Typemoon [481-483] (Patreon)

Chapter 481: The Son of Heaven

The emperor is the greatest, deriving from "self."

"Self" means beginning; the First Emperor is the emperor of beginnings, the Three Sovereigns, the Great Lord.

An "emperor" is the master of all living things, the ancestor of prosperity, named so for the merit of creation and nurturing.

Throughout history, many have claimed the title of emperor, but only a handful are recorded in the annals, and even fewer can stand shoulder to shoulder as dazzling stars.

Yet in this strange chronicle, only one person can be called emperor—

The one who dominated the Four Seas and Eight Wastelands, the emperor who unified the planet.

The great sun hangs at the zenith, endless blue skies encircling it, its light reaching everywhere, illuminating the ten directions.

But in those blue skies, it is not just the sun at its zenith—for the emperor's majesty also extends into the infinite expanse of the universe, forming a Great Wall.

This is a masterpiece of immortal technology orbiting the stars—a symbol both of the end of war and of a world united in peace.

With the First Emperor's unification of the stars, the script was standardized, the tracks of carriages aligned, and all things brought into one. At the same time, all conflict was banished from the present age of primates, and the world seemed to enter an era of unparalleled peace and prosperity.

Until today.

This is a scene that most commoners have never witnessed. Whether it is the farmer who toils year-round immersed in joy, or the many artists living near the capital Xianyang, all have long been removed from war, knowing nothing of conflict.

Unfamiliar with the scent of blood and gunpowder.

These should have been things never again known, not until the end of the world—but today, the world has changed.

The golden wheat fields ripple like waves, the ripe aroma of grain flowing through the air—a scene that ought to gladden the heart and mind. But now, the very atmosphere feels frozen in place.

A grim, murderous intent, enough to chill both soul and body, sweeps the vast fields like a storm, making all life tremble.

Creak, creak.

In those golden plains, a pitch-black army is arrayed, stretching to the horizon.

At the front, countless soldiers stand in black armor, faces hidden beneath their helmets, but bodies so uniform they seem as if cast from a single mold.

The water virtue values black, so Qin's armor is primarily black, wielding long spears and crossbows, aided by gunpowder.

Behind the soldiers, enormous, ancient-style Tiger Warrior chariots resemble prehistoric beasts, thick smoke belching from their maws with every breath, the heat enough to melt the black armor of nearby soldiers!

If the Tiger Warrior chariots are like lions and tigers, then what surpasses the Tiger Warriors must be dragons.

Rumble.

The air roars—not with thunder, but with the clamor of engines starting up.

The black shadow does not touch the fields, but hovers above the earth, defying gravity, moving through the sky as if in contempt of the world's rules.

Like a sacred body, its anti-gravity system suspends hundreds of thousands of tons high in the air.

Such a scene—the endless ranks of black-armored soldiers—would already terrify those farmers and artists, let alone the Tiger Warrior chariots and the sky fortress above!

War. 

This is unmistakably war.

This is the true face of the mighty war machine that swept the world!

Even these vast armies across the Xianyang Plain are but a fraction of its reserves, far from its full might!

A cold wind, like a knife, cuts across Alaric's skin.

Alaric now stands alone in the wilderness, facing that awe-inspiring army—mobilized for war, all for him alone.

He surveys the dark ranks, seeing soldiers arranged in strange formations, surging magical power roaring through their arrays.

At the front stands a young man with a sword, high nose bridge, pronounced brow, a carefree smile like a neighborly elder brother—not at all the visage of a battlefield hero.

The sword in his hand is modeled after Qin swords, adorned with intricate patterns, set with seven-colored jewels and nine luminescent jades, its icy gleam like snow, with two seal-script characters carved into the blade: Red Sky.

The sword "Red Sky" is the Sword of Imperial Way, once possessed by Han Gaozu Liu Bang.

To wield a three-foot blade and accomplish great feats—that's the legend of this sword.

Since it is the Sword of Imperial Way, the identity of its wielder is obvious: Liu Ji, son of the Red Emperor, who ended Qin's rule in pan-human history, even defeating Xiang Yu and achieving immortal deeds!

Though in this world Liu Ji never claimed the imperial title, he still obtained Red Sky at Mount Nan, accomplished many feats, and is entombed in Li Mountain.

Until he was awakened once more.

The solemn atmosphere does not affect Liu Ji, who keeps a faint smile, eyes fixed only on the lone figure in the wilderness.

"Hey! Brother, are you ready?"

Liu Ji suddenly asks with a laugh, "The auspicious hour is here. Time to begin, isn't it?"

Liu Ji is free-spirited, open-minded, unrestrained by trivialities, and generous—thus able to befriend many.

This is not his first meeting with Alaric. Long before, after being awakened by Qin Shi Huang, Liu Ji had already sought out Alaric for a first encounter.

In these past days, they have come to understand each other well. Thanks to Xiang Yu's schemes and Qin Shi Huang's support, Liu Ji has gained a clear grasp of Alaric's strength.

The same goes for Alaric, who now regards Liu Ji highly.

The legend of Liu Bang drunkenly slaying the serpent, the son of the Red Emperor—Alaric knows it well.

The Son of the Red Emperor follows the Five Virtues, advocates the virtue of earth, intending to replace the water virtue of Qin. Though Liu Ji never rebelled, he still bore a name nearly synonymous with treason.

In this mythic world, the beasts Liu Ji slew were no mere creatures, but divine beasts, even dragons.

Red Sky in his hand is a divine weapon.

Though lacking conceptual ascension, Liu Ji's power is already at the level of a top-class Servant, perhaps even beyond.

"Of course, Son of the Red Emperor."

Empty-handed, Alaric smiles. "The time has come. I'm ready to send you all on your way."

Clang.

Drawing the Red Sky sword from the ground, Liu Ji smiles brightly: "Ah, how long I've waited for this day. His Majesty had me train for ages."

Without waiting, the youth lifts the imperial sword and laughs: "Form up!"

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Drums thunder, as if shaking heaven and earth.

With the drumbeats, the silent soldiers lift their heads, cold eyes igniting with a fierce battle spirit.

These are not flesh-and-blood men, but mechanical dolls—products of centuries of Qin Shi Huang's immortal technology, made to replace ordinary soldiers.

In the years of peace, they slumbered like Xiang Yu, but now awakened, they face not the inevitable pruning of humanity.

This time, though the enemy is still invincible, they will not retreat.

"Wind—"

"Wind! Great wind! Great wind!"

