibril was in two places at once.
Therefore, I never once worried about Jibril—but what did she do? Self-division? No, that doesn’t explain how she escaped from Azril’s closed space. Then there’s only one possibility by process of elimination. Therefore, I have an idea of what she did. But—how she did it? I have no idea. What she had done was—
“…Space-time shift… Flügel shouldn’t be able to do that—so how?”
Thinking to herself—for Flügel it should be obvious, but space is not continuous.
Space is constantly oscillating, with a wave-like swaying. By making a hole in that oscillation, Flügel are able to move at absolute distances without being bound to objective distances. On the other hand, Rafil knew that time was synonymous and homogeneous with space. In fact, as a person who had dealt with countless Dragonia, she had seen many times how they flew through space-time.
However, even if it is homogeneous, as a rule, not even time sways the same way—even though it should. At least, it should seem so to Rafil and other Flügel, but—
……Did she grasp the feeling of the dragon’s constant temporal oscillation in space-time?
Impossible—Rafil concluded. But if not, there are two things left unexplained:
One is the phenomenon that occurred right in front of them.
—The other was the fact that Jibril had survived five challenges with the dragon.
“Apparently—she’s found the secret to surpassing the strong.”
I have no idea how much Jibril paid for it, or how she did it, but after she finishes her restoration, I’ll be sure to hear her explanation.
“By the way, Azril, according to the agreement, I’m going to have to give her those Dragonia bones—no objections?”
Rafil thought she should make sure, so she asked Azril—
“Ooo…Ooooo…Jib-chan…Ooo……”
Azril had lost consciousness and was taken away without her knowledge. Rafil took this as a yes—
It was all for this day, this moment. I will conclude my diary, which I will not continue, with a great deal of hope:
—I, a lone Flügel, finally put an end to the dragon. That’s all……
————…………
Closing the diary, Jibril turned to face the white dragon in front of her. It wasn’t an unwavering determination or an endless desire—it was a will. She’d been defeated five times before, now preparing for her sixth attempt. On that day, when she first met this white dragon and lost miserably, she felt a doubt in her heart.
—Why did I lose?
No matter who she told, no one understood the “true meaning” behind the question—in other words:
—In the end, what are Dragonia…?
When Jibril thought of this question, it was like declaring war—
The dragon’s words spun, forcing all to surrender and obey.
【EXPLODE】
—It was no different from saying “Die,” with a response of, “As you wish.”
Rulers do not issue requests or wishes to their slaves, but rather orders. The draconic language—known by many as the “language of creation” or “universal language,” but also as the “Ruler’s Edict.” The Jibril of old fought with all her strength to resist its power, but still ended up in the dust.
As a result, all matter within the reach of the dragon’s vision burst open, erupting out in a dazzling white light. It was a rule of reason that was unreasonable, inexplicable, and absurd. As she was being swallowed up by the meaningless logic of resistance—Jibril thought:
—Elder really is an idiot…
In spite of this—or perhaps because of it—she laughed to herself and made a hole in space.
—A strike that would end everything the moment it was unleashed.
How dare you call that certain-to-kill, Jibril thought to herself, what a fool Elder is.
She had already experienced that same level of attack firsthand when she first faced off against the white dragon—five consecutive times to boot.
—In other words, even the dragon’s language isn’t certain-to-kill, and the white dragon knew this—heaven and earth may tremble, but this girl will not!
At the same time, the dragon’s tail slammed into her viciously—with a speed that it shouldn’t have had, as if time had been omitted.
—A huge roar resounded through the straight as if there were a planetary collision. The dragon’s tail flashed and swung down, splitting the sky, shattering the earth, and parting the sea. The shockwave alone was enough to bring several races to the brink of extinction—
However, the white dragon, the one who wielded such power, laughed with amusement.
“Well done. Absolutely brilliant, O little feather.”
Two certain-to-kill techniques were unleashed—the dragon’s words and the flash of the dragon’s tail. But she leisurely took them both on one-handed, unscathed—Jibril gave an elegant smile to the white dragon.
“I’m flattered by your praise, though—it’s an easy trick to pull off once you get the hang of it.”
That’s right, against the draconic language—as Rafil surmised—Jibril utilized a space-time shift and rewound time by a few milliseconds. The ensuing blow from the dragon’s tail was deflected by using the space after stopping time as a shield. The dragon laughed at the sight of Jibril’s figure, and even its huge body trembled.
—Space-time shift.
Needles to say, this skill was originally to much for a Flügel to handle. It was a skill they shouldn’t have. In the case where they’re forced to, it would end just like the battle with Azril—it would cause a more severe drain of spirits than even a Heavenly Smite, along with the risk of their entire existence being vaporized.
—But in this case, it was easy to perform.
Despite being defeated five consecutive times, Jibril never neglected to observe the dragon. She drew to the conclusion that the dragon was moving while leaving time and space behind, and even a spatial transfer could not catch up with it—in other words, the dragon’s surrounding are constantly causing “space-time distortions.”
Manipulating time is easier than crossing space if you can adjust to its distortion. When facing such an opponent, it is only by passing through space-time that one can finally “compete” with it.
—This is it, Dragonia.
Compared to this opponent, my fight with Elder was nothing but an appetizer.
—What exactly are Dragonia?
Well, they have huge body’s, and the amount of spirits they possess is so large that even the Flügel, created by the most powerful god, the God of War, don’t know the maximum limit. The language known as Ruler’s Edict that rules over all—to call it magic would be too arrogant.
—On the day I first faced this absolute power one-on-one, the only thing I thought as I was torn apart by the word was—“I’ll never win.” I felt as if I was confronting Lord Artosh. The illusion that no matter what you do, you can’t shake him, or the intuition that it was something that resembles reason, common sense—or axioms.
—Despite this, there’d been many dragon killing expeditions in the past.
That day, I was tormented by that unbearable feeling of discomfort.
—It’s impossible. It is an absolute existence—therefore it is abnormal to kill it.
If I challenge you with fifty or a hundred Flügel, you can defeat me? What nonsense.
—I dare say. If it’s that level of strength, I alone can defeat it.
However, the white dragon has already defeated Jibril five times now, forming a contradiction. There is only one answer to this contradiction—and that is…
“I would also like to add my deepest apologies for the five unsightly defeats I’ve suffered in the past.” Jibril continued after giving a graceful bow.
—No matter how many weak Flügel flock together, there’s no way to fill the fundamental lack of power.
Despite this—they were able to crush the dragons.
There is only one answer to unravel such a contradiction, where the weak defeat the strong. This conviction that Rafil and Azril will never understand—that is…
—If the Flügel can handle such “strength” despite being weaker, then the dragon isn’t strong at all.
“I’m not used to fighting a cheater like you…but I swear I won’t bore you this time.”
—Yes, the Dragonia are nothing more than cheaters.
The white dragon replied with amusement, “Oh—so thee bethink the dragon’s power is just a trick?”
“Strength based on laws and principles is nothing more than a trick to play smart.”
Laws and principles—that is, if it is “strength for a reason,” as soon as the foundation collapses, the contradiction will disappear. To put it simply—
“If I reveal your trick, I will win. I’m here today to expose your deception♪”
The dragon seemed to find Jibril’s argument fascinating and questioned her.
“—Are thee declaring that strength without laws and principles is truly powerful?”
“Yes. Everything in this world except my Lord is weak—so if the weak can surpass the weak, there must be a principle in it. In a short while, I will reveal all those tricks.
For a moment, the dragon went silent—and then chuckled.
“You’re right—you already knoweth so much, but thee don’t hast the self-awareness to understand—that makes it even more pleasant for me, then thee alloweth me see.”
The white dragon spread its wings, and its blue eyes gazed at Jibril.
“Although the future is still unknown—when thee defeat me, thee will know what thou hast understood and what thou hast denied. Then thou shalt sing in front of thy master.”
—The dragon expressed his anticipation of that moment.
On the strait where the storm of destruction still encroached, the dragon flapped its wings and called out to the storm, while continuing in a cheery mood. But Jibril had no intention of talking to it anymore, she just took up her stance and prepared for the next encounter.
—The more this dragon says, the more puzzling it is.
There is something in front of me that is worth challenging . That is why I challenge it. There is no more reason or significance to the battle—
—And after a brief pause—
A legendary battle defies all established logic has begun.
Tiny feathers and giant wings intertwine.
Like the myth that once was, the impact of the collision swept across the earth and sea, shaking the age. The dragon’s tail, claws, fangs, and words are unleashed at the same time, regardless of the time sequence. The confronting angel dodges, blocks, or shoots down the dragon’s attacks. Space is torn apart, time is twisted, and the world emits a mad cry of anguish.
It’s a phenomenon too far beyond human comprehension to be called a battle. There is no one but a god who can find the difference between the myth carved by the clash of the God of War and the Dragon Ruler in ancient times.
The ocean boils, the mountains burn, and the sky cracks and collapses. In the next instant, everything was swallowed up by the light and disappeared without a trace.
What would those who can understand say about such a scene like the collapse of heaven and earth?
The dragon sent out deadly attacks without interruption, while the angel deals with all of them without fail.
There may be those who see this as a miraculously even match. However, the two parties involved, the dragon and angel, understood each other.
—It’s not evenly matched at all.
The gap in power remains hopelessly wide. The tiny feathered Jibril was just cleverly exploiting that gap. Crossing the distortion of time and space created by the dragon, she simply survives the oncoming death by shifting intermittently. The irony is—the dragon is so powerful that all of its power has been sealed.
—It’s remarkable precisely because of that. The dragon is even beyond appreciation for her, to the point of being moved.
It’s hard to believe that this “ingenuity” could have been created by such an empty incarnation of strength—It’s wonderful, absolutely brilliant, but……
The dragon laughed and said, “You can’t be all defense and no attack, O little feather—when will you reveal it?”
Being accused of not having attacked once so far, Jibril seemed quite upset.
“What a chatty lizard…do you even have the decency to wait quietly for the climax of the plot?” she replied sarcastically.
However, her face looked rather grim, without a trace for spare feelings.
—Yep, they weren’t evenly matched at all.
There’s only a dragon that is leisurely repeating its deadly attacks and a feather that is desperately trying to survive.
The true nature of the swirling destruction is just that. It’s true that the dragon is using their power to nullify the attack, but for Jibril, this is a deadly tightrope walk that does not allow for even a momentary lapse in judgement. The dragon, on the other hand, will not suffer a hair’s breadth of injury no matter how hard the feather fights back.
—From as many as five duels so far, this conclusion is already very clear.
Even if neither side has a decisive blow, the two sides are on completely different sides of the spectrum: Jibril is just desperately trying to survive while the dragon remains calm all throughout. The longer this battle goes on—the more time it will take for the inevitable end to come. However, Jibril has the cards to overturn this outcome—
“…In a story, there is a beginning, break, and rapid—” Jibril still wears a winning smile in the midst of a tense situation, “but you’re right…it’s almost time to enter the stage of turn or break—”
She laughed and continued, “You exist across multiple time periods, do you not?”
————The dragon was speechless.
“Oh my, do the Dragonia show their expressions even when they are told something vital? What a fascinating discovery♪”
—That is indeed the ecology of Dragonia.
They are multi-temporal beings that exist in multiple times, centered on the present and spanning the past and future. They are perfect creatures with an eternal life span, and their power is comparable to that of the Old Deus, and therein lies their secret.
In the space-time continuum, since they do not exist as a point but as a plane, no matter how they are attacked in the point that exists in the present, they are corrected by the past and the future, and the present will recover immediately. Its nearly infinite power, on the other hand, reverberates its power in the multiple time periods, and by converging on the present, it is able to increase its power infinitely. Their flesh is nothing more than a vessel to hold the deflation world. But—
“—O little feather, how didst thee arrive at such conclusion!”
The white dragon did not hide its surprise in the slightest and asked her directly.
—She should not be able to know, and even if she did, she would not be able to understand. Not only for Flügel, but for all living beings bound to the present time—
However, the answer they received was too incongruous with the occasion of the legendary battle that looms over the approaching myth, where the world was crying out in sorrow—
“It’s by your silly face that I learned that. I was just proposing a hypothesis to test you, so I’m really thankful for your cooperation♪”
The dragon was rendered speechless this time by the ridiculous reply.
—It was a bluff.
In the midst of this major victory, she had actually made a false statement to test the waters—and the dragon was dumbfounded at the fact that he had fallen for it—
At that moment, Jibril landed gently on a piece of rubble towering out of the ground. There was no time to spare even after taking the victory, and she struggled to hide her determination.
“Now, since you were wondering why I didn’t attack you earlier, let me answer.”
