Typemoon [478-480] (Patreon)

Chapter 478: Great Deed

Zzzzt!

The magic sword wreathed in flames sliced through the sky, its blazing tail flickering. At that astonishing speed, even the movements of the Giant King became noticeably slower.

Sigurd staked everything on this blow. Its power was truly unparalleled, even surpassing the limits of a Servant for a moment.

But the most important aspect was its Anti-Dragon trait!

Sigurd, like Siegfried, is a dragon-slaying hero. Though he does not possess that peerless Armor of Fafnir, he is still blessed with the wisdom of the gods.

Most crucially, both heroes share the legend of being exalted after slaying an evil dragon, granting them this Anti-Dragon trait. As long as the opponent has any draconic characteristic, their attacks deal far greater damage.

Surtr, this manifestation of the Giant King, had already become the Dragon of Scandinavian Myth!

"Evil Dragon Subjugation!"

As Sigurd's magical energy swelled to its limit, his face remained calm. His glasses, the symbol of divine wisdom, gleamed with intelligence. This attack was not only everything he had—it was aimed precisely at Surtr's injuries, which had never fully healed.

Those wounds were from the initial holy judgment, and from the long battle with Alaric. Even Surtr himself had been unable to completely recover from them.

To Sigurd, this was the only true flaw—the crack in the wall of life.

Faced with the hero's dragon-slaying assault, the Giant King of Flame could not dodge. His body was simply too large; without additional magical power to hasten his movements, evasion was impossible.

Even so, Surtr scorned the idea of dodging. Relying on his destructive flames, he was confident he could withstand most attacks—but that was under normal circumstances.

Now, however, everything was different.

The knight who had momentarily withdrawn from the battlefield now radiated magical energy so vast that even the Giant King could not ignore it. Though Surtr could not understand what Sigurd intended, he was forced to divert his attention to counter this desperate, all-or-nothing strike!

"SIGURD!!"

Rumble!

With the Giant King's roar, the magic sword pierced through his seemingly indestructible giant shell. From within, roaring flames erupted—flames utterly different from those of destruction—immediately igniting all the injuries left by the holy judgment!

Crack… crack… crack…

The crisp sound of breaking echoed from inside out. Cracks bursting with flames spread, extending across his entire body.

The Giant King Surtr was instantly frozen in place, unable to move!

Even if this blow did not completely destroy his body, it inflicted wounds on par with Napoleon's self-immolation, and with the added Anti-Dragon trait, the damage was even greater!

Surtr, still conscious, stiffly shifted his gaze to Alaric who had, unnoticed, ascended to the boundless sky.

His figure stood tall, above the endless blue sky. In Surtr's eyes, that small silhouette was dazzling, shining with unparalleled brilliance.

The magical power roaring from his body now rivaled that of a god, blazing like the mid-day sun.

The resplendent divine might spread across the sky to the four corners of the world, visible throughout all of Scandinavian lands.

This sight was in no way inferior to the descent of the holy judgment and was utterly distinct from the destruction brought by Surtr. It was an entirely different, faraway realm.

What does he intend?

Surtr naturally noticed the mystic code Sigurd handed to Alaric and understood its nature.

He had learned from Ophelia that this was the Paper Moon mystic code—a tool capable of interfering with imaginary space.

That was the original reason Sigurd attacked Chaldea's Shadow Border—to seize the Paper Moon and cut off Chaldea's means of escaping this Lostbelt. Unfortunately, he ultimately failed.

But what did Alaric intend to do with the Paper Moon?

Did he plan to banish Surtr by interfering with imaginary space?

"Now the true battle begins, Surtr."

Alaric slowly raised his magic sword and looked down upon the Giant King. "You are the King of Flame, and also one who seeks to imitate the Demon King's great deed—burning away the world."

"Then let me show you—what it means to accomplish the Demon King's great deed—"

Buzz.

Without any need for words, the compass was activated, pointing toward a non-existent path.

To Chaldea, the Paper Moon was a technological black box. As an imaginary number compass, its power was formidable.

"Crown of Light, Wasteland of Nothingness—"

He released the sword in his hand, letting it expand once more. Delicate auroras pierced the boundary before Alaric.