A cold roar that seems to boil the souls within hundreds of thousands of mechanical bodies; centuries of slumber have only fueled their fighting spirit for this final battle!

A heat beyond words.

A terrifying army to rival even Iskandar's King's Army.

If even the mechanical dolls are so, how much more the Son of the Red Emperor, Liu Ji, now serious and imperial, a true contender for emperor in pan-human history!

Unlike the burning army, Alaric alone lifts the corner of his mouth and says, "In that case, let this first strike be the opening act."

Buzz.

As Alaric finishes, a black glow blooms before him—fine arcs intertwine, forming an endless spiral.

When the spiral is fully revealed, it is as though the world itself grows distant, or rather, there is a gulf between Liu Ji's world and Alaric's—one in the normal world, the other at its end.

Where I stand is the end.

"Open the gate—"

Sensing the anomaly, Liu Ji orders the Tiger Warrior chariots to fire, but at Alaric's command, the gate opens.

It is the gate at the edge of the world, containing only one sword.

Without hesitation or resistance, Alaric calmly reaches in, into the endlessly spinning spiral—the Gate of Judgement, essence of plunder.

The instant his hand touches the hilt, Alaric feels only one thing: heat, endless heat, as if to burn the world to ash.

Crackle.

But he does not stop, and draws the divine sword from the gate.

A golden greatsword, as if forged of magma, mysterious diamond patterns along its blade, a power of destruction so great it burns the very gaze that beholds it.

Lævateinn

The flaming sword of Surtr, the sun sword of the god Freyr, and the weapon forged by the Norse god Loki—all three fused into one. It is a weapon of giants, a weapon of gods, and the very herald of destruction.

The greatest symbol of the Scandinavian Lostbelt.

"Whoa, whoa—"

Enduring the heat that seems to burn along his sight, Liu Ji mutters, "This is way over the top. I knew I was doomed, but this is too much, isn't it?"

The world seems to thunder—not with machinery, but the surge of life.

Accelerating magical energy shakes the very air, a scene beyond comprehension, but happening right before Liu Ji's eyes.

A magical power surpassing even dragons, from another dimension entirely. Even with Liu Ji and the army's combined magic, they could not match it.

Not just more magic power—the speed with which he swings the sword is beyond Liu Ji. The army, prepared to slay dragons, cannot even respond; the sky fortress hasn't fired a shot.

The soldiers have only just begun to move, their drums of morale becoming the prelude to destruction.

Alaric grips the great golden sword in one hand, slashes forward, and proclaims destruction:

"Shine brighter than the sun! Sword of Flame—Loptr Lgjarn!"

A thin line of fire sweeps from the blade, growing as it travels, until it becomes the horizon at the world's end, filling every inch of Liu Ji's vision.

This is the fire of destruction, the branch that burns the Norse age of gods; empowered by the knight's strength, it grows even more terrifying.

The strongest sword is not strong for being a sword, but because the one who wields it is strong.

The world falls silent. The onrushing fire burns everything: immortal arts, Tiger Warrior cannon fire—nothing can stop it.

"It's not over yet. Stop it!"

Liu Ji, wielding Red Sky, unleashes surging magic, sweeping the army, linking to a massive immortal ritual prepared long ago.

Alaric's inhuman firepower is well known, so preparations were made. Even though the Flame Sword exceeded Liu Ji's expectations, it does not affect Xiang Yu's calculations.

Fate, already simulated in his eyes.

But against absolute power, all calculations are futile.

Too fast, impossibly fast.

Alaric unleashes the Flame Sword as quickly as the greatest of Noble Phantasms—so fast Liu Ji cannot marshal the army's strength.

No chance for the enemy to act—a thunderous, decisive blow to settle the battle at the very start, to stride into the final battlefield with overwhelming momentum!

Fire covers the wilderness, and only the protections near Xianyang hold it back, the holy body's defensive spell able to withstand even this blow.

When the fire dissipates, all that is left is a molten hell, as if the planet's newborn age has returned..

Where the knight walks, white flowers bloom in his wake, until he stands before the youth still holding his sword.

Much of his skin is charred, but the muscle beneath still pulses with life—proof that he lives.

Not yet dead, Liu Ji forces a smile. "Sir Alaric, you really are fierce."

"You too. Relying on your machines' magic to survive that blow is already impressive."

Alaric modestly says, "I'd love to duel you, but this isn't the right time. You should appear later."

"Haha, who knows what that mechanical guy was thinking, sending me here."

Liu Ji grins: "Oh well, a loss is a loss. Regret is just regret."

No more words. Alaric walks past Liu Ji, heading for the sacred body that still stands between heaven and earth.

And from the high heavens, fire rains down, falling straight toward Alaric.

Chapter 482: The Peerless Emperor, A Battle Between Humans

In the cerulean sky, a streaking firebolt tore through the firmament, a meteor plunging toward the earth.

Its wavering blaze split the atmosphere; the expanding shock ring rippled to the horizon.

Reflected clearly in Alaric's upturned eyes was the color of the heavens—and within it a colossal mass nearly a kilometer across, wreathed in the inferno born of friction at terminal descent, thunderously falling toward the land.

It was the Extinction Star that began its fall at the start of Alaric's battle with Liu Ji. Whoever won would still face annihilation.

Or rather, in the eyes of the emperor who ruled an entire planet, the victor would inevitably be that outsider.

The Great Wall, which ought to have persisted in orbit as a moat severing exchanges between planetary civilizations, had cast down extinction in the form of its abandoned, immense mass.

Had the target been an external civilization, the Great Wall's defensive means wouldn't have ended there; but against hostile units on a planet's surface, no attack is simpler than absolute mass.

Absolute mass falling from space—destruction no less fearsome than a meteor strike.

"The one who shatters the stars—I can be that."

Magic surged and roared; the judgment light released from the ends of the world rivaled a blow of annihilation spanning a Lostbelt—its might sufficient to shoot down a star.

The judgment that soared upward was preternaturally slender, utterly insignificant beside the falling Extinction Star. Yet it was precisely this slender light that brimmed with matchless destruction.

Even a star could be brought down by it.

Silent annihilation unfolded high above. That was no longer Alaric's concern. Two consecutive Noble Phantasm liberations had cost him almost nothing; the beating dragon's heart within him ceaselessly generated pure mana that thundered through his body.

The knight holding the holy spear Rhongomyniad did not pause his stride toward Xianyang; amid that silent symphony he closed the distance at speed.

The high heavens rumbled; fire fell like rain.

A thousand meteors streamed to earth, red flames dazzling bright—remnants of the Extinction Star, undone.