Trying to be as graceful as possible, she tells it, “I’m already well aware that I won’t be able to reach you with a decisive blow—and because of that, I’ve kept you waiting, and the next step is the “climax” of the drama you were hoping for. Come on, pick up your handkerchief, applaud to your heart’s content, and keep your eyes open—”
As if using her sash as a skirt, Jibril pinched the hem and elegantly bowed.
“If one strike doesn’t hurt, I’ll use two. But I’m sure two is still not enough, so I’ll use three. I will take your head with three strikes.”
—This is neither an unwavering determination nor an unattainable dream, but simply her will.
It is the only “will” held in her heart. This next statement will prove that neither the first number, Azril, nor the dragon in front of her is absolute.
“Three strikes————————and you’re dead.”
The much-anticipated climax—the rapid in beginning, break, and rapid—was finally staged.
The time had gone wrong, the acceleration had gone up, and no matter how hard I cried or laughed, I had only three strikes left to finish the act. The end of the story has already been written—I will kill him with three strikes.
The persistence of those who subvert the truth is about to pay off. Then, with her head bowed, Jibril suddenly disappeared—
In a life equal to eternity, the dragon tasted “pain” for the first time—and the end of the story began.
How much meaning does the concept of time have at this point?
The end that Jibril announced—three strikes—were fired almost simultaneously, in a matter of moments.
————————First strike.
Flying through time and space, Jibril approached the dragon from behind, taking aim for its neck with the mass of iron—that’s when she thought to herself:
—An existence that spans multiple time periods? Unfathomable—!
She vaguely guessed that it could be so…and there were countless grounds to support her theory.
Distortion of time and space, their means of transportation, their seemingly limitless power. And the biggest of all—“if the weak gather, they can overcome the strong”—only an existence spanning multiple periods of time can explain such an anomaly. Outrageous, it’s simply cheating, a fraud. But—let’s believe that the dragon’s “shock” is the truth.
—That is to say, I believe in my own hypothesis—“If I expose this fraud, I can kill this dragon.”
Imitating the Elves, she split the spirit corridor and used the technique of dual casting to produce a vast amount of spirits with minimal consumption of her own. With the power generated by the same method she used to drill through Azril—the overloaded iron mass roared.
—That mass of iron—a sword—Jibril had with her was originally the “main cannon” of a Dwarven airship she seized. The cannon was built by the Dwarves to pierce the protective magic of the Elves, but it was driven by the principles of Dwarven logic. The sword is engraved with multiple layers of imprinting techniques, and by injecting spirits into the circuits, it becomes “a thinner, more concentrated blade capable of piercing through the Elves spirit-woven barriers”—
The iron mass is the product born from this simple but crude theory—
I wonder what’ll happen after injecting Flügel spirits into it—take this!
Jibril cried out inwardly, swinging down the iron mass and piercing the dragon’s scales—cutting deeper inside as if to affirm her hypothesis.
In the past, even a Heavenly Smite could only scathe very few scales, if even any at all—yet this one easily struck right through the already recovered ones and reached the skin below. However, the cannon had reached its limit at that moment and began to melt.
“—Using the tools of other races? O little feather—I assure thee those wilt not be enough.”
“Oh, I’m well aware. Please don’t worry about that—rather, you should look forward to my remaining two strikes.”
In the compressed time, despite the leisurely reply, Jibril though to herself—my chances of winning are very low. It was a hopeless gamble, like betting all your money on a high card with no tricks and no pairs. But—it’s all or nothing, and if there’s still a slight chance to win, it’s well worth the gamble!
“Then—surprise me with the two remaining strikes—”
—The dragon tempted her. Almost immediately, as it had hoped, it was surprised.
————————Second strike.
It’s only natural to be surprised—Jibril herself couldn’t help but smile bitterly.
Having saved her strength earlier with dual casting and preventing severe spirit consumption, she poured her heart and soul into a single strike—a Heavenly Smite—and struck the nearly vaporized sword piercing the dragon’s scales just in time.
Jibril snickered at the anxious feeling emanating from the dragon.
—There were two reasons for the white dragon’s surprise.
For one, the impact that struck it was not the Heavenly Smite, but rather something that was fired from the vaporized sword as a result of the Heavenly Smite.
“————Bones——!?”
—Precisely that. It was the dragon bone she borrowed from Rafil and embedded in the sword. The indestructible bullet, which even the gods could not destroy, was pressured by the Heavenly Smite and struck a hole in the dragon’s skin, opening a passage.
Did the dragon finally sense it? Jibril gave a light giggle at the slight irritation in its voice.
—Based on optimistic estimates, this may have slightly improved my odds of winning.
The dragon is the reverberation of its own power that exists in the past and future, generating a nearly infinite power. Jibril doesn’t need to understand that principle, as the fact that the laws and principles of deception exist like that is the basis for her hypothesis. In other words—the reason why dragons are defeated despite their overwhelming strength.
The ecology of this “deflation world” is able to reverberate and increase its power that exists in the present, past, and future into a single point. If this deception is the basis for the strength of the creature, the Dragonia, then this transcendence of common sense is the reason why the dragon can be killed. If the dragon’s true body is reverberating space-time, then its power is theoretically infinite.
Regardless of the present, past, or future, it is impossible for someone to bring a dragon to its knees with force. Then all the Dragonia that were crushed in the past—and in the future—are the same. All of them have been destroying themselves because of the ecology that creates their overflowing power…!
If the ecology of a dragon is to reverberate its power to the past and the future, and after infinite reverberation, coalesce to the present, then—if there is the slightest crack in the sturdy armor of its “isolated space-time shell”—the dragon will reflect its small “wounds,” even the attacks that have eroded into its body—endlessly. That would explain why they cannot be killed alone but could be killed by a group of maybe a hundred, because the problem was only how to make a drop of water flow from the crack.
And so, came the second reason for the dragon’s surprise. The dragon’s anxiousness was like a confirmation of Jibril’s hypothesis—but it also thought to itself:
Jibril had said that she would kill with three strikes, but the second strike had exhausted her power by delivering a Heavenly Smite, shrinking her down to a child. Will Jibril be capable of delivering the final one?
—Yes, of course I will, Jibril said to herself with a smile. She had neither the power to fly nor the power to float. Under the pull of gravity, the young girl placed her hand on her chest.
“You think that your skill, Far Cry, which you Dragonia unleash at the cost of your own lives, is your exclusive privilege?”
—The dragon would probably say that it is their exclusive privilege. Well, it is.
It’s impossible to imitate a Far Cry for a being incapable of crossing multiple space-times. Besides—she didn’t even understand what that meant.
However, coincidentally, using the rite that Jibril and the girls annihilated—the one that works on the nucleus of magical lifeforms that the Elves were so cleverly planning to use on Phantasma—on oneself, one could at least imitate it, if not exactly the same. In other words—to the extent that it gives directionality to the self-destruction caused by the collapse of the nucleus. And with that, it should be sufficient enough to deliver a fatal blow to the cracked shell—
————————Third strike.
Generally speaking—Flügel don’t specifically name their attacks. Simply wielding power, manipulating space, and bringing destruction to their surroundings is not called a “technique.” It’s silly to name as it’s a mere “behavior” that’s equivalent to breathing. However, in principle, this move can only be used once—not to mention that in order to pay the utmost respect to the dragon that forced her to do this, and also to show off—she named it with the will to kill.
“Now, the third strike—the Final Smite—will be the end.”
—The Flügel contain magic woven by Lord Artosh, and Jibril is about to forcefully rewrite that magic now. If Azril had been there, she would’ve been screaming about what a sacrilege it was, and that very thought flashed through Jibril’s mind—
“—Thou wilt kill me, wilt thou not?” the dragon asked calmly, but Jibril just titled her head, puzzled.
—Let the flesh cut the bone, she thought, recalling a passage from the Elven books she had read in her spare time. At the time, she thought it was a pathetically stingy idea, typical of the incompetent people.
If you asked me what my goal is, naturally, it would be to prove that I can defeat this dragon single-handedly—
“If I kill you, then what’s the harm in adding a little ‘I’m dead too’ to that?”
If you’re going to cut my bones, why don’t you let me cut yours…?
If one challenged the dragon and slew the dragon—then it doesn’t matter whether one’s still standing or not.
—Even if you perish, the result is set it stone—you have won.
As Jibril herself bursts into life and gradually turned into light—
“————Remarkable.”
—the last words of praise from the dragon were heard, and the light that had illuminated the sky many times flashed again. The third impact pierced the “space-time vessel” called the dragon. As long as a little power reaches the inside, the external pressure will instantly and infinitely increase—the dragon’s neck should then explode—as it should. But Jibril didn’t have a chance to witness such spectacle, as her consciousness began fading away—……
“——Have I failed?”
From the faint sensation on her back and the red sky reflected in her eyes, Jibril came to such conclusion after realizing she was lying on the ground. Not to mention that she had no longer had the strength to move, or even feel her limbs—though perhaps her limbs were gone.
—I’m alive.
Such truth angered Jibril, and unbearable regret hit her. This truth meant the final strike resulted in her own self-destruction—meaning her self-rewrite had failed, and at the same time—
“O little feather, the light that shines brighter than the sun.”
Indeed—it also meant that she had failed to defeat the dragon.
With a faint sense of hearing, the dragon’s voice came from afar, making Jibril sputter.
“…I lost the gamble, at the last minute…what a regrettable ending……”
—Flügel contain magic originally woven by the most powerful god, the God of War, Artosh. She didn’t think such a divine core woven by the Lord could be so easily rewritten. If she had to make an excuse—even if one knew it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t something should be necessarily attempted. With that in mind, it should only be used in short-term—a last-ditch gamble. Jibril couldn’t help but lament, however.
“O glorious feather, carve it with thy eyes—thy enemy is marching to their death.”
Hearing those words, Jibril tilted her head—although surprised her neck remained, she still stared in the direction of the voice. In her hazy vision, she saw that the dragon’s head had fallen to the ground—slowly disintegrating into particles of light and gradually disappearing into the void.
“Be thou proud of thyself, O little feather. Thou hast crushed me, and that is enough for a farewell.”
—As she was told, Jibril was proud of herself.
A supreme sense of accomplishment filled her heart. She had done it—that fact alone made her body numb with euphoria. At the same time, Jibril felt an irresistible drowsiness and slowly closed her eyes.
I was calmly convinced that I’d never open my eyes again.
—The rewriting of her core was incomplete, but the fact that she was able to kill the dragon, and the feeling of her spirits fading away—even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t—and that her body was gradually disintegrating into the void…told her that she would soon die. In her blinded vision, her fading consciousness listened to the voice of the dragon.
“There was once a man who asked the heavens—what is strength?”
“……Well, there’s someone with a lot of free time on their hands.”
For some reason, the dragon laughed aloud at Jibril’s faint reply.
“—Thou said that strength without laws or principles is true strength.”
“That’s not what I said, but I do agree with it……”
“Then I ask thee again, what is thy meaning of strength without laws and principles—without meaning?”
“The meaning of meaningless strength…? If you still want to continue playing Zen with me till the end—then you should thank me for my infinite patience and supreme tolerance, and listen carefully.”
With a disdainful tone, Jibril spat out:
“—I’ll tell you what, I honestly don’t care.”
“————”
“In the presence of Lord Artosh, all are equally weak.”
Nonchalantly looking up at the blood red sky, Jibril continued, “I challenged someone stronger than myself, and after several defeats, I finally won. I had a very pleasant time. I was excited and joyful each day, and not to mention it was a spectacle of a battle. Even in death, I will never forget this battle, and I assume you won’t either. I don’t think it matters at all in the face of such ‘fulfillment’—do you have any objections?”
Hearing her words, the dragon couldn’t help but wonder.
Did this feather not even notice until the end? Or maybe it was—
“I ask thee again—art thou mightier than I, that thou hast defeated me with artifice, skill, and wisdom?”
“Would you call a monster a monster if you poisoned it and let it destroy itself? Of course not, let alone—”
Jibril asserted without hesitation, and seeing this, the dragon was sure of one thing.
“—the measure itself, this so-called strength, is meaningless.”
She was dismissing it outright, knowing it by heart, but not knowing how significant it was. Her attitude, her words—they were in complete denial of her creator. She remained unaware until the end that she was embodying the very answer that the God of War longed for. She was carrying out precisely the way of the weak.
“In spite of my appearance, I am an extremely modest and sensible individual among the Flügel.”
————————
————W-whoa.
The dragon was hallucinating—if the world had heard her, it probably would have made that sound. But the feather continued on—
“You are completely beyond common sense. Because of your strength beyond limits—because of your lack of respect for limits—you have destroyed yourself. You were defeated by the sheer power of your own strength—that had nothing to do with my own strength.”