That was the world of imaginary numbers. And within it—a call from the Origin was heard.

A motherly warmth echoed from imaginary space, stunning Alaric for a moment. It was his first contact with imaginary space; he hadn't expected such a variable.

The surprise lasted only a moment. Alaric instantly understood the source of the call.

Of course—she had always been here. He just hadn't come to see her.

"Next time, for sure."

Looking at the rift torn in the boundary, a fissure appearing in a form comprehensible to human intelligence, Alaric smiled. "Our next reunion won't be too far away."

The call of the Origin was ultimately drowned out by the tide of imaginary numbers. Alaric's consciousness brushed past the Origin, reaching toward a more distant realm.

What he needed to grasp was not an external thing, but proof of his own existence—a witness to the covenant.

Proof that even the Demon King Goetia could call him an ally—

Ding… ding… ding…

A clear ringing came from afar, transforming into a brilliant star, twinkling above Alaric. It became a dazzling crown of light.

The moment the crown appeared, the sky changed.

The majestic blue sky was silently cut by a pure white band of light, replacing the sun at its zenith, becoming the sole symbol of the Lostbelt's sky.

From afar, it heralded the final end.

From any angle—so long as one stood upon this land, beneath this sky, within this world—they could see this grand event.

Whether giant, human, Valkyrie, or even god, all could only look up at the band of light.

Those of Chaldea, still on the lake, all gazed at the vast heavens. That familiar band of light instinctively filled them with fear.

"That thing… it's not going to kill us all too, right?"

Goredolf, trembling like a sieve, leaned weakly against the wall. If Meunière hadn't supported him, Goredolf might have collapsed.

The band of light was an object of overwhelming, distant terror. Goredolf dared not imagine its destructive power.

"No. The attack will only target Surtr. At most, it'll hasten the disappearance of Scandinavian, but by then we'll already be gone."

Da Vinci, calm as ever, said, "Scandinavian's impact won't spread to the outside world. Once Surtr is dead, the Fantasy Tree will surely be destroyed."

The only ways for a Lostbelt to affect the outside world are the expansion of the Fantasy Tree's territory or interference with imaginary numbers. But if the Fantasy Tree is destroyed, the Lostbelt's foundation will vanish. After that, there will be no more problems.

"But… but… but…"

Goredolf was at a loss for words, feeling overwhelmed by questions yet only managing to ask, "Do Fujimaru Ritsuka and the others know?"

Would this decision burden them with too heavy a responsibility?

Fujimaru Ritsuka and Mash, also gazing at the sky, were tense. The two girls held hands, feeling each other's trembling.

"Mash, we must reclaim Proper Human History. So… we have to destroy this Lostbelt."

Ritsuka's gaze at the band of light was unshakable. "We're accomplices, Mash."

Destroying a world is unlike restoring Singularities; while there were casualties before, Dr. Romani had shielded them from facing the reality.

But Lostbelts were different—their cruelty was revealed to Ritsuka and all of Chaldea from the very start.

This is a harsh road. Only by cutting down seven worlds can they retrieve everyone's future.

It is a battle for survival, leaving no room for hesitation.

This sin, they will bear together—as accomplices, even as the main culprits.

"Power rivaling or even surpassing the gods…"

Skadi stood in the village, gazing at the band of light above, her expression bleak.

The moment she saw the band, she understood the Lostbelt's fate and what Alaric truly sought.

"...Goetia's Noble Phantasm?"

Ophelia's heart raced as she stared at the silent, world-spanning band of light above—a sight she knew all too well.

Unimaginable, incomprehensible, simply absurd.

Reflected in her Mystic Eyes, the band of light showed only one future, one possibility: a new world arising from destruction.

The pain of being burned by fire long ago seemed to surge again, phantom pains making Ophelia hug herself unconsciously.

"Such a thing…"

Ophelia murmured, "Is it really possible?"

With Ophelia's gaze, the knight standing tall in the sky grasped the sword that split the boundaries:

"Watch closely! This is the Star Sword that shines in Lostbelts! This is the embodiment of the burning away of Human Order! This is the eve of my great deed—the beginning of my legend!"

