I, Kurumi Tokisaki, Am a Wanderer

"Wait, huh? Did those long-eared folks actually refine their spell arrays?"

Lurking just outside the capital of the Elves, Melvoil, Kurumi surveyed the verdant city nestled within the forest.

She relayed the observations of the peculiar modifications in the spell arrays to her primary body, which in turn communicated them to Schwi. As the analytical core, Schwi processed, parsed, and ultimately concluded:

—The arrays were a life-detection spell system, likely deployed as a precaution after Kurumi's earlier defeat of Think Nirvalen (Lady Shinku).

"Well, well~~ seems like the Elves aren't as dumb as I thought." Kurumi chuckled softly, before sinking silently into the shadows to infiltrate the city.

But... what was the point? The thought almost made her laugh aloud.

That massive spell array enveloping the entire pristine forest wasn't designed to detect anomalies for the King's Leaf military. No, its sole purpose was to serve Think Nirvalen, and Think Nirvalen alone.

She was here again.

The eerily quiet atmosphere of Melvoil cast an oppressive air. As Kurumi strolled along the streets, she barely saw a handful of the voluptuous Elf women she remembered.

By tracking the flow of time in the surroundings, she detected a significant number of Elves clustered near the central the Garden, most of whom were young spellcasters.

In the heart of Melvoil stood the Garden, said to have been personally planted by the God of Forest Kainath.

Its towering form stretched heavenward, its massive roots sprawled like veins over the ground, forming a network of roads. Trees and vines extended from the earth, intertwining to form houses and streetlights that glowed faintly like fireflies, creating a seamless blend of city and nature.

As Kurumi approached an intersection, a startling sight occurred.

The elegantly dressed girl in black and red split in two, like a reflection shattered by a mirror, with one figure heading toward the Garden and the other toward Think Nirvalen's manor on the outskirts.

The latter was completely empty.

Although Think Nirvalen's manor had been rebuilt, not a soul resided within, not even in the underground chambers where spell array matrices were once hidden—they had all been relocated elsewhere.

Lying sprawled on a large dandelion-shaped sofa in the manor, Kurumi casually swung her legs while helping herself to Think Nirvalen's hoarded desserts with absolutely no courtesy.

"Well now... do you think you can escape me?" Kurumi muttered with a sly grin.

Within the entire city, only one Eighth-Tier Magician existed. Even the semi-active state of the Elven god Cainas wasn't as striking as Think Nirvalen's aura.

In another location, Kurumi's lips curled into a smirk as she began moving toward her target.

At the central platform of the Garden, the striking figure of Think Nirvalen, the Flower Crown Lady, stood wearing a soft smile. That delicate "girl" was calmly and firmly issuing orders for battle preparations.

Unlike previous strategies, this time a large-scale mobilization was being planned—decisive and determined, as if the war were about to end in one stroke.

Surrounding her, young Elf spellcasters gazed at Think Nirvalen with trustful eyes. Of course, some let their gazes linger a little too long and even drooled slightly.

On a rose-woven platform even higher, a languid girl lounged lazily, proudly watching Nina as she delivered her speech.

Her softly curled golden hair cascaded down her back, her long pointed ears drooped slightly, and the soul gem on her forehead gleamed faintly with a dull red light, as though it had yet to fully recover.

Her clothing, daring even by Elven standards, was composed of thin, sheer fabrics that left much of her figure exposed. The delicate material barely covered her chest, revealing far more than it concealed and leaving the smooth, radiant curves of her skin tantalizingly visible.

The golden accents at her waist framed her hips, where the fabric clung lightly before cascading down into a skirt that revealed far more than it obscured.

Her midriff was completely bare, a bold statement of the outfit's daring design, while the high slits of the skirt left her shapely legs fully on display. Every subtle motion caused the fabric to shift, teasing fleeting views of her smooth, flawless thighs, making it impossible to look away.

The sheer, flowing fabric seemed designed to highlight as much of her beauty as possible, offering only the barest hint of concealment.

She watched Nina with a satisfied expression, but her demeanor abruptly shifted, and her brow furrowed tightly.

That person she least wanted to see had arrived.

Even before she could ready her spells for investigation, a light and teasing voice drifted from behind.

"Yo~~ Let me see if that little 'mark' on your leg is still there!"

Think Nirvalen turned back with an enraged expression. Instinctively, she pressed her legs tightly together and crouched slightly, using her left arm to cover the humiliating black markings.

"You scoundrel!"

Emerging through the rose-adorned archway was none other than Kurumi, her face lit with a taunting grin.

Meanwhile, 10,000 meters underground in the vast cavernous expanse of the Dwarves' Capital, a completely different scene unfolded.

Despite being deep underground, the city was anything but dim. The Divine Fire Furnace, a blazing column of light created by their god Ocain, stood at the heart of the city, providing both power and reverence.

This was the source of energy for the Dwarves' highly magical and mechanical society, a place regarded as sacred.

Here slept their creator god, God of Forge Ocain.

Protected from the effects of even the Elves' "Void Zero Protection," the underground capital was almost completely inaccessible—save for submersible vehicles or a few other routes. Even the Flügel dared not recklessly teleport into the depths, lest they end up bathing in molten rivers or trapped in bizarre predicaments.