“…………”
“If there is a ‘next time’—then I have one piece of advice for you……”
The feather takes a breath.
“What you lack is—modesty. To put it simply, you are insane, beyond common sense. In turn, you will be defeated by me, who has common sense.”
……If the Elves and Dwarves she killed for this reason were present, they would probably have shouted in unison:
What is this common sense you speak of—!?
However, relatively speaking, as far as the people present are concerned, the Flügel still have common sense…and that is true.
“Yes, exactly as thee stated.”
The dragon smiled in amusement. Although Jibril wanted to ask the dragon what it meant, she gave up, because she understood that it was not directed at her. Instead, she asks:
“—May I ask for your name, please?”
The girl who had fallen to the ground continued as if she were pleading.
“If I’m going to die, I would at least like to be proud of having crushed you, as you wish…but if I don’t know the name of whom I’ve crushed, I won’t be able to do so.”
The dragon agreed with what she said and replied calmly.
“—Lieschengerth. Subordinate of one of the Dragon Rulers, Reginleif the Wise.”
“…Lieschengerth…”
The young girl recited the name that the dragon told her, repeated it a few times in her mouth, and then took that name to heart. Seeing a satisfied smile on the feather, the dragon continued:
“O little—glorious feather. Thou shalt not die. Your future is not of death, but the day will come when someone even weaker will challenge thee. Then thou shalt know the meaning of my defeat. Until then, thou shalt be proud of thy greatness to the end of days…beyond that, my existence……has no——”
—meaning.
The dragon’s last words were reaped by the wind and died out, leaving behind immortalized bones.
—Jibril showed a bitter smile. Even in its final moments, its words remained inexplicable. However, in addition to the sense of accomplishment that flooded her whole body, there was a hint of feeling that she was left behind by the dragon. As she sank into the silence that stung her chest……
“Nyaaaaa!? The Dragonia is dead, nya—NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA JIB-CHAN IS DEAD, NYAAAGHH!? I order all Flügel to shift here immediately, nyaaaaa!! Perform the restoration treatment here, nyaaaaaaaaa! Or else simply come as quickly as you can with Lord Artosh nyaaa—gh!?”
Suddenly, a piercing voice resounded all around, and hearing that annoying voice, Jibril couldn’t help but lose consciousness—
This time, Jibril let go of her consciousness.
It seems…that I…survived.
—When she reread the previous page, she felt like digging a hole and burying herself in it. From now on, I need to be more careful about what I write, even if it’s in a diary—she thought.
—Additional note: Elder is annoying as hell.
……Writing in her diary, which she thought would never open again, Jibril looked back at the annoying thing clinging to her and said in an icy tone:
“Elder Azril, it’s time to let me go.”
“I refuse, nya.”
—It took four years for her to regain consciousness. It will take another six years for her to recover. In the restoration chamber, Jibril was being hugged by Azril.
“In order to prevent Jib-chan from doing anything stupid again, I’m gonna live with her in my arms forever, nya! What the hell were you thinking, rewriting your own magic core, nya!? Jib-chan is so powerful though, you really did defeat that Dragonia nya, now everyone is discussing where we should decorate that glorious dragon skull, nya. We’ll have a triumphal parade once your restoration is complete, nya! Then again, I can’t forgive Jib-chan, nya. Do you realize what a ridiculous thing you’ve done, nya!? It’s so scary, nya!!”
Ever since she woke up, Azril has been talking her ear off. Jibril was going to kick her out immediately, but—soothingly—Rafil, who was also in the chamber, says to quiet her down:
“Give it up, Jibril. This thing has literally been holding you for the last four years while you’ve been recovering. It’s gonna stay like this for at least six more years until you’re fully recovered.”
—She almost fainted again.
She couldn’t help but sigh after she could barely hold on to her waning consciousness.
“Ugh…forget it, aside from Agril-san, why is Rafil-senpai here?”
“What was that, nya!? What the hell, nyaaaa!?”
“Hm? What’s so strange about visiting my younger sister who has accomplished something never done before?”
Ignoring the noisy eldest sister, Rafil pats Jibril’s head. She lifted the corners of her mouth and said in a gentle tone.
“—Well done, Jibril. I hope you won’t have to do this again in the future, but regardless—you did a good job.”
…Looking up at her overly pretty sister’s face, Jibril told her, “Sister Rafil, I think it’s time for you to be head of the Flügel”
“Why nyaaaaa!? Did Jib-chan just call you sister, nya!? That’s not fair! Rafil, duel with me now—”
…Unbeknownst to the emotionally charged Azril, the other Flügel were eavesdropping on them outside the chamber, or rather, across the space. They all nodded in agreement to Jibril’s suggestion.
—Just then, there was a sudden vibration in space, like an earthquake coming from afar. It was a quiet, but absolutely impossible to ignore force that brought about the impact on this chamber. Then, in the small chamber—or rather, now it has become an incomparably large open space, the three who had been making noise froze, drawing back their breaths at the majesty of the man who towered over them as if he had been there since ancient times. The man in front of them is the god of the heavens, the supreme sovereign, the God of War—Artosh.
—Their creator, who had not left his jade throne in centuries, was standing on his own two feet.
He simply stood, and time and space, even the laws of cause and effect, distorted, and this small restoration chamber expanded several times—no, thousands of times. Then, they looked up at the Lord who was standing before them, feeling as small as worms in comparison—
“—You’ve succeeded in slaying the dragon, exceptional number.”
The three of them stopped even breathing and couldn’t move their bodies, while Artosh looked down proudly and said, “What now, mine feather? Wilt thee become strong enough to slay me?”
His tone was cordial and even contained a sense of expectation. At this fact, not only Azril and Rafil, but also the eavesdropping Flügels were so shocked that they were about to faint—but…
“—Pardon my disrespect, My Lord, but are you so indolent that you would stand up to ask me such a question?”
Hearing Jibril answer like that without a care in the world, most of the other Flügel fainted. To be honest, even Azril had lost half her consciousness, but Jibril continued.
“It would be pointless to try and compete with the strongest god in the world. I shall remain weak—”
Facing the strongest God of War, Jibril was undaunted and declared with her head held high.
“One day, I will pull the Lord down from his throne and let him stand on his feet—so until that day comes, can you please sit comfortable on that throne of yours like a Lord should?”
—Cut the crap and sit obediently, one day I will make you stand up, so be prepared.
The words were an explicit challenge, and the meaning of her words was even more provocative, and one by one the other Flügels fell down.
“Ha—hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha——!!”
Only Artosh laughed harder than ever before—like he was about to burst. Then Artosh, with a smile on his face, said fiercely to Jibril:
“—Very well. Then I will wait for you on my throne—and encourage you, my beloved weak adversary.”
And then—space was like a descending curtain, and Artosh instantly disappeared, only leaving countless questions—
“…Jib-chan…uun…—Jib-chan is sick!!”
“—What?”
Jibril was puzzled, but Azril ignored her and shouted.
“Jib-chan made Lord Artosh laugh, nya!? And it was a challenging smile, nyaaaa!! Is this a flag that Jib-chan is going to challenge Lord Artosh!? What’s going on, my chest is getting hot nyaaaa, I feel like I could write a million books, nyaaaaa!!”
“Elder, please calm down, the nonsense your spouting has reached its peak.”
“N-No…Jibril. You’ve gotta be kidding me, this is way too big of a feat—”
Even Rafil was impressed and said so in surprise. Then, all the Flügel that had been eavesdropping were mixed with jealousy, astonishment, and longing, causing a commotion that shook even Avant Heim.
—He was all alone. He sat motionless on his throne, with no signs of getting up, and simply propped his cheek up with his hand as usual.
Artosh whispered to the strongest dragon that confronted him at the peak in the age of myth.
“…O Armageddon, my question and answer with thee was indeed meaningful—yet meaningless all at the same time.”
They say that dragons can see through the gaps in time. Then this Dragon Ruler must’ve known that day would come. Then what it said was right—and what it did was unbelievably wrong.
—Poor dragon, forgetting even to challenge.
If thee art aware that thee art weak and cannot defeat the God of War, wherefore don’t thou have the will to wend beyond that? If thee admit that thee art weak, thee should not cease thither, but wend ahead and conquer. At which hour the strongest of the rest hath appeared, thee should hast enjoyed it—
Artosh will never understand Hartyleif, who just accepted death as a blessing.
—Challenging the strongest. That’s the kind of happiness I can’t asketh for, so wherefore can’t thee be joyous to hast that kind of happiness……?
“But—then again, maybe that day isn’t so far off.”
—It was 
, and the Great War that lasted for so long will finally come to an end—twelve years from now.
But even his wisdom has no way of knowing this future.
Artosh was alone, silently laughing at the premonition of war that a small feather had given him.
Certain-to-kill: In Japanese, Rafil says 必殺 (hissatsu) which means certain kill. I decided to add the to into it as to further emphasize that a move/technique is certain-to-kill as explained in the upcoming dialogue, as well as to keep consistency with the original meaning.
Beginning, Break, Rapid: This the rough translation of 序破急 (Jo-ha-kyuu), which is a concept of modulation and movement applied in a wide variety of traditional Japanese arts. It essentially means that all actions or efforts should begin slowly, speed up, and then end swiftly.
Deflation World: This is the furigana for the kanji 収束時空 (Shuusoku jikuu), which means Convergent Space-Time.
Agril-san: At first this may seem like a typo, but this is actually my best attempt at retaining a joke from the original. In this line, Jibril calls Azril Uzaril-san, which is a play on words of Azril’s name and “annoying.” I first tried combining annoying and Azril together, but it didn’t look or sound good. So instead, I went with aggravating Azril, which turned into Agril-san. It’s not the best, but I think it works .3.
According to myth, there was once a great conflict in the heavens between the two “strongest” beings.
—The towering peak once known as Muspelgalve has since been transformed into a straight called the Thrymr Gap. It was in this twilight zone that the God of War, Artosh, slew the Dragon Ruler, Hartyleif.
In the distant past, it was the fierce battleground of the heavens, the apex of which was set overlooking the world. It is said that as a result of the clash of the two, the heavens closed and dyed the blue earth red with death. And even now—the thunderous sky still rumbles, and the boiling sea still simmers.
A dragon sat in silence, waiting. Sitting motionlessly as it gazed into the heavens, its dazzling pure white scales shimmering in the dusk. Its eyes, filled with a profound knowing, suddenly wavered. Before it, out in the crimson sky, a ray of light cut through like a comet. It’s an angel. With wings of woven light spread out on their back and a halo of geometric patterns on their head—it was a Flügel.
A beautiful girl with long, dazzling prismatic hair and amber eyes that breathe a powerful will. A feather created by the God of War, a party to that myth, who has made the title of “strongest” their own. The girl came flying through the dead sky with a huge iron mass in hand, and the dragon uttered faintly:
“—It’s been a long time, O little feather.”
Jibril shuddered in front of the familiar—yet everlasting—white dragon. Her heart raced, her blood boiled, and her excitement surged.
—The unnamed Dragonia asks coyly, “You’re like a parasite. Hast thee come to taste defeat for the sixth time, or—”
At these words, Jibril’s lips rose like an arc and replied, “—Don’t worry. This will be the last time.”
Then, she readied the iron mass in her arms. With her halo spinning rapidly, she prepared for an all-out brawl. On the other hand, the pure white dragon narrows its blue eyes, spreads its mighty wings that can cover the sky, and asks, “Knowest thou, O feather, how they fought in this land?”
“Of course—but what of it?” Jibril replied coldly.
Fifteen thousand years ago—in this very place—Artosh and Hartyleif fought a fierce battle. She was at this point, as the great myth depicts, confronted with the dragon, and simply did not care for other thoughts.
—It’s not a myth, Jibril laughed silently.
What did the Lord talk to the Dragon Ruler about? What did he think, and what disappointed him in this place? Although deeply interested and curious, what is the point to knowing these answers?
One is by no means the strongest.She was a veritable loser who had challenged the white dragon before her five times and lost. In contrast—the dragon in front of her is undefeated. But in the hands of the Lord, it is one of the many things that can easily be shattered with a single blow. It is by no means the strongest. In other words—there is no strongest here. Even if this situation were compared to the myth, the premise is fatally different. This is not a clash between the invincible and the supreme, there is neither question nor answer, even the exchange of words is superfluous.
This is not a battle to determine who is truly stronger, it or I. It’s just my helplessly weak self challenging this incredibly strong opposition. This is trial of fools, fools who presume to subvert a predetermined outcome—the victory of Dragonia over Flügel. It’s simply a duel in the abyss, where the weak challenge the strong.
……And best of all, Jibril laughed, the thrill in my heart and the raging excitement boiling my blood in no way stems from the emulation of the myth. This feeling that makes my whole body tremble is simply……
“No matter how many times I am defeated, I will kill you. That’s all this war is about, right?”