The vast plain raced by beneath Alaric's feet. Swept clean by the Flame Sword, the battlefield held nothing extraneous. Only the great capital, Xianyang, stood tall.

Entering Xianyang went smoothly. Having bested the Red Emperor's son Liu Ji and then the Extinction Star, and with the Hegemon-King Xiang Yu still nowhere to be seen, all obstacles before Alaric had dissolved.

Passing among the many residents of Xianyang, Alaric kept his gaze fixed on the sacral body—the machine divine vessel that bore Qin Shi Huang's will and administered the entire planet. Its weak point was obvious within that holy frame, but he had no intention of exploiting it; that would be too ignoble a victory.

A true battle should be comprehensive, a frontal, honorable overrun.

The holy vessel—within arm's reach.

Alaric halted and looked at Epang Palace, towering at the heart of Xianyang—the colossal entity formed by two millennia of accumulation, representing Qin Shi Huang and all of Immortal technology.

At the palace gate stood a tall, slender figure.

They were willowy and long-limbed; flowing hair drifted without wind. The perfectly balanced yin–yang dignity of their features concealed any hint of gender—the only thing one could truly perceive was boundless imperial majesty.

Their discerning eyes burned like torches, as if able to see through the human heart.

Beyond that unforgettable visage, their attire radiated unspoken nobility.

They wore the imperial crown with twelve jade bead-curtains; its hue was chiefly black.

On either side of the crown were apertures to pass jade hairpins, tied to the topknot.

Silk ribbons fastened the pins beneath the chin; at the ears, a pair of pendant gems hung, not plugged into the ear, merely draped beside it.

The imperial robes: a black upper garment and vermilion lower skirt, painted with emblematic patterns above and below; and with knee-cover, sash, and red shoes.

In hand they bore a bronze longsword: the Sword That Stabilizes Qin. Forged by Qin Shi Huang in an earlier age from northern Zi copper, engraved in Qin small seal script by Li Si.

The first emperor's blade—man-made, yet no less mighty than the weapons of gods.

"Good morning, Your Majesty Qin Shi Huang."

Smiling, Alaric said, "I've come to take your life."

"Oh? I did not expect you to utter such brazen words."

Manifesting with a True Human spiritual base, Qin Shi Huang asked coolly, "I ask you again: since you do not intend to stand for Proper Human History, then on what basis do you contend with Us for the correct mode of human survival, for the direction human history ought to advance?"

"I was not born of Proper Human History, but like Your Majesty, am of a Lostbelt. Yet I intend to move forward together with Proper Human History."

Alaric smiled. "Most importantly, I cannot accept Your Majesty's mode of existence as the only person. As the primate that occupies this world, humanity's possibilities should not be suppressed to such an extent. Humanity's future should not be borne by one alone."

"And what is wrong with that? Do you take the common folk also to be human?"

Qin Shi Huang mused, "We have discussed Proper Human History more than once. Once humans form factions and cliques, they achieve nothing; disunion, difference, and conflicts of power cause mutual fettering and mutual denigration.

They cannot make even their own countries fully flourish—never truly prosper. In terms of efficiency, is Our rule inferior to those many foreign polities of Proper Human History, ever scheming against one another?

 If righteousness be the banner, is there any righteousness higher than human prosperity?

Only the ultimate, supreme True Human can stride beneath the heavens and rule the species.

As long as all action of the myriad things under heaven converges to a single point—to the imperial throne—and as We become the ultimate human, We shall shoulder humanity's prosperity.

Under Our guidance the world has steadily prospered until today's pacific age. Have you any dissatisfaction?

What you can see in the possibilities of Proper Human History—how can it compare to Us?"

"Humans cannot become the ultimate True Human. The responsibility Your Majesty shoulders surpasses an individual—one could call it the world itself. Yet the possibilities humanity holds are beyond your reach."

Alaric shook his head. "True, as Your Majesty says, Proper Human History cannot match your ruled world's unity of will and effort. Desire is hard to quell; so it has always been. But desire is humanity's only engine of progress. Mighty as you are, upon mastering a planet, you lost the desire to advance—complacency led to the pruning of human order.

From human desire springs infinite possibility.

To call oneself the only person, to seize a planet in the name of love;

 To claim godhood and embrace humanity—these too are manifestations of desire. Yet even if doom is fated, humanity can transcend it; even the starry sea can be reached.

If righteousness comes first, desire is righteousness. In desire, Your Majesty cannot match Proper Human History."

"Desire?"

Qin Shi Huang nodded slightly. "An interesting view. Even if desire courts extinction, you believe humanity can transcend it. Desire as righteousness, hm. Indeed, We lack the desire to go further—is it because there is no struggle?"

"Struggle brings the desire to progress: to stand alongside others, to surpass others, to triumph over others."

Alaric said evenly, "Your Majesty's position is a certain ultimate form of human society. You stand above heaven and earth, ascending to supreme rule—but that leaves none who can stand beside you, nothing you need to approach, surpass, or rise over.

No one can remonstrate; no one can change this. The world moves because of you—and stagnates because of you. The possibilities are mighty but singular.

Proper Human History cannot be as powerful as you, but weakness implies more intersections. Even the frail common folk can spark possibilities absent under your rule.

They can give birth to true human heroes and creators."

"Oh? Rather than Our governance, you would place your faith in the possibilities created by the weak masses?"

Qin Shi Huang nodded. "Indeed, your companion—the sage from Proper Human History—is a being Our rule could not produce. But why must the world be so?

We alone can create the greatest possibility. The world can develop according to Our will."

"You've been Pruned."

"Hmph. Your tongue is impertinent."

Qin Shi Huang lost interest in continuing; he could see Alaric meant to seize upon pruning and assail the foundations of his rule.

"Say more as you like—ultimately, it comes down to our hands. Without a bout, neither side is correct.

It seems you are fully prepared."

Abandoning the topic, Qin Shi Huang said, "That thing called the Fantasy Tree—have you found its location?"

A battle against himself could not end the Lostbelt. Qin Shi Huang knew Alaric would not choose to fight unless he had located the Fantasy Tree.

"I've found it."

Having experienced the Scandinavian Lostbelt, Alaric could confirm that the Fantasy Tree in the Chinese Lostbelt was not protected by optical camouflage. With that premise—and Da Vinci's support—he had recently pinpointed the Tree's location.

"Oh? Let's hear it."

Qin Shi Huang did not hurry to strike. "We are unaware of any such anomaly within Our realm."

"It is hidden within the Fusang tree Your Majesty obtained overseas. The Fantasy Tree lies concealed there."