Chapter 479: The Witch of the Fairy Country

Perhaps it was only called a sword because of its name. Just like Surtr's own Flame Sword, which could reach millions of degrees after release—a blazing sword that does not exist in this world.

At this moment, the Sword in the heavens, stretching between sky and earth, had already extended for tens of kilometers, far beyond the concept of a weapon.

Even Surtr, the Giant King, could not wield it as an ordinary weapon.

In the end, the title Emperor-Slaying Sword was just someone's description. Its sheer mass now could not be fully captured by any concept.

"No matter."

The fearless Giant King gripped the hilt with both hands, mustering all his magical power for an ultimate attack—a declaration of destruction that threatened to burn the world:

"Shine bright, O Sword of Flame. Loptr Lgjarn!"

He, who once rebelled against fate, had not even completed his task as flame and as an agent of the end.

He could only wait, bored, in this world doomed to be pruned away.

Until that chance encounter—when a girl, killed by fire, met the embodiment of fire.

For Surtr, it was the first unexpected event since his creation.

A pitiful woman, a foolish woman.

A woman who taught the fire without a tomorrow about the unknown and surprise—a woman who discovered Surtr.

The only one who ever spoke to the smoldering flame.

For one who was merely fire, capable only of destruction, what else could he do?

Only destruction.

To drag down Human Order, to drag down everything, to destroy everything—that was all he could do.

Buzz…

Time seemed to stop.

The planet's surface, cut away by the pitch-black aurora, was a fragment of the stars, bearing history, having witnessed countless ages.

This alone could lead to the Genesis of the Stars.

By gathering the material of cosmic dust and having the Star's Soul—Archetype—determine the planet's orientation.

The aurora hanging in the sky was burning history—the brilliance born from flames, the crystallization of primates who had inherited thousands of years and finally reached their end.

Perhaps it could, to some extent, replace the Star's Soul and point the Star Egg's future.

With the Star Egg and Star Soul together, even a new star could be created in the cosmos—though that was not the intent.

A new star was not what he wanted. Humanity itself could surpass the stars and reach the unknown beyond.

This was the beginning of the divergence with his ally.

"Toward the future."

With this thought, the knight grasped the blade extending from the boundary, ignoring his own skin and body being torn apart, wielding the unmatched power gained by burning his very Saint Graph, using his own authority to deliver a world-destroying blow.

Was this light?

For modern physics, light speed is the highest possible velocity in the universe—300,000 kilometers per second.

It does not depend on the observer's movement or the source's—light speed is the same in all inertial frames.

An object's mass increases with speed; as it nears light speed, its mass approaches infinity.

For stars, physics is but a fabric laid upon the world, anchored to the planet's surface.

But at this moment, in this mythic reality, the rules are different—this is Myth.

Light fell.

At 300,000 kilometers per second, it cleaved the world.

It was not the Noble Phantasm "Ars Nova," nor was it the Emperor-Slaying Sword that reached godhood.

Using the Emperor-Slaying Sword as a framework, and Ars Nova as the engine, the two fused to become this absolute blow.

The world was split apart.

The flames died. The giant was beheaded.

Though the Giant King still stood, his life was gone. Even an EX-ranked Independent Action could not save him now.

From his body, the fully-bloomed Fantasy Tree appeared. Like a galaxy spinning in his trunk, enough magical energy to sustain a world poured forth.

Sombrero.

This was the name of the Scandinavian Lostbelt's Fantasy Tree, like Russia's Orochi.

Alaric knew this well. When the Fantasy Tree bloomed, it would invade the stars.

But it lasted only a moment—a flower that bloomed and withered instantly.

The fully-bloomed Fantasy Tree never got a chance to expand. It was split in an instant, the stars collapsing to a single point.

Buzz.

As the Giant King faded, the slender aurora became the backbone of the world, standing tall over Scandinavian lands.

Just as Da Vinci calculated, the destruction was limited to Surtr, as if a Noble Phantasm targeting the world had been focused to target a single being.