……nothing short of a delight.
The dragon twisted its body round and scoffed—and with that gesture, the sea split open and a storm whipped through the crying sky. She wasn’t sure if the dragon was smiling or not, but the dragon’s voice grew happier and happier.
“So, O little feather. Shall thee continue to challenge me for all eternity, knowing that thee can never win?” the dragon laughed.
“No, because on this day, I will slay you. I shall cut off your head, the head of a dragon who declares I can never win♥”
“Very well. Until thy knife touches mine own neck, it doesn’t matter how many times thee challenge me.”
The dragon then flapped its wings to launch an attack. The white dragon laughs as a tremendous tsunami of power surges through the air.
“‘Twas a stimulating question with a beneficial answer. Then, too, let thee break miserably once again, O little feather.” the dragon snickered.
“‘‘Twas a stimulating question with a beneficial answer.’ Are those really going to be your last words?”
Thus, the myth is repeated, but remains decidedly different. One dragon and one feather seen together waged conflict six times over the thundering, boiling straight. The scale of this battle is far less than the duel between the God of War and the Armageddon, and far from the myth. But there is no doubt that this will also become a legend passed down to future generations.
Even after five defeats—no, this will be the last time. Jibril moves her pen to what she is sure is the truth. It was a diary that I started writing somehow. The last defeat…in that diary, everything noteworthy was written here since my fifth defeat to the dragon.
Thinking about the years that led to her three secret strategies and one winning opportunity. Jibril’s pen was busy writing the last page of the book—……….
…Come on, can’t we do something about this boredom during the restoration treatment? After being defeated by the dragon five times in a row, it was getting rarer and rarer for me to stay outside the treatment chamber. If I don’t come up with something to pass the time soon, boredom will kill me before the dragon does……
————…………
“……Again, really? You’re really unlucky, little sister.”
“Ah, Rafil-senpai! I’m dying of boredom, so I started drawing a picture. Whaddya think?”
A little girl regains consciousness for the first time in a year in the restoration treatment chamber and slides her brush across a book.
—Jibril was defeated for the fifth time by a Dragonia, and she had shrunk once again. Rafil, who had been shown the child’s doodles with a look of pride on her face, couldn’t help but groan.
“I’m amazed you’re still in pristine condition after taking on that Dragonia five times…every time Azril won’t stop making a fuss and we’re all forced to scramble to keep up, you should at least be aware of that—”
“Huh? It’s not like I didn’t go in with a plan. And this time, I got a direct hit on it with my own Heavenly Smite, isn’t that impressive?”
—Before that, I’d never been able to hit my opponent.
Jibril, not seeming to notice the grim expression on Rafil’s face, continued with amusement, “But oddly enough, it had no effect—well, no doubt a few of its scales were pierced, but…they were instantly restored. It was as if…time had been rewound.”
—Rafil had a hunch, based on the nature of the Dragonia, that it was time manipulation.
“But if you can rewind time, then no amount of force can kill you.”
Jibril immediately denied the thought and continued. So—why can’t I kill it?
“Why is it impossible to kill it…no—is it really possible to kill it?”
It can manipulate time and space at will, and even take a direct hit from a Heavenly Smite and remain virtually unharmed.
“Is there a power far greater—than even a Dragonia itself—?”
……So, my younger sister who is not only clueless, but is even finding a way to win—sigh…
“Sorry to say, but—there will be no next time. You have to give up.”
“…………Huh?”
“Azril has been completely bent out of shape—she says it’s an order—forbidding you to take on the Dragonia alone. If you disobey this order, you will be punished…that’s what she said, and now I’ve delivered it to you.”
It would only add fuel to the fire, Rafil mumbled quietly as she turned on her heel.
When I finally finished the restoration treatment and went on my merry way, I was hit by an Elf’s flight obstruction spell. The pain of the bump made me shoot a Heavenly Smite, but after firing it, it was not worth it at all, so I was even more upset. I decided to at least bring back all their books to pass the time during the restoration treatment.
————…………
“……Again, nya? Again, nyaaaa!?”
Just three days later—after completing the restoration treatment, the recovering Jibril stepped out of the treatment chamber. Azril scratched her head and screamed at the sight of the cute little shrunken figure being back again. Jibril was compressing space with what little strength she had left, dragging what seems to be a large sum of books with her.
“Ah, no, I just shot the Elves with a Heavenly Smite. Don’t mind me.”
“Ah, nya~? Good, nya♥ Wait, what do you mean, nya!? With a hole in your stomach that’s probably from a Heavenly Smite, nya!? Even when weakened, there’s no way the Elves can touch you, so what were you really doing, nyaa!?”
Azril closes in on the little girl who has, almost literally, a hole clean through her belly, but—
“Aah. While I was rifling through my books, I had a little attack—multiple spells…very interesting♪” Jibril said happily, Azril’s hands went to her own head in frustration, feeling a headache coming on.
—That’s right, it’s true that multiple spells could prove troublesome. She doesn’t really care if more than one spell is used. Rather, this thing called compounding—the interaction of magic—is what’s problematic. For example, if you pour “fuel” onto one flame instead of two, the flame’s duration increases by multiplication instead of addition. Even if the amount of spirits are very small compared to a Flügels, if the magic is successfully chained together they can pierce through them, even Jibril.
“Well, I wouldn’t put it past those lowlifes that attempted to control a Phantasma—however, I’d be pleasantly surprised if they had a clue on how to kill that dragon♪”
But when the younger sister looked down at the books and continued, Azril’s eyes narrowed with malice.
“————Jib-chan. There is no next time……didn’t I tell you that, nya?”
Jibril smiled warmly glancing back at her, then turned and headed for the treatment chamber—
I immediately tried to read those Elven books that I brought home.
—But I realized I can’t read Elf.
I mean, let’s be honest here, why would I need to read the writings of those plants? Imagining myself bored to the point of conversing with grass… Now I’m just getting depressed, so I’m gonna head to bed……
It’s been two years since I decided that I didn’t care about what those plants were anymore, and now I can read their language. Boredom is a terrible thing. I found a memoir with the stupid title of “I’m a Genius♥” It was so stupid that I was immediately drawn to it.
……Three years. That memoir—“I’m a Genius♥”—I still haven’t figured it out…I feel like dying. It’s not that I can’t read it, it’s just that I can’t understand it, and my brain seems to be dumber than a plant at this point.
Although I think it’s okay to be grass, I don’t want to be worse than grass.
I was about to commit suicide, but then I found an interesting description that reluctantly dissuaded me from doing so. I don’t know the details of the story, to which are honestly far beyond my comprehension, but I wondered if it was possible to artificially manipulate closed space-time. It was a mysterious self-praise that I was unable to form an enduring vessel by practicing the hypothesis of “closed space-time” and “I survived, and I’m still a genius”……
—I see. If this is correct, I will have to reacquaint myself with the fact that there are geniuses among the plants as well.
Tomorrow is the last day of the restoration treatment, and I’ve learned that talking to the plants is not a bad way to expand my knowledge. I would like to challenge the dragon again right away, but this time, I’ll do a little preparation. There are three things I need…and this will certainly be my last chance, so it’ll be worth a try.
————…………
—It was a…kind of…well, let’s just say it was a “mass of iron.”
At the sight of the youngest Flügel carrying a huge piece of junk that was several dozen times her height and lumbering down the street.
“…Jibril. What’s that…that…thing?” Rafil asked with a hard to describe expression.
“Hope you don’t mind. It’s just a piece of one of the Dwarves toys.”
Jibril’s congenial reply only deepened her concern.
Did I overhear that some kind of Dwarven fleet was destroyed? That’s good. Destroying the Dwarves? Good. Do more. Eradication is possible. I implore it. Fight. The question is, what was the purpose of brining back more pieces of that toy—
“It’s okay, right? This time—I’ll win.”
Rafil sighed and realized a moment later that her younger sister had told her it was to kill the dragon.
……Have you ever…have you ever been so sure that you’re going to win?
“—Ah. Senpai, could please lend me the Dragonia bones?”
What is she going to use it for? What a silly question. But just in case, Rafil opened her mouth to say what she had to say—
“—Jib-chan. I gave you an order, nya.”
—but the advice she was about to give was interrupted by the inorganic hum that had spread just before. Without warning, she appeared out of a spatial shift and landed on the ground—the first number, Azril. The most powerful Flügel, Azril, glared at her with a smile on her troubled face—
“Well…? Isn’t it forbidden to challenge Dragonia alone?”
Jibril just grimaced and twisted to respond.
“—But is it just my imagination? You have not told me why I should follow your orders♥”
Rafil understood the expression on her younger sister’s face, while she was just in a battle stance, provoking her. Jibril wasn’t irritated in any way. It wasn’t the spoiling of a child or a young rebellion. She just…stood in place and welcomed Azril.
—An experiment before taking on the dragon. She’s just happy that she has no shortage of people to do her preparatory work. And yet…Azril says, with a look of concern for the fighting spirit of Jibril—
“Jib-chan is a special individual, nya… We can’t get the Dragonia destroy her, nya.”
That’s right—she stepped on a mine, in a rather brilliant way.
“I’m sorry, Jib-chan, but I’m going to set you straight, nya. I’ll take it easy so you don’t die, nya.”
————
————————A moment passed. Phew.
Jibril smiled sparsely, and a wave of light suddenly struck down with a bang. An entire section of Avant Heim was blown away, sending Azril flying far into the distance.
“W-What the hell, nya!? Why’re you suddenly at max anger, nya!?”
The shock was literally instantaneous as many Flügel rushed to see what was going on and was in an uproar.
“…Azril, are you out of your mind……?”
Azril is stunned and dismayed.
“You’re insulting that thing by calling it ‘tame’ and not even realizing it. Let me say…”
—Rafil said with a hint of disappointment, “…there is a limit to how much of a geezer you can be. You are no longer the same person you were before, back when you used me to pierce divine essence.”
—Not at all. Azril looked at Jibril again with a bewildered expression.
Jibril’s wings and aura became pitch black and absorbed even light in order to squeeze the compressed spirits. It was the embodiment of doom, and the mere sight of it was enough to make the dust that wanders the earth accept death. But no matter how many times she looks at Jibril, Azril still thinks to herself—
————She’s not strong enough.
No matter how you put it, no matter how you look at it, her power is definitely worth less than Azril’s. Azril, who was created to be the strongest, asserts on that basis that Jibril is less than half as powerful as she is. But at the same time, a paradoxical assertion can be drawn—that she may overcome herself. Two conflicting intuitions. From the confusion, Azril was at a loss for what to do. But sure enough—the instincts that they were created with as a fighting race just tell them to contradict themselves. The enemy in front of you is weaker than you are, but if you want to kill it—you must challenge it with all your might.
Weak, but maximally powerful? The irreversible destruction of Jibril—with a force that could kill her? That makes no sense. If I kill her, there’s nothing left to lose. Do I want to back out? But if I back down, the dragon will kill her. At least with my own hands—
That’s what she thought for a moment, but Azril was ashamed of herself for her insolent disrespect.
“…Wha, n…nya…don’t do this to me—” Azril muttered with her head down.
—I have no right to kill the exceptional number created by Artosh.
When Azril tried to break free from her battle stance, she was met with countless stares. The disappointment of the crowd, the anger of Jibril, the disdain of Rafil. Then—
“You’re running away, first number Azril—what a disappointment.”
—an absolute voice poured out, shaking Avant Heim and possibly even the world. The words of the Lord echoed through the air, and all eyes turned in the direction of the throne room at once. As if responding to the anticipation of the crowd, the voice continued in a deep and joyful tone.
“—What art thou hesitating for? This is a battlefield of life and death whither thee can grind thy life and polish thy soul. If thee run away before this opportunity, thy wings shall soon rot away.”
—If thou art still mine own feathered dependents, feathered decay is what thee should fear.
————…………
In response to this revelation, Azril exhaled deeply as she hung her head, then—
“…Good, nya.”
She muttered that and raised her face, but—everyone could not believe their eyes. Even Jibril gasped when she saw the look in her eyes. The Flügel’s smile was as hollow as a mask, like a puppet that had lost all emotion—
Except for Rafil, no one knew who this thing was. A voice as inorganic as steel, as cold and sharp as a blade, almost alien to the Azril they know. It tells them—
“One strike. That’s it. It’ll all be over before you can feel anything—Jibril.”
—the battle would end instantly.