Alaric's gaze moved to the holy vessel—or rather, a certain collection within it—one of the artifacts Qin Shi Huang had brought back two millennia ago from overseas Fusang: a Fusang sacred tree transplanted into the holy vessel from the Immortal Land of Fusang. The Fantasy Tree had a ninety-percent chance of lurking within it.

As for why it hid there, Alaric and Da Vinci judged it likely the interference of the cryptic, Akuta Hinako.

After all, if Qin Shi Huang had seen the Fantasy Tree, he would have accepted the Lostbelt premise and begun his own conquest—a scene the Crypter did not wish to see.

"I see. Hidden within Fusang. It seems Yu has concealed much."

Qin Shi Huang showed little surprise. Even learning the Tree's location and the Crypter's deceit did not move him. Now only his contest with Alaric held any interest.

"After I defeat Your Majesty, I'll deal with Consort Yu—and then fell the Fantasy Tree."

Alaric smiled. "Are you ready, Your Majesty?"

"Of course. We shall decide victory with a human body. Since the contest is over the direction of human order, it must be based on 'human.'"

Qin Shi Huang held the sword that stabilizes the Qin.

In Proper Human History, many can stand alongside the First Emperor—but few indeed can stand alongside this Lostbelt's version.

This was a fundamental difference. Whether Gilgamesh, the Sun King Ozymandias, the Conqueror Iskandar, or the Lion King Artoria—they are rulers only of their nations or myths.

Territory constrains their authority. Even if time sublimates them to greater powers, the limitation of king and emperor remains.

If, as Gilgamesh claims, the world was once one—civilization undivided—he, as King of Heroes, stood at the summit at civilization's dawn.

After Gilgamesh's age, civilization advanced until humanity seized the primate's seat upon this planet. Iskandar symbolizes conquest—ceaselessly taking lands until death.

The Sun King Ozymandias is the symbol of the ancient continent—the pharaoh's supreme seat above Egyptian myth, his status exalted even before other pantheons.

Qin Shi Huang stands at the far end of a mature, differentiated world—closing his hand around a ripened planet—a peerless achievement far beyond any ruler of Proper Human History.

Thousands of years of governance granted Qin Shi Huang this unequaled imperial might. Sublimated as a concept, perhaps he too could create a senselessly absolute Golden City like Gilgamesh.

After all, the world had fallen into the First Emperor's hand.

Alaric, facing this peerless aura, felt only a spring breeze. Untroubled, he smiled faintly. "At this point, only our hands can decide it. Then forgive my offense, Your Majesty."

"No need for courtesy, Lord Alaric."

Qin Shi Huang descended slowly from the holy vessel. "Let us fight with all our might. This will decide the future's course—"

The emperor's proclamation rang to all things. This battle would wager the world.

As their words fell, the fight burst forth in an instant.

A day and night are 24 hours. 24 hours are thirty muhūrtas; one muhūrta is 0.8 hours, i.e., 48 minutes. Twenty laysa make one muhūrta, so one laysa is 2.4 minutes, 144 seconds. Twenty finger-snaps make one laysa, so one snap equals 7.2 seconds. Twenty moments make one snap, so one moment is 0.36 seconds. Twenty thoughts make one moment, so one thought—one kshana—down to the millisecond, is 0.018 seconds.

But in Alaric and Qin Shi Huang's battle, even a kshana felt interminable.

0.0001 seconds—

Alaric flashed to Qin Shi Huang; his wrist reversed. Rhongomyniad vanished; a searing Flame Sword had appeared in his hand at some point.

A greatsword suited to two hands was lifted single-handedly; its weight was nothing to him. In that extreme speed, the arc of its swing seemed able to cleave mountains and vaporize continents.

Almost as the blade moved, argent radiance surged and spread—erecting an impassable moat between Alaric and Qin Shi Huang.

Mercury?

At first sight of that silver light, Alaric identified its substance—mercury.

At room temperature and pressure, mercury is the only metal liquid. Before the edifice of effective scientific systems, mercury was also a prime esoteric material on the mystic side.

Like Waver Velvet's professor, Lord El-Melloi Archibald's Grand Mystic Code—the Volumen Hydrargyrum—shaped under pressure from mercury.

The mercury rampart before Qin Shi Huang was nigh a screen of Moonlit mercury.

As for Qin Shi Huang using mercury offensively and defensively—unsurprising.

Mercury has held a unique status since antiquity, in both the mystic and mundane.

But—even against Alaric, it could not suffice as defense.

Scarlet swordlight, silent and dazzling, split the mercury moat; behind that rampart, a downward stroke met him!

Snow-white blade light shone in all directions, infused with peerless imperial might as it crashed down.

Rumble—

Qin Shi Huang shot backward in an instant, the scenery streaming past. A fine sword scar chased his silhouette, slicing silently through Xianyang's districts.

The grand edifices that had stood for millennia and governed the planet were torn soundlessly asunder.

Even the mechanical holy vessel's hull bore a thin sword mark climbing its titanic shell, as if to split it in two.

And that was merely the aftershock of one exchanged blow. The true force was borne by both; only twenty to thirty percent of the escaping blade-qi ran wild.

Calm-eyed, Qin Shi Huang saw a fine scarlet firing-line draw near, wavering beyond the bounds of sound, as if to burn sky and earth alike to ash.

0.0007 seconds—

Still hurtling backward, Qin Shi Huang's face did not change. He flicked his fingers at the incoming fireline.

A tide surged.

With Immortal spatial-folding techniques, he unleashed the endless mercury he carried—a perfect medium for his arts.

The Qin of Victory's two millennia of Immortal technological foundation originated from a system traced to Taiyi Zhenren in the Immortal Land of Fusang, which Qin Shi Huang had discovered overseas—and developed continually since.

After conquering the planet and absorbing various mysteries and technologies, it became a complete system.

If explained via the mystic side's thaumaturgical foundations, the Immortal technomancy foundation had been engraved into the world itself.

And Qin Shi Huang was the master of that entire system.

In essence, thaumaturgy—including the system Solomon developed—is merely a phenomenon-interference method attainable through the expenditure of manpower and resources.

Thus, with all resources in hand, every Immortal technique was at Qin Shi Huang's fingertips. Though due to his own nature, Immortal arts had not kept pace with the development of Proper Human History's magecraft and had stagnated,

his amassed foundation alone let him laugh at heaven and earth.

Silver light filled the world; surging mana rivaled the divine.

