Typemoon: Starting Out as the Lion King's Personal Knight [421] (Patreon)

Light did not fall from the cosmos; rather, it rose from the earth.

As far as the eye could see, everything began to glow with an arc of light, rising from distant horizons, drawing nearer, finally converging at this imagined point.

In just a few breaths, the aurora advanced like a wall.

It encompassed what was called “the world”—

Faced with this sudden spectacle, everyone stood frozen, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Rumble.

The Fantasy Tree shook, unleashing an even denser mystery.

Ancient myths, new myths—

Intertwined in this moment.

“The magical energy is astonishing—divine-level! Almost True Ether!”

Before anyone could analyze the anomaly covering all of Russia, little Da Vinci spoke rapidly:

“The planet’s foundation is regressing, gradually returning to the dominion of the gods!

It’s no exaggeration—if this continues, the world will be overturned!”

“And those lights?”

Fujimaru Ritsuka, now calm, asked:

“Besides the magical shift caused by the Fantasy Tree, what are those lights?”

She gazed at the towering, cloud-piercing, pure-white tree.

As Da Vinci explained the reversion of magical energy to the Age of Gods, the [Light] winding around the Fantasy Tree, Orochi, shone even brighter.

It was as if it fed on the Fantasy Tree, nourishing itself.

“That is—”

Little Da Vinci paused, searching for words.

Observation data had come in: while the Fantasy Tree was resetting the planet’s foundation, that light was enacting something else.

Like a tiger waiting for its prey to mature.

Now that Ivan the Terrible and Anastasia had withdrawn, it finally bared its fangs.

At this moment, the genius Leonardo da Vinci realized someone’s hidden truth.

That was why Da Vinci felt troubled.

The rising sea of light was not something else—it was the entirety of the Russian territory itself.

Seeing this, the always-silent Holmes sighed, removed his pipe, and spoke:

“According to our observations and deductions, it’s the same as the incineration enacted by the Demon God King Goetia. The steps are more elaborate, but the essence is unchanged.

You’ve seen this before, Ritsuka.”

Not on that year’s journey, but during another adventure.

It was during a trip to 2030 with a certain someone. At the adventure’s end, that brilliant band of light bloomed.

Realizing this, Ritsuka faltered, unwilling to believe this anomaly could be caused by that person.

Mash, standing beside her, suddenly exclaimed:

“Was it Sir Alaric who did this?”

Mash knew of Alaric’s ability to recreate the Demon God King’s third Noble Phantasm—the spectacle that once burned the Demon Bodhisattva Kiara Sessyoin’s body was still etched in her memory.

But she never imagined that scene would be repeated in the Russian Lostbelt.

Moreover—

If this was true, didn’t it mean Alaric intended—

A despairing truth surfaced in Mash’s mind. It was a fact even more cruel than the extinction of the Lostbelt itself.

“Eh? Sir Alaric?”

Still present, Musashi braced herself. At Mash’s exclamation, she froze:

“This was Alaric’s doing?”

Musashi, shocked, turned to look at the surging waves of light.

Just looking at it was overwhelming—could this really be Alaric’s work?

Hearing this, Kadoc—still mourning Anastasia’s departure—looked up and noticed the approaching wave.

This was something beyond his comprehension.

Even Kadoc couldn’t grasp, in a short time, what exactly was coming.

All he knew was that it was Alaric’s doing.

“Is it because of Anastasia?” Kadoc muttered, “Because the Authority was lost?”

The timing was too perfect—it was as if the act waited for Anastasia and Ivan’s exit.

If the Authority were still present, either Anastasia or Ivan could have refused an anomaly of this scale.

“That’s right. After you dealt with Anastasia, Sir Alaric—”

Holmes paused. Even he was taken aback by Alaric’s unexpected actions—a kind of counterintuitive beauty.

After all, until now, no one could anticipate Alaric’s actions without information.

No, perhaps there was one who intuitively knew the plan.

Da Vinci, forcibly left behind by Alaric, surely played a significant role in this plan.