But it was not over. Destruction was only the beginning; the world slowly flowed into it.

It was not a beam of light, but a hole.

A hundred kilometers long—a hole that swallowed the world. Heaven, earth, all phenomena, all reality, everything flowed into it.

"…"

The battle was over, but Ritsuka only gazed at the distant aurora. That light seemed impossibly far—like the unreachable moon.

Sigurd and Brynhildr, too, on the battlefield, felt its distance.

Ritsuka's distance was understandable. But even Brynhildr and Sigurd, who were right there, felt the aurora was distant.

Or perhaps, they truly stood at a faraway place—the edge of the world.

"It's over—"

Still in the Shadow Border, Da Vinci watched the aurora and sighed in relief, but sensed something was wrong.

The light at the horizon, unreachable, like the distant moon.

"It's similar to a holy spear, but different."

As if sensing her doubt, Holmes, already investigating, displayed footage of Scandinavian lands from the Shadow Border.

"It's moving."

Da Vinci immediately noticed the anomaly—everything was moving. If the camera's coordinates hadn't changed, then the subjects had moved.

But not just living things—even the land was moving—

"Is the light moving?"

Analyzing the footage, Da Vinci turned her gaze to the light at the horizon.

Not just the land—the sky, space, even the concept of the world was moving toward the aurora, finally falling into it.

This was the storage of the Scandinavian Lostbelt. As outsiders, Chaldea was not affected.

"It's a different method of world interference from Human Order Incineration."

Holmes lit his pipe and watched the footage thoughtfully. Alaric had mentioned his trump card, that using it would bring the Scandinavian Lostbelt's end. So Da Vinci and Holmes hadn't chosen it at first.

If they'd used it early, Skadi would have become their enemy.

Now—

Holmes glanced at another monitor—one observing the village at lake, where the goddess stood.

The end of the Fantasy Tree, Skadi knew instantly.

After escaping Surtr's grasp, the struggling Fantasy Tree had called out to her, but before she could respond, it ended.

With the Fantasy Tree's collapse, the end of the Scandinavian Lostbelt was sealed.

Skadi, who had once covered Scandinavian with magical ice and snow, also felt the world shifting—perhaps only she could sense the miracle directly.

There was no chance to react. By the time she realized, it was over; any struggle would be futile.

The aurora replaced the Fantasy Tree as the foundation of the world. If the Fantasy Tree was the world's cornerstone, then the aurora was its destined future.

Even Skadi could not see what lay within the aurora.

"…"

Was it really over?

Skadi wondered, but her burning feelings continued to scorch her icy soul.

Though she knew this wasn't the right path, though she knew it was an impossible coincidence, she couldn't let go of Scandinavian.

Sensing the queen's resolve, Alaric in the sky cast his gaze down upon her.

Queen, how long ago did you realize the world was wrong?

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

Skadi said softly, "My Scandinavian, my world—the path we walked was destined to be erased from human history. It wasn't because of a twisted Ragnarok. We truly survived that age of fire."

"By sacrificing the gods to turn Surtr into a false sun, a few lives survived. We thought that something still remained in this world, so we struggled and suffered."

Skadi murmured, "We wanted to start anew. But as soon as we tried to move forward—human history, Human Order, erased us."

"All was for nothing."

"My love, hope, wishes, feelings—all disappeared. Since Surtr was sealed and the twisted Ragnarok stopped, not even half a year had passed…"

"Human Order judged our Scandinavian—a world where gods and humans walked together—as evil."

Such a half-year lasted three thousand years. That is enough of an achievement. To continue would only bring endless stagnation.

"That's why you want to move forward? Blessed child of man."

Skadi looked up at the sky. Alaric, in the blue heavens, a twin bird soared, guiding the way to the future.

It was not an ordinary bird, but a messenger of the great god Odin.

After finishing his conversation with the queen, Alaric shifted his gaze to the distance.

With the Fantasy Tree gone, the storm wall covering the Scandinavian Lostbelt would also vanish. When the storage of the Scandinavian Lostbelt was complete, the world would be a blank slate.

Only the aurora would remain eternal.