Unbeknownst to many of the Flügel, and a reminder to those who had forgotten—an uncanny force stirred. Azril spread her winds, instantly spatial shifting overhead to face Jibril head-on in the ruined sky. The halo above her head unfolded into multiple intricate and complex patterns, and her finely shimmering wings suddenly darkened. She now looks the same as Jibril, who is desperately trying to accumulate spirits, even as the light began to fade, but—
—she is fundamentally different from Jibril. Jibril smiled with a spurt of anger, eyes full of desire to fight. Azril on the other hand smiled without a trace of emotion, her eyes frozen cold—
“……Hmm, you’re pretty decent when you get serious. That’s our elder sister.”
Azril stood eerily in the sky, and everyone was in awe, except for Rafil, who muttered nostalgically.
—Azril’s aura is not only eerie and scary. By all accounts, anyone could see that the power stirring in her body is several times that of Jibril’s, and has clearly exceeded the limits of the Flügel—
“R-Rafil-sama! A-Are you really not going to stop them!?” asked a girl who had hurriedly spatial shifted to her side, but Rafil tilted her head and answered:
“—Stop? Stop what, and why?”
“Eh…why…? B-Because we’re all Flügel, self-inflicted wounds are really—”
Hmm, thought Rafil, looking at the two in conflict.
—Flügel. Rafil chuckled and admitted that they were a bit of a temperamental race, including herself. Grabbing each other’s heads, quarreling over some trivial matters, and dueling are all commonplace…it can be rather peaceful.
Yes, peace—because it’s the only situation in which they can afford to fight among themselves. In this case, of course, there is no such thing as mercy or taming during a fight—it’s nothing but an insult. This is why Jibril also lost her temper with Azril and has now reached this point.
However, it’s forbidden to fight to the point of total loss with a “clear intent to kill” unless there is a special reason—for example, sacrifice to win a battle. The destruction of property created by the Lord is a treacherous act deserving of death.
“Artosh forgave them. What further approval do you seek?”
—Silence. What could one say to Rafil, who proclaims the irrefutable and absolute truth?
As the silence fell, all the Flügel looked up with bated breath to see only the two stirring forces facing each other in the air.
—Then, Azril held out her hand. With just one movement, the air produced a fluctuation of spirits that even Avant Heim trembled in shock. It attracted the gaze of all, and Rafil couldn’t help but mutter a soft sentiment.
“……Jibril, now even I don’t see how you can beat that thing—”
Azril would end the fight with a single strike, as she had declared. The difference in power between the two was so absolute that anyone could be sure of the outcome. However, Rafil showed considerable anticipation and enjoyment.
“If you can’t even resist this kind of attack, challenging the dragon is simply a pipedream. O little sister, how will you behave?”
—It’s been thousands of years since I’ve exerted my full strength…and now my opponent is Jib-chan—
Azril shrugged it off, casting aside distracting thoughts to prevent herself from entertaining thoughts of mercy. Azril then secretly convinced herself—the Lord has allowed it.
Then, as she herself declared—“one strike”—all will end before her. Putting aside all feelings, Azril stared coldly at the enemy in front of her.
—A exceptional number such as yourself is very strong.
The power of the Lord—the God of War—grows indefinitely. Naturally, the later a Flügel is created by the Lord, the more powerful they are. Not to mention that this “exceptional number” is currently the youngest number, and they were created with a specific motive in mind.
But—through her own analysis, Azril concluded—it’s still not enough.
Jibril doesn’t express even a quarter of the power that the Flügel have, a race meant to be the strongest. On top of that—Jibril was mimicking her, swirling up a vortex of energy. She was putting her best effort into preparing a decisive blow at Azril, who declared it would all end with a single strike. Azril couldn’t help but sigh. Everyone watching could see the clear difference in power between the strikes the two put their all into.
—In spite of this, the exceptional number has no intention of losing, and her eyes do not waver in the slightest. Then, her intentions were clear.
A reciprocal Heavenly Smite…her goal is to dodge my Heavenly Smite and hit me from behind, nya.
The exceptional number should also know very well that if they strike each other, her power alone would be overwhelmed. That said, it’s also self-evident that if she attacks first, she will not have enough power to defend herself. With that being the case, she must choose to attack afterwards—letting her opponent deplete their power first before attacking, otherwise she has no chance of winning.
—I really must say—I’m sorry, nya.
In this situation, it’s indeed the logical choice to attack from behind, but—Azril thought calmly to herself without batting an eye—this girl is always out of the ordinary. When faced against an overwhelmingly strong opponent, she would rather take a step back and avoid them—
“Just as I said…one strike and you’re dead, nya.”
————Didn’t I tell you there’d be no “next time”?
As if time had been suspended, darkness suddenly enveloped the exceptional number. From the shocked expression on her face, it was clear that she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The audience was equally confused—Azril looked on coldly, but deep-down she smiled. She’d always thought her sisters didn’t know how to use their powers.
—Heavenly Smite.
Transforming everything that constitutes herself into a nerve that connects to the Spirit Corridor, she drew a large sum of spirits from the primary current and unleashed them upon the enemy. This forceful use of power is synonymous to the only skill to have a name among the Flügel. The strike that was delivered at a cost, indeed, possessed enough power to end all.
However—there is a definite “waste” in Heavenly Smites, and that’s the point everyone overlooks. When a vast amount of spirits are coalesced into a single defined space—excess power is consumed. If one really wanted to maximize the power of a Heavenly Smite, then don’t simply coalesce—in other words, self-destruction is the most efficient way. But then, it would lose its direction and the power would be scattered—so what to do?
—This is what Azril did.
The indefinite light formed by a power beyond the norm—even though it didn’t coalesce and wavered, it was still a tried-and-true Heavenly Smite. She swung down with her right arm, and then—the light disappeared from Azril’s hand. At the same time, the darkness enveloping the exceptional number shook the silent and lightless space, and exploded in a frenzy.
—That was the ringing of the invisible power.
A powerful force that could shake the void and next dimension, shook Avant Heim, the heavens, and the planet. With a pitch-black space at its center, the world gave a sad cry. Those who understood this gulped in terror, and Azril laughed mercilessly at the sight of it.
……She shut the enemy into a closed space, then transferred the Heavenly Smite into it. It will infinitely reflect and amplify within the confined space—its full power raging within. There was no waste of power whatsoever, all of it was just dancing meticulously to destroy, and then—
————implode. It’s as simple as that————nya.
To a casual observer, it just looked like a black ball. Flügel, however, can see spirits, space, and other things normally invisible to the naked eye. The observing Flügel couldn’t help but fall into a panic as they looked up at the black ball. They could only imagine what horrors were ensuing in the ball of darkness after the sky above cried out in rage—
All they could do was stand aside, murmuring in hoarse voices, “—Rafil-sama…Azril-sama…is—”
Rafil looked up at the scene before her, showing only a bitter smile. She knew what her sisters were trying to say. Azril is—and always has been—“terrifying.”
“…Certain-to-kill is the word you’re looking for.”
“—Eh, ah, yes?”
Rafil’s sisters were puzzled at her sudden utterance, but Rafil ignored them as she continued.
“It’s a word that the Elves, Dwarves, and some of the other inferior races use so casually. It seems that special magic, weapons—and in our case, our Heavenly Smites—are considered to be certain-to-kill. But—”
With a wry smile and bitter laugh, Rafil pointed to the sky and said:
“Since it’s certain-to-kill, it should kill in one strike, no? Such as—that thing.”
A sphere of darkness only a few meters in diameter; a black, isolated space. Azril, who had poured all of her power into the Heavenly Smite inside the space, shrunk to the size of a little girl. But even so, with a hollow smile on her face, she looked out at the darkness where her power was still running ramped. Everyone gulped at the sight—one strike, just as Azril had declared.
—The irresistible force cut off Jibril’s path of retreat—leaving her trapped at the mercy of the raging destruction.
It’s a technique that ends the moment it’s performed—indeed, a “certain-to-kill” technique. Without saying a word, without even giving the opponent a chance to fight back—it ends everything without question, terrifying the crowds of onlookers.
—Of course, just thinking about how Azril was able to perform such a technique, they were bound to feel fear.
Flügel, a race created by the strongest god, the God of War, can split the heavens and earth with just a wave of their hand.
—What was she considering engaging in battle with to unleash such a powerful certain-to-kill attack?
It’s obviously overkill to use it on one of your own. However, the strike in that closed space would be meaningless against an opponent stronger than oneself. Azril simply relies on the power she has over Jibril to create the closed space.
Phantasma, Dragonia, Old Deus—using such techniques against existences whose power far outrank your own, space itself will surely tear apart, rendering the technique useless.
“Her mission is to take charge of the Flügel—so it’s not surprising that she knows a technique meant for execution…am I wrong?”
—There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ve invented this to kill your own kind.
Even though her body was weakened to the form of a child, she stared into the darkness coldly and calmly, smiling mercilessly. The way Azril appeared to all revealed a side of her that most were unaware of—a side that’s absolutely terrifying.
“…Don’t worry, she has her reasons for using it in plain sight. She has no intentions to use it on us.”
Rafil felt that her words scared them, so she smiled indignantly at the end. However, it didn’t shift the lingering unease. Everyone who heard it thinks—well, as Rafil said, it really is certain-to-kill. It would be over as soon as it was unleashed, and even if you knew beforehand, you could do nothing to stop it. To release such a certain-to-kill strike in front of all can only be to express one thing.
——A warning to all: Do not make an enemy of me.
————Is this really Azril?
Witnessing the scene before them, everyone questioned the fear in their hearts and was sure that Jibril was dead—however, Rafil saw something no one else did, and smiled smugly.
“Incidentally—in heaven and earth, in the three thousand worlds, only the Lord is worthy enough to use the word certain-to-kill.”
“————Eh?”
No matter how strong Azril may be, since Lord Artosh did not issue the attack, her certain-to-kill technique has a fatal flaw.
—Since she is not an absolute existence, there is nothing certain, and because there is no solid principle of absolution in her, flaws are inevitable. Just like that thing.
“……Well, what the hell. That’s it. Rejoice, Azril. You’ve seemed to regain some of your lost charisma.”
“R-Rafil-sama…y-you’re laughing?”
—That’s right, at the same time Azril released her certain-to-kill strike, Rafil caught something out of the corner of her eye, forcing her to bare a smile and try not to laugh. But by now, her patience had probably run thin—and she couldn’t help but giggle.
This thought might not be the most courteous—despite laughing bitterly, Rafil continued to think to herself, but calling that a certain-to-kill technique? Ridiculous.
“Azril, that’s why you’re Azril—haha…hahahaha!”
As long as such power is incapable of scathing the Lord, right in front of them even, calling it a “certain-to-kill technique” is a joke.
—Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pillar of light erupted from Azril’s chest—a light that pierced her from behind, and she gulped. No one but Rafil could understand what was going on. As if the mask had fallen off, a familiar voice that was both wimpy and useless—weakens all who hear it.
“…Heh……that’s the one. Elder, you should see…the stupid look…on your face.”
“Eh, h-how, w-what happened, nya—nyaaaa why is there a huge hole in my chest nyaaaaghhhh!?”
—The one who ran through Azril from behind without warning was none other than Jibril. She had shrunk to the size of a little girl as well, and looked unbelievably exhausted. Everyone couldn’t help but say in their hearts:
————Ah, it is Azril.
“Eh……Eheheh……A-Ahaha~ J-Jib-chan…w-what have you done to me, nya…?”
…Azril’s charisma just now had long since disappeared, and the seriousness of the situation was completely destroyed. Azril, with a dry smile on her face, asked painfully in a muddled voice—a voice in which everyone saw her as weak.
—With all her heart, she sent a Heavenly Smite inside the closed space, a strike that she was absolutely sure would hit. But to her dismay, light pierced through her chest. Azril couldn’t do anything since she had used up all her strength, resulting in her shrinking to the size of a little girl from lack of spirits.
Almost in tears under her masked smile, she asked the person who she was sure should have perished—Jibril, who was right behind her—about the light running through her chest and where it came from, but…
“……Elder was arrogant and looked down on her opponent, and as a result was attacked from behind…that’s what happened…”
—From her tone, it sounded as if she had no intention of informing Azril what she had done.
“‘One strike. That’s it. It’ll all be over before you can feel anything—Jibril’—that’s what you said, right?”
—Jibril simply said so weakly, falling helplessly along with the penetrated Azril. Jibril shot up with an ironic grin—only to ask:
“How’s it feel to be smacked in the face after bragging about it so proudly, Elder♥”
—But Azril just replied with a carefree smile on her face.
“Eheheh…Jib-chan is still alive nyaaaa, I feel great nyaaaaa!!”
…………
Looking at the two falling, each one rolled their eyes…but said with reassuring smiles—
—“Welcome back Azril-sama~”—……
“…Huh!? I-I lost, nya!? Why? Nyaaa, what’s going on, nyaaaaaa!!”