If Alaric had operated alone, Holmes would have been shocked. But if assisted by that genius, it was another matter.

“I know what you’re thinking, right?”

Little Da Vinci grinned:

“If I helped, Alaric’s magecraft would surely succeed.”

It wasn’t just a city, a region, or even a whole nation.

It was the world—it was all history.

Everything belonging to the Yaga—covered in its entirety.

Holmes didn’t object. Narrowing his eyes as if peering into the distance, he spoke:

“Goetia’s incineration burned 3,000 years of human history, converting it into magical energy and heat.

Alaric, on that foundation, has seized the planet itself—”

Not just the Yaga’s history—the rising light was stripping away the planet’s very existence, leaving only a blank canvas.

And somewhere unknown to Holmes, Da Vinci, and the others, at the very origin of it all—

…

A while earlier.

Standing before the Holy Grail System, Alaric held the golden cup. Nearby, Da Vinci’s communications crackled:

“Yaga history anchored. Foundation retreat confirmed. Age of Gods returning—

Target selected: Lostbelt—Permafrost Empire. Scope: Global;

Living units: 3.75 million; Non-living: unknown;

Lostbelt depth: D;

Fantasy Tree: Orochi confirmed rooted;

Historical main body: Yaga;

Timestamp confirmed; beginning segmentation.

Unit: one hour; Quantity: 2000;

Holy Grail system, initializing—”

With every report, Alaric released the filled golden cup, letting it drift upwards.

Its contents were none other than history itself.

“Holy Grail deployment successful. Timestamps connected.”

They could not do as Goetia did—burning 3,000 years of history. Not even the Yaga’s 450 years.

After all, Alaric now couldn’t act as the Temple of Time, beyond the universe.

So, the scope was narrowed.

No need for 3,000 years—just a fleeting instant.

That was the Holy Grail’s purpose—not to reach the Root, but to nurture what was to come.

Under Alaric’s gaze, the golden cup, as the terminal, linked with the Holy Grail system deployed here. The timestamps divided over three months now activated.

Alaric’s time in the Russian Lostbelt was completely shattered!

Buzz.

The golden cup shone, instantly connecting with the massive magical ritual laid beneath Russian soil—the perfected Ars Nova.

As light covered all Russia, Da Vinci’s declaration echoed:

“Coronation Rite, First Stage—begin.”

Perhaps it was something Alaric noticed long ago—his own inhumanity.

After the correction of the Sixth and Seventh Singularities, Alaric felt his body’s growth; but in subsequent adventures, this growth never appeared.

Until the Shinjuku Singularity.

Once again, after the adventure and correction, he noticed his growth for the first time in years.

As if his body received precious nourishment, able to grow further.

By then, Alaric understood.

It wasn’t magical energy, but information, data, or the radiance of history itself.

It was what he gained each time he corrected a Singularity.

Even if it was only fantasy, it fulfilled the conditions for his continued growth.

Ars Nova was the conversion of history and its precious information into magical energy through incineration—its results perfectly suited Alaric.

Thus, the grand magecraft ritual called the Coronation Rite was born.

Buzz.

Under Alaric’s gaze, the aurora-shining golden cup reached its limit and disintegrated, vanishing from view.

“One hour until the Holy Grail reaches the origin point. Are you ready?”

Da Vinci, arms folded, walked to Alaric’s side, watching the boundless aurora outside with a sigh:

“This is quite an undertaking. Remember to pay me for my work!”

The Holy Grail was just the trigger. The true core was Alaric himself—even the ritual inscribed through all Russia was only to aid his actions.

As Ars Nova incinerated the Yaga’s history, Alaric’s power would strip away the entire world and the radiance birthed from that ritual.

Using timestamps learned from the Second Magic, and Alaric’s unique trait of Independent Manifestation across any time or space, Da Vinci succeeded in slicing Alaric’s time in the Lostbelt into hourly segments.

It was not a rollback to the past like Goetia, but a march toward the future.

Recovery began three months ago, continuing to this future.