The band of light, accessed via imaginary number manipulation, still hung high, unaffected.

But what drew Alaric's attention was not this, but the distant overseas islands—the wall of storms at the world's end.

The wall of storms separated the world, an impassable boundary.

Only those with Independent Manifestation or Chaldea's imaginary number navigation—or someone like Caenis with brute force—could cross.

Normally, it was impossible to see through it. But now, it truly happened.

Still at his peak, Alaric, from a higher-dimensional perspective, saw a gaze projected from within that wall.

Cold, domineering.

In that world, a queen sat on her throne, crowned, with long white hair in a ponytail. Her face was stern and imposing, her blue eyes reflecting someone's silhouette.

That face was very familiar to Alaric—even looked a bit like himself. Or rather, he looked like her.

Though this Saint Graph was created as a True Human by Da Vinci, after Alaric possessed it, it changed from within.

"…"

"Interesting."

Their gazes met for only an instant, but it was enough for both.

Each confirmed the other's existence; their wills would soon intertwine.

Chapter 480: The Ultimate Primate

When he saw the queen on the throne through a special vision, Alaric's expression became strange. He subconsciously touched his own face.

Thanks to the blood of the red dragon given by Lion King Artoria Pendragon, Alaric had become more than a powerless mortal.

The price was rapid depletion of life force and fate—so much so that his hair turned white in an instant.

Besides the loss of life and fate, the biggest change was in Alaric's appearance, leaning toward Artoria, the source of dragon blood.

As the fusion deepened, the appearance shifted toward a more masculine style, but even so, the similarity in their features remained.

So Alaric was certain—the queen on the throne was a mysterious Artoria-type existence!

And—

"So that's the British Isles, the island of the red dragon…"

With the Scandinavian storm wall gone, Alaric could clearly see the storm wall over the British Isles.

The British Isles lie in northwest Europe, including Great Britain, Ireland, and many smaller islands between the North Sea and Atlantic, separated from mainland Europe by the English Channel and Dover Strait.

But what lay within the storm wall, Alaric could not say for sure.

After all, islands have always been of great significance in the Age of Gods. Even as mystery declined, it faded slowly in places like Britain.

Even into the 5th century AD, the Age of Gods had not completely faded from the British Isles, giving birth to monsters like King Arthur.

Not to mention why Britain produced so many Artorias—was it some sort of local specialty?

Even Alaric, due to his connection with Artoria, had a special bond with these islands. When he studied at London's Clock Tower, he felt it keenly.

If only he'd had access to the underground mausoleum, his dragon blood might have changed even more.

Besides, the density of mystery in the world was crucial. By 1992 AD, mystery had faded greatly—why Alaric was less affected.

The Fantasy Tree's root, and the storm wall around it, formed a world barrier, making breakthrough as hard as reaching the world's end.

Simulating history in such a place could even be the world of gods—a Britain where the Age of Gods continued.

If Alaric entered, he couldn't say what changes might occur.

Letting go of the power keeping him aloft, Alaric fell to the ground.

But uncertainty aside, the moment he saw her, Alaric's mind was set—he would visit this Lostbelt. But that task would fall to his true self. With the destruction of the Scandinavian Lostbelt, this Servant Alaric's mission was complete.

Though his burning Saint Graph had calmed, the irreversible damage could not be ended. This first True Human Saint Graph would collapse in minutes.

To achieve maximum power, Alaric had not hesitated to burn his Saint Graph. Not yet his soul—but the Saint Graph, as a vessel, was certain kindling.

Now with the boundary storms gone, Alaric would soon be in the same realm as his true self—a kind of paradox.

Though Heroic Spirits transcend time, Alaric was not truly a Heroic Spirit, just a manifestation via Independent Action.

…

"How do you feel?"

Back near the village, it was not Ritsuka or Mash who greeted Alaric, but Da Vinci, smiling and adjusting her glasses.

After the fierce battle, Ritsuka and Mash collapsed, back to back, staring at the sky with water bottles in hand.

Surtr's heat was almost beyond human tolerance—even without direct contact, the heat almost overwhelmed Ritsuka's mystic code, nearly steaming her dry.