—I didn’t have to kill Jibril.
Azril slumped to the ground and laughed in disgust, savoring her happiness. It only hit her a few moments later though that she realized she had lost, and she suddenly flapped her arms and legs and began making a fuss. Like a child—well, no, rather, she is a child in now, at least in appearance—she threw a temper tantrum.
“…As expected of Azril. Your wimpish appearance cancels out any and all charisma you’ve earned.”
Rafil looked down coldly at Azril, rolling her eyes. Azril seemed to carry on though, ignoring Rafil.
“Why, nyaaaa……I-I…I-If I don’t have strength as an advantage—w-waaahhhh, ahh, nyaaaaa what the hell nyaaa…nyaaaa…………”
—Azril was soberly depressed, and the one who replied to her unexpectedly turned out to be—Jibril.
“…Don’t worry, to…be honest…Elder was much stronger…than I thought…” her faint, weak voice continued, “…my trump cards for that lizard…I was…forced to use…all but one of them, so…”
Azril’s mood rose from hell to heaven—
The first time I heard words of respect, Azril broke into tears and smiled.
“Nyaa!? Jib-chan praised me, nyaha! This calls for a celebration—”
“But—it doesn’t change the fact that you’re an idiot.”
But Jibril still didn’t forget to immediately push Azril back down to hell again as she laughed.
“Nyaaaaaaa, I’m gonna cry, and no one’s gonna stop me nya—nyaaaaa!”
“…Then I’ll stop it. You need to get a grip on the situation, idiot…”
Rafil kicked Azril in the face, forcing an end to her cries. Azril jerked to her feet like a spring-loaded toy. Obviously, her strength at this point had diminished, having been attacked defenselessly and shot to the ground, but oddly enough she was still quite energetic in her protest—
“Nyaaa! Didn’t Jib-chan win, nya!? Why did it turn out like this, nyaaa~!?”
However, when she finally noticed Jibril’s condition, what came out was a scream.
—She had shrunk to the size of a little girl like Azril.
But even with the use of a Heavenly Smite, the spirits should not have depleted to this extent. It became difficult for Jibril to maintain her childish body however, as various places along it were missing, and her figure began to shake.
—What the hell did she do to turn out like this?
“…No matter what the cause is, if we don’t apply a restoration rite this instant, she’ll suffer irreversible damage—”
“Nyaaaaaa, we have to save Jib-chan, everyone quickly—nyahaa~ the sky is spinning, nya……”
“You too, idiot! Don’t make a fuss with that hole in your chest! Hey, someone get her!!”
The surrounding Flügel sprung to the clamorous Azril, restraining her. Rafil ignored her cries and turned to pick up the weak Jibril, thinking to herself:
—What did she do? That’s all I want to know.
It was impossible for Jibril’s power to break through that closed space Azril created. Azril’s strike should have been certain-to-kill.
—But Rafil, who had been watching from a distance, was sure she saw it.
It was only for a second, maybe even less than that, but she was sure she saw Jibril. The moment Azril trapped her, her face was tinged with astonishment—and in the distance, there was another Jibril.
—Rafil saw it with her own eyes that Jibril was in two places at once.
Therefore, I never once worried about Jibril—but what did she do? Self-division? No, that doesn’t explain how she escaped from Azril’s closed space. Then there’s only one possibility by process of elimination. Therefore, I have an idea of what she did. But—how she did it? I have no idea. What she had done was—
“…Space-time shift… Flügel shouldn’t be able to do that—so how?”
Thinking to herself—for Flügel it should be obvious, but space is not continuous.
Space is constantly oscillating, with a wave-like swaying. By making a hole in that oscillation, Flügel are able to move at absolute distances without being bound to objective distances. On the other hand, Rafil knew that time was synonymous and homogeneous with space. In fact, as a person who had dealt with countless Dragonia, she had seen many times how they flew through space-time.
However, even if it is homogeneous, as a rule, not even time sways the same way—even though it should. At least, it should seem so to Rafil and other Flügel, but—
……Did she grasp the feeling of the dragon’s constant temporal oscillation in space-time?
Impossible—Rafil concluded. But if not, there are two things left unexplained:
One is the phenomenon that occurred right in front of them.
—The other was the fact that Jibril had survived five challenges with the dragon.
“Apparently—she’s found the secret to surpassing the strong.”
I have no idea how much Jibril paid for it, or how she did it, but after she finishes her restoration, I’ll be sure to hear her explanation.
“By the way, Azril, according to the agreement, I’m going to have to give her those Dragonia bones—no objections?”
Rafil thought she should make sure, so she asked Azril—
“Ooo…Ooooo…Jib-chan…Ooo……”
Azril had lost consciousness and was taken away without her knowledge. Rafil took this as a yes—
It was all for this day, this moment. I will conclude my diary, which I will not continue, with a great deal of hope:
—I, a lone Flügel, finally put an end to the dragon. That’s all……
————…………
Closing the diary, Jibril turned to face the white dragon in front of her. It wasn’t an unwavering determination or an endless desire—it was a will. She’d been defeated five times before, now preparing for her sixth attempt. On that day, when she first met this white dragon and lost miserably, she felt a doubt in her heart.
—Why did I lose?
No matter who she told, no one understood the “true meaning” behind the question—in other words:
—In the end, what are Dragonia…?
When Jibril thought of this question, it was like declaring war—
The dragon’s words spun, forcing all to surrender and obey.
【EXPLODE】
—It was no different from saying “Die,” with a response of, “As you wish.”
Rulers do not issue requests or wishes to their slaves, but rather orders. The draconic language—known by many as the “language of creation” or “universal language,” but also as the “Ruler’s Edict.” The Jibril of old fought with all her strength to resist its power, but still ended up in the dust.
As a result, all matter within the reach of the dragon’s vision burst open, erupting out in a dazzling white light. It was a rule of reason that was unreasonable, inexplicable, and absurd. As she was being swallowed up by the meaningless logic of resistance—Jibril thought:
—Elder really is an idiot…
In spite of this—or perhaps because of it—she laughed to herself and made a hole in space.
—A strike that would end everything the moment it was unleashed.
How dare you call that certain-to-kill, Jibril thought to herself, what a fool Elder is.
She had already experienced that same level of attack firsthand when she first faced off against the white dragon—five consecutive times to boot.
—In other words, even the dragon’s language isn’t certain-to-kill, and the white dragon knew this—heaven and earth may tremble, but this girl will not!
At the same time, the dragon’s tail slammed into her viciously—with a speed that it shouldn’t have had, as if time had been omitted.
—A huge roar resounded through the straight as if there were a planetary collision. The dragon’s tail flashed and swung down, splitting the sky, shattering the earth, and parting the sea. The shockwave alone was enough to bring several races to the brink of extinction—
However, the white dragon, the one who wielded such power, laughed with amusement.
“Well done. Absolutely brilliant, O little feather.”
Two certain-to-kill techniques were unleashed—the dragon’s words and the flash of the dragon’s tail. But she leisurely took them both on one-handed, unscathed—Jibril gave an elegant smile to the white dragon.
“I’m flattered by your praise, though—it’s an easy trick to pull off once you get the hang of it.”
That’s right, against the draconic language—as Rafil surmised—Jibril utilized a space-time shift and rewound time by a few milliseconds. The ensuing blow from the dragon’s tail was deflected by using the space after stopping time as a shield. The dragon laughed at the sight of Jibril’s figure, and even its huge body trembled.
—Space-time shift.
Needles to say, this skill was originally to much for a Flügel to handle. It was a skill they shouldn’t have. In the case where they’re forced to, it would end just like the battle with Azril—it would cause a more severe drain of spirits than even a Heavenly Smite, along with the risk of their entire existence being vaporized.
—But in this case, it was easy to perform.
Despite being defeated five consecutive times, Jibril never neglected to observe the dragon. She drew to the conclusion that the dragon was moving while leaving time and space behind, and even a spatial transfer could not catch up with it—in other words, the dragon’s surrounding are constantly causing “space-time distortions.”
Manipulating time is easier than crossing space if you can adjust to its distortion. When facing such an opponent, it is only by passing through space-time that one can finally “compete” with it.
—This is it, Dragonia.
Compared to this opponent, my fight with Elder was nothing but an appetizer.
—What exactly are Dragonia?
Well, they have huge body’s, and the amount of spirits they possess is so large that even the Flügel, created by the most powerful god, the God of War, don’t know the maximum limit. The language known as Ruler’s Edict that rules over all—to call it magic would be too arrogant.
—On the day I first faced this absolute power one-on-one, the only thing I thought as I was torn apart by the word was—“I’ll never win.” I felt as if I was confronting Lord Artosh. The illusion that no matter what you do, you can’t shake him, or the intuition that it was something that resembles reason, common sense—or axioms.
—Despite this, there’d been many dragon killing expeditions in the past.
That day, I was tormented by that unbearable feeling of discomfort.
—It’s impossible. It is an absolute existence—therefore it is abnormal to kill it.
If I challenge you with fifty or a hundred Flügel, you can defeat me? What nonsense.
—I dare say. If it’s that level of strength, I alone can defeat it.
However, the white dragon has already defeated Jibril five times now, forming a contradiction. There is only one answer to this contradiction—and that is…
“I would also like to add my deepest apologies for the five unsightly defeats I’ve suffered in the past.” Jibril continued after giving a graceful bow.
—No matter how many weak Flügel flock together, there’s no way to fill the fundamental lack of power.
Despite this—they were able to crush the dragons.
There is only one answer to unravel such a contradiction, where the weak defeat the strong. This conviction that Rafil and Azril will never understand—that is…
—If the Flügel can handle such “strength” despite being weaker, then the dragon isn’t strong at all.
“I’m not used to fighting a cheater like you…but I swear I won’t bore you this time.”
—Yes, the Dragonia are nothing more than cheaters.
The white dragon replied with amusement, “Oh—so thee bethink the dragon’s power is just a trick?”
“Strength based on laws and principles is nothing more than a trick to play smart.”
Laws and principles—that is, if it is “strength for a reason,” as soon as the foundation collapses, the contradiction will disappear. To put it simply—
“If I reveal your trick, I will win. I’m here today to expose your deception♪”
The dragon seemed to find Jibril’s argument fascinating and questioned her.
“—Are thee declaring that strength without laws and principles is truly powerful?”
“Yes. Everything in this world except my Lord is weak—so if the weak can surpass the weak, there must be a principle in it. In a short while, I will reveal all those tricks.
For a moment, the dragon went silent—and then chuckled.
“You’re right—you already knoweth so much, but thee don’t hast the self-awareness to understand—that makes it even more pleasant for me, then thee alloweth me see.”
The white dragon spread its wings, and its blue eyes gazed at Jibril.
“Although the future is still unknown—when thee defeat me, thee will know what thou hast understood and what thou hast denied. Then thou shalt sing in front of thy master.”
—The dragon expressed his anticipation of that moment.
On the strait where the storm of destruction still encroached, the dragon flapped its wings and called out to the storm, while continuing in a cheery mood. But Jibril had no intention of talking to it anymore, she just took up her stance and prepared for the next encounter.
—The more this dragon says, the more puzzling it is.
There is something in front of me that is worth challenging . That is why I challenge it. There is no more reason or significance to the battle—
—And after a brief pause—
A legendary battle defies all established logic has begun.
Tiny feathers and giant wings intertwine.
Like the myth that once was, the impact of the collision swept across the earth and sea, shaking the age. The dragon’s tail, claws, fangs, and words are unleashed at the same time, regardless of the time sequence. The confronting angel dodges, blocks, or shoots down the dragon’s attacks. Space is torn apart, time is twisted, and the world emits a mad cry of anguish.
It’s a phenomenon too far beyond human comprehension to be called a battle. There is no one but a god who can find the difference between the myth carved by the clash of the God of War and the Dragon Ruler in ancient times.
The ocean boils, the mountains burn, and the sky cracks and collapses. In the next instant, everything was swallowed up by the light and disappeared without a trace.
What would those who can understand say about such a scene like the collapse of heaven and earth?
The dragon sent out deadly attacks without interruption, while the angel deals with all of them without fail.
There may be those who see this as a miraculously even match. However, the two parties involved, the dragon and angel, understood each other.
—It’s not evenly matched at all.
The gap in power remains hopelessly wide. The tiny feathered Jibril was just cleverly exploiting that gap. Crossing the distortion of time and space created by the dragon, she simply survives the oncoming death by shifting intermittently. The irony is—the dragon is so powerful that all of its power has been sealed.
—It’s remarkable precisely because of that. The dragon is even beyond appreciation for her, to the point of being moved.