The resulting backlash of causality would be borne by Alaric alone.

“I’m ready.”

Alaric exhaled, then smiled:

“Lady Da Vinci, just watch. This is the final result."

“Good luck, then.”

Da Vinci watched the knight depart:

“Don’t say anything weird. Ritsuka and the others will understand you.”

Leaving the secret place, Alaric set out on his pilgrimage. The cold that had enveloped Russia was utterly destroyed, or rather, stripped away the moment the aurora rose.

In order to inscribe a ritual across Russia—like those in Fuyuki and at Kiara Sessyoin—Alaric had nearly traversed all of Russia in three months.

The air was still. Alaric’s path was only barren wilderness—no creations, no hills.

A world as blank as white paper.

Streams of aurora soared upward, reflected in the endless blue sky.

This was the manifestation of Yaga’s history—what Ivan the Terrible and Anastasia both sought to protect.

Not just the history of humanity, but also of the stars.

Everything that belonged to the Yaga Lostbelt.

The long pilgrimage retreated behind him. After crossing the seemingly endless sea of light, Alaric reached his destination an hour later.

Now, the area near the Fantasy Tree was engulfed by the sea of light, with only a circular patch of clean ground left.

Fujimaru Ritsuka, the others, and Chaldea’s Shadow Border submarine had taken shelter there. Though Holmes and Da Vinci considered escaping early using imaginary submersion, Ritsuka refused to leave.

She was waiting for someone.

She was not let down—at the last moment, she saw the figure walking from the waves of light.

“Sir Alaric—”

Ritsuka’s voice was heavy; the confusion that had built up in her chest faded, leaving only one question:

“Why?”

This was different from anything they’d done before—a true massacre. Before the Lostbelt disappeared, an entire world was killed.

“This is my desire, Miss Fujimaru.”

Alaric surveyed the group—besides Ritsuka, there were Mash, Kadoc, and a surprise presence.

“Musashi. Still as beautiful as ever, I see.”

He grinned:

“But you look like you have something to say?”

“Hmph, I was going to complain, but not anymore.”

Musashi pouted, showing no unusual reaction to the reunion:

“You just went overboard.”

During the hour, Ritsuka and the others had considered taking action, but the approaching wave of light forced them to stop every time.

One hour of analysis led Da Vinci and Holmes to a conclusion.

This was undoubtedly a grand incineration magecraft that burned the entire Lostbelt, yielding magical energy greater than anyone present.

“It’ll be over soon. Hm? Musashi, you’re leaving?”

Alaric removed his coat, raising a brow:

“Then let’s hurry, so I don’t take up everyone’s time.”

With that, under everyone’s confused gazes, Alaric calmly removed his shirt, revealing a body bound with crimson chains.

This was the restraint Tiamat placed to prevent Alaric’s body from collapsing and his soul from becoming fully spiritualized—a shackle of life, a blessing of origin.

“Sir Alaric, what are you planning?”

Holmes, standing on the deck, stared at the approaching youth:

“You’ve already completed the incineration. What’s left for you?”

After an hour, the Shadow Border had confirmed the Russian Lostbelt’s total disappearance.

In other words, Alaric had succeeded. Now, all he needed was to gather the light and proceed with his next plan.

And that next plan—

Stretching as he walked toward the Fantasy Tree, Alaric answered:

“Since it’s you, Holmes, there’s no need to explain.

You and Da Vinci can probably guess what I’m thinking. It’s no big secret.”

Ignoring Mash, Ritsuka, and Kadoc, Alaric moved toward the tree.

With each step, he defied gravity, walking into the void.

A wordless pressure spread—mental and physical combined.

He was becoming a perfect being—a body of nature and an immortal soul, having experienced death many times, now understanding its meaning.

Knowing death, he valued life even more.

His path was clear—this was the beginning of all conflict.

As Alaric ascended, the towering Fantasy Tree Orochi thundered, as if celebrating the one about to arrive.

It waited. At this moment, it was the time for coronation.