Mash was exhausted from battle.

"Not bad! I feel like I could see a super-Servant team."

Alaric gave a thumbs-up. "There's a lot of data that could be optimized, but there's no time. Still, I recommend leaving quickly."

"Oh?"

Da Vinci put away her notebook, raised her brows, then smiled. "You mean that light storing the world? You said it might anger Skadi, but I didn't expect it to be such a huge move—"

"It's my first time doing this. Just seeing what happens."

Alaric shrugged. "Unlike Goetia, maybe I could really create a new star?"

"That's impossible, right?"

Holmes walked over. "Creating a planet is far more complex. Goetia's Ars Nova was about returning to the planet's origin, replacing the planet. Yours—"

"At best, it's just a collection of parts—a shell of an egg."

Da Vinci nodded, glancing at the still-absorbing aurora. "A planet needs the Star's Soul to exist. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do, Da Vinci. No need to lecture me here."

Alaric waved the topic away—he wasn't interested in new stars; his goal lay elsewhere.

And honestly, that stuff looked super troublesome—not his thing.

Da Vinci and Holmes didn't press further, turning to the aurora itself.

"Is it like Goetia's energy storage?"

Da Vinci asked, "Goetia's Human Order Incineration produced light that could be used as energy. You imitated that—so is this the same?"

"Probably not."

Alaric hesitated. Truthfully, he couldn't describe the aurora either. This attack was improvised; the result only confirmed it threatened the world, so he hadn't used it lightly.

Since he couldn't burn the world with a grand ritual like in the Russian Lostbelt, he could only rely on his own power to recycle resources.

Even if the form was different, broadly speaking, it could be called resource preservation.

"You're like a third-rate company—no after-sales service!"

Da Vinci turned away in mock annoyance. Holmes asked, "Sir Alaric, where will you go next? This Saint Graph is about to collapse, right?"

"Sir Alaric is leaving again?"

Mash looked up in surprise—this was beyond her expectation. She'd thought she could rest a while before speaking with Alaric.

But if he was leaving now, it was different.

With Mash losing her support, Ritsuka fell into the snow, drifting toward the aurora. Through her Servant connection, she knew Alaric's situation and said, "That's normal. Sir Alaric only came to put out fires—so it's normal to leave."

"But—"

Mash hesitated. If he left now, who knew when they'd meet again.

"Next time will be next time, of course."

Alaric smiled. "As for Holmes, I can't say where I'll go. I'm just a split spirit; you know my true self is still in the Chinese Lostbelt. After that, it'll be either the British or Indian Lostbelt."

With Scandinavian gone, only five Lostbelts remained—Greek in the Atlantic and South America (which he'd never visit).

Aside from those, only Britain and India remained. The Chinese Lostbelt was already half-solved.

Alaric's goals were building up; once the seven Lostbelts fell, his completion would be at hand.

"Farewell. The next meeting shouldn't be far off."

Waving, Alaric turned and walked away—his body crumbling with each step, until it vanished entirely.

As the knight's form faded, becoming motes of spirit particles in the wind, Da Vinci and the others looked away.

This was not the first farewell, nor the last. Every parting was just preparation for another meeting.

Almost simultaneously, as the body collapsed, the split spirit carrying many memories crossed the boundary and returned to the true self.

…

Chinese Lostbelt, Xianyang—Epang Palace.

Alaric, who had been resting with eyes closed, slowly opened them. His aura was utterly different from that of a Servant—a being fundamentally different on the level of life itself.

The ultimate primate—a life form growing toward the absolute.

"As expected—"

Alaric lowered his gaze. In his outstretched hand, a spark of divine flame danced—a branch of destruction, the end that burned away the Scandinavian gods.

Letting go of the magic sustaining him, Alaric stood. The thick air around him exploded in pressure, crushing body, soul, and magic—a prison made just for him.

Oblivious, Alaric smiled faintly. What others expected of him was over; the next battle would decide who would leave this palace.

His movements seemed slow but were incredibly fast. Eyes sharp, he called out:

"Are kings and nobles born so? Qin Shi Huang, come fight! Let us see who is the true man!"