Its edge was so keen that even at distance it crazed Alaric's flesh and spirit—that was a dragon-slaying art, a hunter's craft aimed at the primate.

Through repeated comprehensive analyses, Qin Shi Huang had obtained the most detailed data on Alaric; techniques targeting his weaknesses had been crafted.

Even if Alaric was an embryonic Human Evil, Qin Shi Huang had counters.

The suppressions Alaric had faced—without exaggeration, had it been Koyanskaya facing them, she would have been forced back to her original form.

0.0017 seconds—

Gazing at the howling silver light, Alaric's expression did not change. He had once received a spiritual base of the same technology's make; he knew well what power Qin Shi Huang's more perfected True Human base could wield.

True Human can be called a superlife that attains ultimate balance and capabilities unattainable by the human body. A Servant granted a True Human spiritual base is, in a sense, incarnated in flesh—passing from the dead to the living.

The power it can exhibit is beyond a standard Servant's base; indeed, the height of the True Human rivals the highest Grand class.

Beyond the spiritual base's power stood Qin Shi Huang himself.

After mechanized ascension to undying existence, Qin Shi Huang had no need of battle; human-body memory was insignificant amid millennia of recollections.

In bodily arts, Qin Shi Huang was inferior to martial generals; in Noble Phantasms, less than famed heroes. What he possessed was the entirety of Immortal-Dao technology.

And that was enough.

Technique to Qin Shi Huang, was a matter of computation. Even cut off from the holy vessel, he could display peerless skill.

Not just martial skill—Immortal arts were equally at his fingertips, employed at will.

Silver flowed—a mercury sword-tide. Immortal arts layered upon mercury manifested the best countermeasures against Alaric.

From primate-slaying to dragon-slaying specialties, supplemented with newly developed arts, sufficient to lock down Alaric's dragon heart and mana flow.

To counter Alaric alone, Qin Shi Huang had, for the first time in ages, spun up the holy vessel's Immortal-arts evolution modules.

It blotted out the sky. Nothing less.

Alaric had only one answer.

He halted abruptly and released the hilt. Guided by mana, the Flame Sword floated before him.

Left foot forward; right arm drawn back.

Had Fujimaru Ritsuka and company been present, they would have found the pose familiar—akin to the great hero Sigurd as he liberated his Noble Phantasm in the Scandinavian Lostbelt.

Not releasing the energy within the blade, but drawing out the sword's power and hurling it.

0.0027 seconds—

Emulating the dragon-slaying hero of the past, Alaric began to draw forth the Flame Sword's power. The blade held flame, but unlike Surtr's sword.

This blade had appeared after the Scandinavian Lostbelt's end—the Sword of Termination. Forged upon Surtr's Flame Sword, it was a consummate ending.

At full release, its power even exceeded Surtr's. Even the overflow approached anti-fortress Noble Phantasm class.

0.0057 seconds—

Icy edges closed in; Alaric's vision turned wholly silver-white.

All Xianyang seemed covered in mercury—buildings, sky, and earth alike.

Compared to Alaric's Noble Phantasm release speed, Qin Shi Huang's attack would arrive first.

In an instant a black stellar glow spread as a canopy, tearing the silver world apart. Lances of pure mana shot down, trying to nail the mercury sea to its origin.

0.017 seconds—

The mercury surge filling the world did not stop, but the Holy Judgement greatly reduced its advance. Though Qin Shi Huang knew the nature of Alaric's mana, his countermeasures could not neutralize the Judgement.

Against pure power, technique avails little.

If the Judgement were founded on projection magecraft, Qin Shi Huang could have unbound it with Immortal arts. But with pure-mana emission as premise, he had to batter through it head-on to press the offensive.

0.67 seconds—

Black and silver intertwined and burst, raising a silent storm from Xianyang; all substance was ground to dust between them.

The mercury tide still pressed toward Alaric; even the thousandfold gates of the Judgement could not stop it.

The reason was simple—computational throughput.

Alaric's Judgement gates could not operate autonomously; each gate needed his personal adjustment and activation. Qin Shi Huang's mercury behaved similarly—but Qin Shi Huang's compute eclipsed Alaric's by far.

If we take the future-predicting Xiang Yu as a baseline, constructed from the remains of the Prince Nezha recovered during Immortal-realm explorations, then this True Human body was the supreme crystallization of Qin's electronic Immortal arts.

One could say Qin Shi Huang commanded Xiang Yu–class compute, and with the holy vessel, even more. Thus he could target the Judgement's trajectories—attacking and evading with precision.

Sensing this, Alaric's face stayed cold. An aurora flared from him, proclaiming a world's alteration. Layered heartscapes unfurled; with supreme authority he levied the world's existents.

Events once gathered in the winter of 1994 at Fuyuki—collected and replayed.

All matter along its path was shaved away by the aurora and fed into his drive—a phenomenon surpassing many mysteries, as if that were how the world should be.

0.88 seconds—

This self-authority's manifestation was the sign of bending the world's laws with human right.

Even parsed by Qin Shi Huang, it could not be wholly suppressed. Though he was the ultimate True Human, like Alaric a sole and final person, he could not become Alaric, nor Alaric become him.

Each was the lone, last one of his own world.

The auroral surge roared, becoming a black primordial singularity; all phenomena flowed within, disintegrated and shorn away in both material and conceptual terms, taken in.

Clack.

Faster even than the aurora's spread, Qin Shi Huang altered the mercury tide's form, as if foreseeing the future—using mercury as ink, he traced sigils in the void, sealing heaven and earth, forcibly pressing the twisted law back to normalcy.

0.99 seconds—

With tremendous compute and Immortal arts, Qin Shi Huang greatly suppressed the aurora's expansion—but in so doing, he lost the best chance to strike Alaric.

A blazing thunderlight exploded in his eyes—not Alaric's mana, but a burning force from frozen soil.

Lightning coiled like a dragon around the blade, becoming part of the ending.

Time had reached its limit.

A fist wreathed in aurora smashed the hilt; peerless might enough to shake mountains seemed to set the atmosphere itself trembling.

The daylight broke; an unseen blackness cloaked a ten-kilometer circle of Xianyang, as if a black sun had fallen upon the earth.

At the same instant came Alaric's emotionless declaration: "Noble Phantasm—Release."

"Loptr Laegjarn!"

The near-eternal first second passed.

That day, it seemed the whole world beheld the advent of the end.

Fire.

Under the blue vault, a fine, scorching fireline wavered across the sky, dividing heaven and earth; as it extended, not only the firmament but the endless golden wheat plains responded to the finality of flame.

Melting?