It’s hard to believe that this “ingenuity” could have been created by such an empty incarnation of strength—It’s wonderful, absolutely brilliant, but……
The dragon laughed and said, “You can’t be all defense and no attack, O little feather—when will you reveal it?”
Being accused of not having attacked once so far, Jibril seemed quite upset.
“What a chatty lizard…do you even have the decency to wait quietly for the climax of the plot?” she replied sarcastically.
However, her face looked rather grim, without a trace for spare feelings.
—Yep, they weren’t evenly matched at all.
There’s only a dragon that is leisurely repeating its deadly attacks and a feather that is desperately trying to survive.
The true nature of the swirling destruction is just that. It’s true that the dragon is using their power to nullify the attack, but for Jibril, this is a deadly tightrope walk that does not allow for even a momentary lapse in judgement. The dragon, on the other hand, will not suffer a hair’s breadth of injury no matter how hard the feather fights back.
—From as many as five duels so far, this conclusion is already very clear.
Even if neither side has a decisive blow, the two sides are on completely different sides of the spectrum: Jibril is just desperately trying to survive while the dragon remains calm all throughout. The longer this battle goes on—the more time it will take for the inevitable end to come. However, Jibril has the cards to overturn this outcome—
“…In a story, there is a beginning, break, and rapid—” Jibril still wears a winning smile in the midst of a tense situation, “but you’re right…it’s almost time to enter the stage of turn or break—”
She laughed and continued, “You exist across multiple time periods, do you not?”
————The dragon was speechless.
“Oh my, do the Dragonia show their expressions even when they are told something vital? What a fascinating discovery♪”
—That is indeed the ecology of Dragonia.
They are multi-temporal beings that exist in multiple times, centered on the present and spanning the past and future. They are perfect creatures with an eternal life span, and their power is comparable to that of the Old Deus, and therein lies their secret.
In the space-time continuum, since they do not exist as a point but as a plane, no matter how they are attacked in the point that exists in the present, they are corrected by the past and the future, and the present will recover immediately. Its nearly infinite power, on the other hand, reverberates its power in the multiple time periods, and by converging on the present, it is able to increase its power infinitely. Their flesh is nothing more than a vessel to hold the deflation world. But—
“—O little feather, how didst thee arrive at such conclusion!”
The white dragon did not hide its surprise in the slightest and asked her directly.
—She should not be able to know, and even if she did, she would not be able to understand. Not only for Flügel, but for all living beings bound to the present time—
However, the answer they received was too incongruous with the occasion of the legendary battle that looms over the approaching myth, where the world was crying out in sorrow—
“It’s by your silly face that I learned that. I was just proposing a hypothesis to test you, so I’m really thankful for your cooperation♪”
The dragon was rendered speechless this time by the ridiculous reply.
—It was a bluff.
In the midst of this major victory, she had actually made a false statement to test the waters—and the dragon was dumbfounded at the fact that he had fallen for it—
At that moment, Jibril landed gently on a piece of rubble towering out of the ground. There was no time to spare even after taking the victory, and she struggled to hide her determination.
“Now, since you were wondering why I didn’t attack you earlier, let me answer.”
Trying to be as graceful as possible, she tells it, “I’m already well aware that I won’t be able to reach you with a decisive blow—and because of that, I’ve kept you waiting, and the next step is the “climax” of the drama you were hoping for. Come on, pick up your handkerchief, applaud to your heart’s content, and keep your eyes open—”
As if using her sash as a skirt, Jibril pinched the hem and elegantly bowed.
“If one strike doesn’t hurt, I’ll use two. But I’m sure two is still not enough, so I’ll use three. I will take your head with three strikes.”
—This is neither an unwavering determination nor an unattainable dream, but simply her will.
It is the only “will” held in her heart. This next statement will prove that neither the first number, Azril, nor the dragon in front of her is absolute.
“Three strikes————————and you’re dead.”
The much-anticipated climax—the rapid in beginning, break, and rapid—was finally staged.
The time had gone wrong, the acceleration had gone up, and no matter how hard I cried or laughed, I had only three strikes left to finish the act. The end of the story has already been written—I will kill him with three strikes.
The persistence of those who subvert the truth is about to pay off. Then, with her head bowed, Jibril suddenly disappeared—
In a life equal to eternity, the dragon tasted “pain” for the first time—and the end of the story began.
How much meaning does the concept of time have at this point?
The end that Jibril announced—three strikes—were fired almost simultaneously, in a matter of moments.
————————First strike.
Flying through time and space, Jibril approached the dragon from behind, taking aim for its neck with the mass of iron—that’s when she thought to herself:
—An existence that spans multiple time periods? Unfathomable—!
She vaguely guessed that it could be so…and there were countless grounds to support her theory.
Distortion of time and space, their means of transportation, their seemingly limitless power. And the biggest of all—“if the weak gather, they can overcome the strong”—only an existence spanning multiple periods of time can explain such an anomaly. Outrageous, it’s simply cheating, a fraud. But—let’s believe that the dragon’s “shock” is the truth.
—That is to say, I believe in my own hypothesis—“If I expose this fraud, I can kill this dragon.”
Imitating the Elves, she split the spirit corridor and used the technique of dual casting to produce a vast amount of spirits with minimal consumption of her own. With the power generated by the same method she used to drill through Azril—the overloaded iron mass roared.
—That mass of iron—a sword—Jibril had with her was originally the “main cannon” of a Dwarven airship she seized. The cannon was built by the Dwarves to pierce the protective magic of the Elves, but it was driven by the principles of Dwarven logic. The sword is engraved with multiple layers of imprinting techniques, and by injecting spirits into the circuits, it becomes “a thinner, more concentrated blade capable of piercing through the Elves spirit-woven barriers”—
The iron mass is the product born from this simple but crude theory—
I wonder what’ll happen after injecting Flügel spirits into it—take this!
Jibril cried out inwardly, swinging down the iron mass and piercing the dragon’s scales—cutting deeper inside as if to affirm her hypothesis.
In the past, even a Heavenly Smite could only scathe very few scales, if even any at all—yet this one easily struck right through the already recovered ones and reached the skin below. However, the cannon had reached its limit at that moment and began to melt.
“—Using the tools of other races? O little feather—I assure thee those wilt not be enough.”
“Oh, I’m well aware. Please don’t worry about that—rather, you should look forward to my remaining two strikes.”
In the compressed time, despite the leisurely reply, Jibril though to herself—my chances of winning are very low. It was a hopeless gamble, like betting all your money on a high card with no tricks and no pairs. But—it’s all or nothing, and if there’s still a slight chance to win, it’s well worth the gamble!
“Then—surprise me with the two remaining strikes—”
—The dragon tempted her. Almost immediately, as it had hoped, it was surprised.
————————Second strike.
It’s only natural to be surprised—Jibril herself couldn’t help but smile bitterly.
Having saved her strength earlier with dual casting and preventing severe spirit consumption, she poured her heart and soul into a single strike—a Heavenly Smite—and struck the nearly vaporized sword piercing the dragon’s scales just in time.
Jibril snickered at the anxious feeling emanating from the dragon.
—There were two reasons for the white dragon’s surprise.
For one, the impact that struck it was not the Heavenly Smite, but rather something that was fired from the vaporized sword as a result of the Heavenly Smite.
“————Bones——!?”
—Precisely that. It was the dragon bone she borrowed from Rafil and embedded in the sword. The indestructible bullet, which even the gods could not destroy, was pressured by the Heavenly Smite and struck a hole in the dragon’s skin, opening a passage.
Did the dragon finally sense it? Jibril gave a light giggle at the slight irritation in its voice.
—Based on optimistic estimates, this may have slightly improved my odds of winning.
The dragon is the reverberation of its own power that exists in the past and future, generating a nearly infinite power. Jibril doesn’t need to understand that principle, as the fact that the laws and principles of deception exist like that is the basis for her hypothesis. In other words—the reason why dragons are defeated despite their overwhelming strength.
The ecology of this “deflation world” is able to reverberate and increase its power that exists in the present, past, and future into a single point. If this deception is the basis for the strength of the creature, the Dragonia, then this transcendence of common sense is the reason why the dragon can be killed. If the dragon’s true body is reverberating space-time, then its power is theoretically infinite.
Regardless of the present, past, or future, it is impossible for someone to bring a dragon to its knees with force. Then all the Dragonia that were crushed in the past—and in the future—are the same. All of them have been destroying themselves because of the ecology that creates their overflowing power…!
If the ecology of a dragon is to reverberate its power to the past and the future, and after infinite reverberation, coalesce to the present, then—if there is the slightest crack in the sturdy armor of its “isolated space-time shell”—the dragon will reflect its small “wounds,” even the attacks that have eroded into its body—endlessly. That would explain why they cannot be killed alone but could be killed by a group of maybe a hundred, because the problem was only how to make a drop of water flow from the crack.
And so, came the second reason for the dragon’s surprise. The dragon’s anxiousness was like a confirmation of Jibril’s hypothesis—but it also thought to itself:
Jibril had said that she would kill with three strikes, but the second strike had exhausted her power by delivering a Heavenly Smite, shrinking her down to a child. Will Jibril be capable of delivering the final one?
—Yes, of course I will, Jibril said to herself with a smile. She had neither the power to fly nor the power to float. Under the pull of gravity, the young girl placed her hand on her chest.
“You think that your skill, Far Cry, which you Dragonia unleash at the cost of your own lives, is your exclusive privilege?”
—The dragon would probably say that it is their exclusive privilege. Well, it is.
It’s impossible to imitate a Far Cry for a being incapable of crossing multiple space-times. Besides—she didn’t even understand what that meant.
However, coincidentally, using the rite that Jibril and the girls annihilated—the one that works on the nucleus of magical lifeforms that the Elves were so cleverly planning to use on Phantasma—on oneself, one could at least imitate it, if not exactly the same. In other words—to the extent that it gives directionality to the self-destruction caused by the collapse of the nucleus. And with that, it should be sufficient enough to deliver a fatal blow to the cracked shell—
————————Third strike.
Generally speaking—Flügel don’t specifically name their attacks. Simply wielding power, manipulating space, and bringing destruction to their surroundings is not called a “technique.” It’s silly to name as it’s a mere “behavior” that’s equivalent to breathing. However, in principle, this move can only be used once—not to mention that in order to pay the utmost respect to the dragon that forced her to do this, and also to show off—she named it with the will to kill.
“Now, the third strike—the Final Smite—will be the end.”
—The Flügel contain magic woven by Lord Artosh, and Jibril is about to forcefully rewrite that magic now. If Azril had been there, she would’ve been screaming about what a sacrilege it was, and that very thought flashed through Jibril’s mind—
“—Thou wilt kill me, wilt thou not?” the dragon asked calmly, but Jibril just titled her head, puzzled.
—Let the flesh cut the bone, she thought, recalling a passage from the Elven books she had read in her spare time. At the time, she thought it was a pathetically stingy idea, typical of the incompetent people.
If you asked me what my goal is, naturally, it would be to prove that I can defeat this dragon single-handedly—
“If I kill you, then what’s the harm in adding a little ‘I’m dead too’ to that?”
If you’re going to cut my bones, why don’t you let me cut yours…?
If one challenged the dragon and slew the dragon—then it doesn’t matter whether one’s still standing or not.
—Even if you perish, the result is set it stone—you have won.
As Jibril herself bursts into life and gradually turned into light—
“————Remarkable.”
—the last words of praise from the dragon were heard, and the light that had illuminated the sky many times flashed again. The third impact pierced the “space-time vessel” called the dragon. As long as a little power reaches the inside, the external pressure will instantly and infinitely increase—the dragon’s neck should then explode—as it should. But Jibril didn’t have a chance to witness such spectacle, as her consciousness began fading away—……
“——Have I failed?”
From the faint sensation on her back and the red sky reflected in her eyes, Jibril came to such conclusion after realizing she was lying on the ground. Not to mention that she had no longer had the strength to move, or even feel her limbs—though perhaps her limbs were gone.
—I’m alive.
Such truth angered Jibril, and unbearable regret hit her. This truth meant the final strike resulted in her own self-destruction—meaning her self-rewrite had failed, and at the same time—
“O little feather, the light that shines brighter than the sun.”
Indeed—it also meant that she had failed to defeat the dragon.
With a faint sense of hearing, the dragon’s voice came from afar, making Jibril sputter.
“…I lost the gamble, at the last minute…what a regrettable ending……”
—Flügel contain magic originally woven by the most powerful god, the God of War, Artosh. She didn’t think such a divine core woven by the Lord could be so easily rewritten. If she had to make an excuse—even if one knew it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t something should be necessarily attempted. With that in mind, it should only be used in short-term—a last-ditch gamble. Jibril couldn’t help but lament, however.