Collapse?

Such words no longer sufficed. Along the fireline, a new world was born.

A fresh wound upon the star.

When the sky cleared again, only unfamiliar wilds stood before Alaric.

The Xianyang that should have been there had evaporated; the traces of civilization had been rewritten—leaving only a primordial scene.

As if time had rewound tens of millions of years, returning to the chaos before civilization's birth—the age of gods.

Behind Alaric, Xianyang still stood. The mechanical holy vessel Epang Palace slowly fell—its anti-gravity systems broken by the Event Collection; gravity reclaimed it, and at capture, that physics-defying colossus collapsed in a roar.

Even so, the holy vessel's gaze did not cease; together with Alaric it watched the end of the world.

The world's end is a concept unreachable; but in this thing called a Lostbelt, the end is made manifest, a place one can reach.

There stood a wall at the end—the Wall of Storms.

An impassable moat by physical means, the Wall of Storms denied all passage. Precisely thus could it halt that entity.

Whoosh—

Was it the wind that moved, or that thing?

Standing upon the earth, Qin Shi Huang could no longer tell. His senses were rapidly fading; he lost command of his body. Yet his hands still clutched the blade that had pierced him; blood vaporized the instant it flowed.

That one strike had driven Qin Shi Huang to the Wall of Storms' very edge. Had it not stopped him, who could say how far he'd have flown?

The crimson blade point had passed through, leaving only a fine sword mark in Qin Shi Huang's body—but only that.

Throwing everything he had into it, Qin Shi Huang minimized the damage; even as the blow burst within him, it fell short of fatal. What truly severed his vitality was where it struck—a point upon which Qin Shi Huang could not lay eyes: a point of death.

Eyes that can see death—death presented as lines. To cut a death-line is to kill—but that is not absolute death.

Upon the lines of death, there are also death points.

Beings with potent undying traits will not die even if their lines are cut—sever them into seventeen pieces, they still live. But if struck at a death point, even a Star's appendage cannot escape death.

To transcend death, one must apply the concept of undying to oneself—at least at the level of a deity of origin. That was not within Qin Shi Huang's present reach.

Ultimate balance, supreme True Human—still unable to step wholly away from death.

The battle was over. One second after time resumed its flow, this long-promised contest drew its curtain.

Without looking to that distant end, Alaric drew back his gaze—only to sense an unusual mana fluctuation.

It soared behind him and proclaimed itself to the world.

Turning slightly, Alaric easily beheld the intruder.

From the fallen mechanical holy vessel Epang Palace rose a pure-white giant tree—manifested from the Fusang tree destroyed by Event Collection—the Fantasy Tree.

Its name: Mayall.

Chapter 483: The Road Ahead

It wasn't just Mayall's magical fluctuation—Alaric also sensed two other familiar signatures.

"Consort Yu and Xiang Yu, planning to make a move now?"

With his hands at his sides, Alaric turned. His surging mana covered the land. Despite two battles and three Noble Phantasm releases, his total mana hadn't noticeably decreased.

It wasn't only the massive reserve granted by the Dragon's Heart; the materialization of his soul formed an endless magic, granting him terrifying endurance in combat—like carrying a Holy Grail within.

And beyond endurance, his state had climbed to a peak after consecutive battles; his will was once again kindled by battlelust.

This time, facing Xiang Yu, there would be only one outcome.

Shatter the foreseen future head-on.

The unfinished matters pouch expanded again, sweeping away the shattered sacred body of Epang Palace and leaving no place to hide, forcing the two to stand before Alaric.

They were Xiang Yu and Consort Yu, unseen for several days. With the Qin Empire's end, they returned to the stage of the world's twilight.

"…"

The girl beside Xiang Yu stayed silent, quietly watching the man who, in an instant, ended the millennial Qin Empire.

Ever since Alaric and Qin Shi Huang agreed to fight, Consort Yu knew the tide could not be turned. Even if Qin Shi Huang defeated Alaric, the Fantasy Tree might be exposed.

Then events would inevitably head toward the outcome she least wished to see.

Just like now.

She hadn't expected the fight to end so quickly. Though she had seen Alaric charge into Xianyang like a hot knife through butter, to display such overwhelming suppression against the inhuman monster that was the First Emperor Qin Shi Huang—this she never imagined.

As for Xiang Yu at her side, he witnessed the battle to its end—the fall of a thousand years of Qin.

Qin Shi Huang did not allow him to join, nor did he mobilize any hero from the Li Mountain. Even the imperial guard captain Li Shuwen could not take part.

This was a battle between man and man—one they could not interfere with.

Alaric's gaze swept over Xiang Yu and Consort Yu. "You two refuse to accept this world's end?"

"I cannot accept it."

Unexpectedly, it was not the deeply fixated Consort Yu who answered, but Xiang Yu—the mechanical being—whose voice responded.

Within the cold metal shell burned an incredibly fervent resonance.

It was the reply of one who couldn't forget a certain person.

"This is my consort's… after a long, long wandering, the hard-won place of rest. I cannot turn a blind eye to this feeling."

The Overlord's tone was level, his blade in hand; yet within that calm lay emotions unseen for a millennium.

"Qin has collapsed, the thousand-year empire to ash, and you, a Qin general—"

Alaric's eyes were calm as he glanced over Consort Yu and Xiang Yu. "You fight for someone you've known only a few days?"

"His Majesty has fallen, but while this body still moves, I will never let the Fantasy Tree fall into your hands."

As he spoke, the mana around Xiang Yu surged, the reactor that could power a city fully opening once more.

Within that roaring magic came an answer unlike in ages past.

Not to wage war by an emperor's command—but for the first time, to wield a weapon for himself, for another's wish.

Alaric's intentions in this Qin land were, if not common knowledge, then all but explicit.

His contest with Qin Shi Huang—what it meant to be a True Man, the method for humanity's future—was all for this final moment.

This, Xiang Yu could not tolerate. Even if Qin Shi Huang had lost and this struggle for humanity's future should have ended here, he would mount a final resistance.

"Yu's future—my first and last wish."

His words boomed like a roar—the Overlord's declaration: "It exists only on the other side of that branch."

"A wish, is it? Good."

"Qin collapsed because the sole one, Qin Shi Huang, lost his desire—his will to advance. Yet now, even with Qin in ruins, a new desire has been born."

Alaric said, "Desire is justice."

"The wish that Xiang Yu of Proper Human History could not fulfill—his long-cherished sorrow—I will inherit it here."

Calling himself Xiang Yu, he declared, "This is the only time in my life I lift my blade not for the world, but for a single woman."

"Lord Xiang Yu, I'll aid you."

The girl at his side did not waver. Just as the Overlord proclaimed, this place was her haven; at the end of a long journey through Proper Human History, she had finally found her longed-for homeland in this corner of history.

Even if it was merely the same flower, it was enough.

In accordance with an ancient pact, the power of fantasy bloomed.

Though the folded dimension hidden by Consort Yu within the Fusha had lasted long, the roots of fantasy still spread throughout the world, taking firm hold.

Under the roaring sky, the flowering Fantasy Tree unleashed mana enough to shake the world. Brilliant radiance bled from the trunk, and as the stars wheeled, it was as if a galaxy truly flowed within the colossal tree.

With the Fantasy Tree's blossoming, the greatest change was the Overlord's magical response surging, exceeding his own limits—a supreme sublimation!

Power from the Fantasy Tree can grant a Servant strength beyond their limits, equal to or even surpassing their living prime. If Qin Shi Huang had received the Fantasy Tree's support as King of the Lostbelt, he would have fully unleashed the True Man class and fought a true great battle with Alaric,

Instead of a contest decided within a single second—a battle between human and human.

But Qin Shi Huang was now the past. Today's Overlord Xiang Yu stood upon two thousand years of Qin, with a complete, resplendent body upon this final battlefield!

Standing with the Overlord was the Fusha's avatar from Proper Human History—the heavenly immortal Yu, that is, Consort Yu.

Revealing her true form, Consort Yu's aura was ethereal, like a celestial maiden who should stand apart from the world, yet rooted in the mortal realm—her root being the Overlord at her side.

The two waves of magic resonated under the Fantasy Tree's support, forming a vast momentum that pressed down on the one and only man!

It was not a targeted intimidation; merely being nearby would chill any living being to the core.

"In that case, let me send you on your way."

Unmoved in the tidal magic like an anchor set in the world, Alaric slowly raised his hand and gripped at the air. Threads of mana extended from his palm, weaving into a hilt, a blade—finally forming a jet-black sword.

A blessing from the end of the world engraved itself upon the blade—an ending no one could witness.

Twang!

As the end manifested, biting sword-qi split the oppressive magic from Xiang Yu and Consort Yu, turning Xianyang into a grim battlefield.

"Qin has fallen; I, the Last Knight Alaric, need only one sword—"

Aurora-bright mana rose, a peerless force that, by raw magic alone, could shake continents and vaporize cities—a miracle above many heroes.

The battle did not last long. Even with the Fantasy Tree's support, they could not withstand the edge of one at his zenith.

His awe was like a god's; his might was like a god's.

Yet his body was human, following human law, striding toward the future.

Before him, the Overlord's resistance was like a brief meteor's flare, buried with the fall of millennial Qin in this corner of history.

Walking alone through the ruins of Xianyang, Alaric left only a sea of flowers swaying in his wake—nothing else.

Despite back-to-back great battles, even with the Fantasy Tree joining in, nothing left excess traces. All constructs of civilization were shaved away, collected, and became this sea of flowers.

In other words, there was no longer anything that could block Alaric's advance.

All that remained standing was the colossal Fantasy Tree at the end of the road.

Empty-handed, unhurried, Alaric walked toward it. The consecutive fights left him with no real injuries.

Be it Liu Ji, commander of armies; Qin Shi Huang, the sole one; or even the sublimed-to-the-extreme Xiang Yu and Consort Yu—it was the same.

In truth, in Alaric's present state, even if injured he could quickly recover; only conceptual curses might interfere with him.

Perhaps Consort Yu could meet that bar.

But compared to Xiang Yu, who fought by forecasting the future with computational might, the battle methods of the thousand-year-wandering heavenly immortal Consort Yu were frankly lamentable.

As a spirit-kind who could share mana with nature, Consort Yu didn't need to store magic in herself; she could draw endlessly from the outside.

But bound by a humanoid form, her supply was infinite while her output had limits. The practical amount she could use was confined to a humanoid Servant's domain.

Worse still, her use of magic was a mess. What she used most against Alaric was self-destruction.

Yes—self-destruction.

Abandon the body, force a mana overload and loss of control, trigger anomalous weather via curses, then reconstruct the body—the madwoman's tactic.

It's a suicide attack usable only by spirit-kind who share their core with the environment.

No structure, no aesthetics—just a brainless magic bludgeon. It reminded Alaric of his own clumsy self right after receiving dragon's blood.

His understanding of combat then was merely to hurl magic out in a lump.

Despite millennia of experience, she fought in a way that made no sense, hardly using magecraft—making Alaric suspect she slipped into Chaldea on the strength of being a True Ancestor.

Good foundation, terrible execution.

His aftertaste of battle didn't last long. When Alaric stepped into the Fantasy Tree's domain, his communicator activated. Da Vinci's relaxed image reflected in his eyes.

"Mm, that wrapped up fast, but the Emperor is still reacting."

Da Vinci, who had returned to the car instead of staying in Xianyang, observed the entire battlefield. Even Qin Shi Huang, flung to the world's edge, remained in her scope.

Even with his death-line severed and death-point pierced, Qin Shi Huang did not die immediately. He still stood before the Stormwall, gazing toward Xianyang. If it were only the death-line cut, he could escape death by replacing his body. But with the death-point pierced, his soul and consciousness would die too. Alaric, guided by her words, smiled slightly, then looked away. Just as he was about to face the massive trunk, he halted.

Where the giant tree should have been empty, a familiar figure stood.

A silver-white shrine maiden with hands at her sides gazed at Alaric without expression.

Alaric did not stop. As he passed the Alien Goddess, he asked blandly, "You're not watching Miss Fujimaru and the others, but came to me?"

"…"

No answer. In the maiden's eyes, which silently followed the man, lay every answer.

No further conversation. After his gaze briefly met the Alien Goddess's, Alaric walked toward the Fantasy Tree. The tree seemed to sense its fate.

A fierce will to live drove it to shed countless seeds of fantasy, trying to stall Alaric's steps.

But as said, nothing could stand in his way now. Even those seeds could not approach before being shot down.

Thud.

Placing his palm on the Fantasy Tree, Alaric focused on what seemed a pure-white trunk. Figures in agony formed the trunk, wrapping a vast galaxy.

After flowering, the trunk circulated a real galaxy—undeniably corresponding to the true celestial heavens, perhaps even a direct counterpart.

Alaric's gaze was calm, without a hint of hesitation for what came next.