“O glorious feather, carve it with thy eyes—thy enemy is marching to their death.”
Hearing those words, Jibril tilted her head—although surprised her neck remained, she still stared in the direction of the voice. In her hazy vision, she saw that the dragon’s head had fallen to the ground—slowly disintegrating into particles of light and gradually disappearing into the void.
“Be thou proud of thyself, O little feather. Thou hast crushed me, and that is enough for a farewell.”
—As she was told, Jibril was proud of herself.
A supreme sense of accomplishment filled her heart. She had done it—that fact alone made her body numb with euphoria. At the same time, Jibril felt an irresistible drowsiness and slowly closed her eyes.
I was calmly convinced that I’d never open my eyes again.
—The rewriting of her core was incomplete, but the fact that she was able to kill the dragon, and the feeling of her spirits fading away—even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t—and that her body was gradually disintegrating into the void…told her that she would soon die. In her blinded vision, her fading consciousness listened to the voice of the dragon.
“There was once a man who asked the heavens—what is strength?”
“……Well, there’s someone with a lot of free time on their hands.”
For some reason, the dragon laughed aloud at Jibril’s faint reply.
“—Thou said that strength without laws or principles is true strength.”
“That’s not what I said, but I do agree with it……”
“Then I ask thee again, what is thy meaning of strength without laws and principles—without meaning?”
“The meaning of meaningless strength…? If you still want to continue playing Zen with me till the end—then you should thank me for my infinite patience and supreme tolerance, and listen carefully.”
With a disdainful tone, Jibril spat out:
“—I’ll tell you what, I honestly don’t care.”
“————”
“In the presence of Lord Artosh, all are equally weak.”
Nonchalantly looking up at the blood red sky, Jibril continued, “I challenged someone stronger than myself, and after several defeats, I finally won. I had a very pleasant time. I was excited and joyful each day, and not to mention it was a spectacle of a battle. Even in death, I will never forget this battle, and I assume you won’t either. I don’t think it matters at all in the face of such ‘fulfillment’—do you have any objections?”
Hearing her words, the dragon couldn’t help but wonder.
Did this feather not even notice until the end? Or maybe it was—
“I ask thee again—art thou mightier than I, that thou hast defeated me with artifice, skill, and wisdom?”
“Would you call a monster a monster if you poisoned it and let it destroy itself? Of course not, let alone—”
Jibril asserted without hesitation, and seeing this, the dragon was sure of one thing.
“—the measure itself, this so-called strength, is meaningless.”
She was dismissing it outright, knowing it by heart, but not knowing how significant it was. Her attitude, her words—they were in complete denial of her creator. She remained unaware until the end that she was embodying the very answer that the God of War longed for. She was carrying out precisely the way of the weak.
“In spite of my appearance, I am an extremely modest and sensible individual among the Flügel.”
————————
————W-whoa.
The dragon was hallucinating—if the world had heard her, it probably would have made that sound. But the feather continued on—
“You are completely beyond common sense. Because of your strength beyond limits—because of your lack of respect for limits—you have destroyed yourself. You were defeated by the sheer power of your own strength—that had nothing to do with my own strength.”
“…………”
“If there is a ‘next time’—then I have one piece of advice for you……”
The feather takes a breath.
“What you lack is—modesty. To put it simply, you are insane, beyond common sense. In turn, you will be defeated by me, who has common sense.”
……If the Elves and Dwarves she killed for this reason were present, they would probably have shouted in unison:
What is this common sense you speak of—!?
However, relatively speaking, as far as the people present are concerned, the Flügel still have common sense…and that is true.
“Yes, exactly as thee stated.”
The dragon smiled in amusement. Although Jibril wanted to ask the dragon what it meant, she gave up, because she understood that it was not directed at her. Instead, she asks:
“—May I ask for your name, please?”
The girl who had fallen to the ground continued as if she were pleading.
“If I’m going to die, I would at least like to be proud of having crushed you, as you wish…but if I don’t know the name of whom I’ve crushed, I won’t be able to do so.”
The dragon agreed with what she said and replied calmly.
“—Lieschengerth. Subordinate of one of the Dragon Rulers, Reginleif the Wise.”
“…Lieschengerth…”
The young girl recited the name that the dragon told her, repeated it a few times in her mouth, and then took that name to heart. Seeing a satisfied smile on the feather, the dragon continued:
“O little—glorious feather. Thou shalt not die. Your future is not of death, but the day will come when someone even weaker will challenge thee. Then thou shalt know the meaning of my defeat. Until then, thou shalt be proud of thy greatness to the end of days…beyond that, my existence……has no——”
—meaning.
The dragon’s last words were reaped by the wind and died out, leaving behind immortalized bones.
—Jibril showed a bitter smile. Even in its final moments, its words remained inexplicable. However, in addition to the sense of accomplishment that flooded her whole body, there was a hint of feeling that she was left behind by the dragon. As she sank into the silence that stung her chest……
“Nyaaaaa!? The Dragonia is dead, nya—NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA JIB-CHAN IS DEAD, NYAAAGHH!? I order all Flügel to shift here immediately, nyaaaaa!! Perform the restoration treatment here, nyaaaaaaaaa! Or else simply come as quickly as you can with Lord Artosh nyaaa—gh!?”
Suddenly, a piercing voice resounded all around, and hearing that annoying voice, Jibril couldn’t help but lose consciousness—
This time, Jibril let go of her consciousness.
It seems…that I…survived.
—When she reread the previous page, she felt like digging a hole and burying herself in it. From now on, I need to be more careful about what I write, even if it’s in a diary—she thought.
—Additional note: Elder is annoying as hell.
……Writing in her diary, which she thought would never open again, Jibril looked back at the annoying thing clinging to her and said in an icy tone:
“Elder Azril, it’s time to let me go.”
“I refuse, nya.”
—It took four years for her to regain consciousness. It will take another six years for her to recover. In the restoration chamber, Jibril was being hugged by Azril.
“In order to prevent Jib-chan from doing anything stupid again, I’m gonna live with her in my arms forever, nya! What the hell were you thinking, rewriting your own magic core, nya!? Jib-chan is so powerful though, you really did defeat that Dragonia nya, now everyone is discussing where we should decorate that glorious dragon skull, nya. We’ll have a triumphal parade once your restoration is complete, nya! Then again, I can’t forgive Jib-chan, nya. Do you realize what a ridiculous thing you’ve done, nya!? It’s so scary, nya!!”
Ever since she woke up, Azril has been talking her ear off. Jibril was going to kick her out immediately, but—soothingly—Rafil, who was also in the chamber, says to quiet her down:
“Give it up, Jibril. This thing has literally been holding you for the last four years while you’ve been recovering. It’s gonna stay like this for at least six more years until you’re fully recovered.”
—She almost fainted again.
She couldn’t help but sigh after she could barely hold on to her waning consciousness.
“Ugh…forget it, aside from Agril-san, why is Rafil-senpai here?”
“What was that, nya!? What the hell, nyaaaa!?”
“Hm? What’s so strange about visiting my younger sister who has accomplished something never done before?”
Ignoring the noisy eldest sister, Rafil pats Jibril’s head. She lifted the corners of her mouth and said in a gentle tone.
“—Well done, Jibril. I hope you won’t have to do this again in the future, but regardless—you did a good job.”
…Looking up at her overly pretty sister’s face, Jibril told her, “Sister Rafil, I think it’s time for you to be head of the Flügel”
“Why nyaaaaa!? Did Jib-chan just call you sister, nya!? That’s not fair! Rafil, duel with me now—”
…Unbeknownst to the emotionally charged Azril, the other Flügel were eavesdropping on them outside the chamber, or rather, across the space. They all nodded in agreement to Jibril’s suggestion.
—Just then, there was a sudden vibration in space, like an earthquake coming from afar. It was a quiet, but absolutely impossible to ignore force that brought about the impact on this chamber. Then, in the small chamber—or rather, now it has become an incomparably large open space, the three who had been making noise froze, drawing back their breaths at the majesty of the man who towered over them as if he had been there since ancient times. The man in front of them is the god of the heavens, the supreme sovereign, the God of War—Artosh.
—Their creator, who had not left his jade throne in centuries, was standing on his own two feet.
He simply stood, and time and space, even the laws of cause and effect, distorted, and this small restoration chamber expanded several times—no, thousands of times. Then, they looked up at the Lord who was standing before them, feeling as small as worms in comparison—
“—You’ve succeeded in slaying the dragon, exceptional number.”
The three of them stopped even breathing and couldn’t move their bodies, while Artosh looked down proudly and said, “What now, mine feather? Wilt thee become strong enough to slay me?”
His tone was cordial and even contained a sense of expectation. At this fact, not only Azril and Rafil, but also the eavesdropping Flügels were so shocked that they were about to faint—but…
“—Pardon my disrespect, My Lord, but are you so indolent that you would stand up to ask me such a question?”
Hearing Jibril answer like that without a care in the world, most of the other Flügel fainted. To be honest, even Azril had lost half her consciousness, but Jibril continued.
“It would be pointless to try and compete with the strongest god in the world. I shall remain weak—”
Facing the strongest God of War, Jibril was undaunted and declared with her head held high.
“One day, I will pull the Lord down from his throne and let him stand on his feet—so until that day comes, can you please sit comfortable on that throne of yours like a Lord should?”
—Cut the crap and sit obediently, one day I will make you stand up, so be prepared.
The words were an explicit challenge, and the meaning of her words was even more provocative, and one by one the other Flügels fell down.
“Ha—hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha——!!”
Only Artosh laughed harder than ever before—like he was about to burst. Then Artosh, with a smile on his face, said fiercely to Jibril:
“—Very well. Then I will wait for you on my throne—and encourage you, my beloved weak adversary.”
And then—space was like a descending curtain, and Artosh instantly disappeared, only leaving countless questions—
“…Jib-chan…uun…—Jib-chan is sick!!”
“—What?”
Jibril was puzzled, but Azril ignored her and shouted.
“Jib-chan made Lord Artosh laugh, nya!? And it was a challenging smile, nyaaaa!! Is this a flag that Jib-chan is going to challenge Lord Artosh!? What’s going on, my chest is getting hot nyaaaa, I feel like I could write a million books, nyaaaaa!!”
“Elder, please calm down, the nonsense your spouting has reached its peak.”
“N-No…Jibril. You’ve gotta be kidding me, this is way too big of a feat—”
Even Rafil was impressed and said so in surprise. Then, all the Flügel that had been eavesdropping were mixed with jealousy, astonishment, and longing, causing a commotion that shook even Avant Heim.
—He was all alone. He sat motionless on his throne, with no signs of getting up, and simply propped his cheek up with his hand as usual.
Artosh whispered to the strongest dragon that confronted him at the peak in the age of myth.
“…O Armageddon, my question and answer with thee was indeed meaningful—yet meaningless all at the same time.”
They say that dragons can see through the gaps in time. Then this Dragon Ruler must’ve known that day would come. Then what it said was right—and what it did was unbelievably wrong.
—Poor dragon, forgetting even to challenge.
If thee art aware that thee art weak and cannot defeat the God of War, wherefore don’t thou have the will to wend beyond that? If thee admit that thee art weak, thee should not cease thither, but wend ahead and conquer. At which hour the strongest of the rest hath appeared, thee should hast enjoyed it—
Artosh will never understand Hartyleif, who just accepted death as a blessing.
—Challenging the strongest. That’s the kind of happiness I can’t asketh for, so wherefore can’t thee be joyous to hast that kind of happiness……?
“But—then again, maybe that day isn’t so far off.”
—It was , and the Great War that lasted for so long will finally come to an end—twelve years from now.
But even his wisdom has no way of knowing this future.
Artosh was alone, silently laughing at the premonition of war that a small feather had given him.
Certain-to-kill: In Japanese, Rafil says 必殺 (hissatsu) which means certain kill. I decided to add the to into it as to further emphasize that a move/technique is certain-to-kill as explained in the upcoming dialogue, as well as to keep consistency with the original meaning.
Beginning, Break, Rapid: This the rough translation of 序破急 (Jo-ha-kyuu), which is a concept of modulation and movement applied in a wide variety of traditional Japanese arts. It essentially means that all actions or efforts should begin slowly, speed up, and then end swiftly.
Deflation World: This is the furigana for the kanji 収束時空 (Shuusoku jikuu), which means Convergent Space-Time.
Agril-san: At first this may seem like a typo, but this is actually my best attempt at retaining a joke from the original. In this line, Jibril calls Azril Uzaril-san, which is a play on words of Azril’s name and “annoying.” I first tried combining annoying and Azril together, but it didn’t look or sound good. So instead, I went with aggravating Azril, which turned into Agril-san. It’s not the best, but I think it works .3.