The Fantasy Tree is the root of a Lostbelt. To end a Lostbelt, it must be felled—not Plundered, not Fused.

If one claims the Fantasy Tree, the Lostbelt's foundation transfers to the holder.

Thus, the fantasy must be cut down.

What Alaric sought was to seize the record of this Lostbelt's events within the narrow seam between the fantasy's survival and its pruning—a history belonging to them alone.

That was how he gained the Flame Sword and the Thunder of the Thunder Emperor—through Reflection.

A mysterious trait that appeared in the Seventh Singularity: through close contact with the Venusian goddess Ishtar and battle with the Chains of Heaven, Alaric's magic underwent near-Ishtar-like omnipotent changes and acquired weapon-transmutation akin to the Chains.

But since then, such reflections were rare—until his battle with the Third Beast, Kiara Sessyoin, where using Meltryllis's remains, he reflected a complete entity again.

After discussing with Da Vinci, Alaric confirmed these were extensions of himself, prompting the so-called Reflection.

Like the Servant EMIYA, whose projection magecraft reproduces Noble Phantasms as an extension of his reality marble, so too with Alaric.

The transformations of his magic are extensions of himself—one could even call it an internal reality marble.

As for why reflections seldom occurred over ages: he had little interaction with others, constantly on the move, lacking contact with reflectable objects—greatly reducing the chance.

Along a normal timeline, Alaric could not obtain event records or reflections; only anomalies like Singularities and Lostbelts birthed the records he needed.

Thus, after erasing the Scandinavian Lostbelt, he reflected the Flame Sword from its record—flames of the end, denying civilization, burning all to termination.

From the Russian Lostbelt, he reflected the emperor's earth-roaring thunder—divine in might.

Of course, reflections were just a bonus. What truly mattered was the event record required for the Coronation Rite.

Though he used a near-cheese method to convert those records into a light-belt running along Earth-Moon orbit, with the end of the third Lostbelt, a new change would arrive.

The Coronation would enter a new stanza—one with no turning back.

"Coronation…"

Alaric murmured, "The time of birth has come—so where lies the time of coronation?"

Qin Shi Huang bore everything by choice; Alaric bore all blessings. Their only true commonality was perhaps simply being human.

Alaric searched his heart: he could not shoulder all creation like Qin Shi Huang. All he could do was keep advancing, advancing, advancing—

So as not to betray others' blessings, nor his own expectations.

Therefore—

"The world ends here."

Softly spoken truth became thunder, became the end, shaking the Lostbelt's cornerstone.

Hum—

His mana, tireless, howled forth. The full-released aurora spread across Xianyang's sky in an instant, enshrouding the Fantasy Tree.

The world drew its curtain.

Its end was no splendid dusk—just aurora covering every inch of land.

As the fantasy collapsed, the light-belt spanning the cosmos replaced the Great Wall and became the only.

Far at the world's edge, Qin Shi Huang saw the Stormwall's dissipation. Beyond it was not the world he knew—only a blank white void.

Da Vinci watched the same scene with little expression. After a sigh, she set down her coffee. "That's the third—"

Taking it into his grasp meant Alaric had secured nearly half the Lostbelts. Though its growth couldn't compare to the Atlantic Lostbelt, it proved his collection progress was near half.

Seven Lostbelts—he had obtained three.

And that was what worried Da Vinci.

No matter how nicely put, Alaric's essence had not changed. The Coronation Rite operated via an Alien Star's human-order rewiring; its ultimate aim was Alaric's complete metamorphosis.

If the goal could be met, fine. If not, he would have to take another path.

Holding a faint sadness, Da Vinci's view was swallowed by aurora. All belonging to the Lostbelt vanished into the light until a blank-paper world reemerged.

—

"How do you feel?"

Holding a coffee, Da Vinci pulled her thickened coat close and looked at the lone figure in that snow-white world.

After the Chinese Lostbelt disappeared, Da Vinci should have set off to the next. But with Alaric not returning, she had to stop.

In truth, the linchpin for Lostbelt travel was Alaric, not Da Vinci. Her role was to assist him and, if possible, uncover the truth for Chaldea.

Journeying with Alaric, Da Vinci gained a perspective different from Fujimaru Ritsuka's—one better and calmer for viewing the White Paper phenomenon.

Gather as much intel as possible, so that upon reunion or exchange with Chaldea, she could offer help.

They would meet again in the future.

With three Lostbelts gone, even if Alaric kept avoiding Chaldea's path, he would eventually cross Fujimaru Ritsuka again.

When that time came, Da Vinci would present her findings.

That was later. For now, her attention was on the long-absent Alaric.

A month prior, realizing he hadn't returned, Da Vinci quickly found him.

Where the Fantasy Tree had once stood.

Now, with the fantasy gone, only a Tree of Light stood quietly.

Formed by interwoven arcs of light, it had form without substance—clearly present, yet somehow distant, as if in the world's elsewhere.

Shhh—shhh—

What truly drew the eye was the figure gradually revealed as the Tree of Light unraveled.

It was Alaric, missing for days.

Hearing Da Vinci, the just-awakened Alaric smiled slightly. "I feel great. I sensed the emergence of that boundary, Lady Da Vinci."

The boundary of transformation—the threshold to his full form.

"Is that so?"

Da Vinci nodded lightly, smiling. "Seems my calculations were right. But are you sure you're in control now?"

"I can control it. I've seen the boundary, but there's still some distance."

Alaric pressed a hand to his chest, thought quietly, and said, "But it's not a problem. Combat won't be affected."

With the Chinese Lostbelt's record obtained, his reaction forced him into a month-long dormancy, but the results were considerable—right on track with what he and Da Vinci planned.

"Good. Where to next? Closest to us are the Atlantic and Indian Lostbelts—or the British Lostbelt. I don't really recommend South America."

Unable to know the interior states, Da Vinci left the choice to Alaric. She would simply wait for his decision. Even so, she advised against South America.

Because that thing was there. Even in a Lostbelt, it likely existed.

"The next Lostbelt…"

At her words, a queen upon a throne flashed through Alaric's mind. As he had thought in the Scandinavian Lostbelt, the best next step would be Britain.

Not only to learn of that queen's existence, but because of Britain itself.

"We'll go—"

Author's Note: Ya-ha-ha, stumbled and fumbled, but this volume is finally done. It's a bit sentimental, but I'm truly grateful to those still supporting me (deep bow).

 The updates really weren't great—super sorry! Well, it seems not many people are reading now, but still, there will be another volume. I'll try my best to pick up the pace.

Lastly, thank you all so much!