Because of this unparalleled security, the capital's defenses were surprisingly lax. Only a modest contingent guarded the Divine Fire Furnace, while the rest of the city buzzed with the activity of researchers clad in gray-white coats.

Click.

Click.

The sharp sound of black Roman sandals echoed along a metallic walkway.

A pair of slender legs stepped out from the shadows.

The bewitching girl gazed at the fiercely burning Divine Fire Furnace, striding confidently toward the heart of the punk-styled underground city.

The Research Institute and War Command Center stood right next to the Divine Fire Furnace, guarded by a squad of Dwarf soldiers who had been waiting.

The Dwarves were one of the rare races whose creator god still lived among them peacefully. Ocain silently observed all.

As Kurumi entered the institute, she couldn't help but feel her scalp prickle at the sight.

An entire pile of E-Bombs sat haphazardly in the corridors, their round bodies threatening to roll away at any moment.

The soldiers handling the bombs were astonishingly casual. Kurumi even spotted two researchers casually leaning against the pile, smoking.

The fact that this underground city hadn't already been blown sky-high was nothing short of a miracle.

Kurumi's lips twitched.

"Finally, we meet, Miss Ghost," called a rugged man with a scruffy beard as he greeted her with a hearty laugh.

This was Lóni Drauvnil, the Dwarves' leader and Think Nirvalen's lifelong nemesis.

Through sheer force of will and ritual catalysts, he had reached a level akin to that of an Eighth-Tier Magician and had even defeated the formerly untouchable Think Nirvalen.

"A man of some mettle," Kurumi remarked inwardly, assessing him.

"Your eyes are truly exquisite, far more fascinating than the soul gems of those long-eared folks," Lóni complimented, his gaze fixed on Kurumi's clock-like crimson eye.

Kurumi's expression instantly cooled.

She retracted her earlier comment.

What a boring man.

"So then, Miss Ghost. What brings you here this time?"

The Elf's Eighth-Tier Magician and the Dwarf's Commander, standing on opposite ends of two warring factions, shared a moment of perfect accord.

"Correction—you may address me as Kurumi Tokisaki." The girl's radiant, audacious smile widened, her heterochromatic gold-and-crimson eyes reflecting the world itself.

In the depths of a dark cavern, Rick manipulated his strategy map, his smirk gradually growing until it perfectly mirrored Kurumi's own.

Holou, Schwi, Kurumi...

One unpredictable variable after another twisted the chessboard, steering everything toward uncharted territory.

Kurumi's power had exceeded every expectation, lifting a weight off Rick's shoulders. With her strength, many constraints could now be ignored entirely.

On the chessboard, apart from the Black King piece stationed at the Spirit Corridor's location, a lone White Queen sat to the right, representing the Flügel race.

To the left, several overlapping pieces represented the alliances of the Dwarves and Elves.

Both factions held trump cards capable of resetting the world—Rick's role was to manipulate those cards, driving them to tear through the Spirit Corridor and obliterate the board.

For this plan to succeed, one vital piece of equipment was required: the Enderpokryphen, a unique weapon belonging to the Ex-Machina.

The Enderpokryphen could warp all energy toward a single direction. It had once redirected the catastrophic attack known as False Epigraphy: Dragon Roar, an ultimate strike that the Aranleif sacrificed itself to unleash. Without this device, one-fourth of the Ex-Machina species would have been annihilated.

And as fate would have it, the village caught in False Epigraphy: Dragon Roar was Rick's own childhood home. It was during that fateful event that Schwi first began to question the concept of heart.

Once the chessboard was destroyed, The Star Grail would emerge.

This was Rick's hypothesis.

Something greater than all gods must surely exist—the Spirit Corridor, the very source of the gods.

Whether the Star Grail went to Kurumi, Schwi, or anyone else who wasn't one of the warring gods didn't matter to Rick.

What mattered was ending the war.

This singular purpose drove the Ghosts.

However, there was one significant problem: not all nukes are created equal.

God of War Artosh's Godly Smite, for instance, was powerful enough to obliterate both the Elven and Dwarven alliances in a single blow. They wouldn't even have the chance to react before being wiped out.

Thus, the instigator of this war had to be the two alliances themselves—not Artosh.

And Kurumi's goal was to ensure exactly that.

In Melvoil, the Elven capital, a certain Eighth-Tier Magician wearing a sheer garment as per her humiliating pact looked utterly mortified.

Already struggling to endure the thin and revealing attire—a private indulgence she might've shared with Nina—being publicly ogled was almost... thrilling.

But the writing on her thigh? That crossed the line. It was slavery-level humiliation.

Think Nirvalen's six-sided pupils narrowed with icy determination.

"You dare to return?"

The entire Garden glowed faintly, radiant spirits enveloping the rose-woven platform entirely. Even Kurumi, unable to perceive spirits directly, could feel the air growing oppressively heavy and viscous.

"My, my~~ Flower Crown Lady, don't be so impatient." Despite standing atop the Garden in her ceremonial Flower Crown robes, Kurumi mockingly addressed Think Nirvalen with that very title.

"I've come to offer you... a gift."

Kurumi began to move as she spoke, her steps deliberate and unhurried, exuding a languid grace. She drew closer with each movement, the air between them thick with tension, her gaze fixed on Think Nirvalen like a predator closing in on its prey.

"A gift?" Think Nirvalen sneered, her wariness sharp. What kind of gift would this devil ever bring?

"Yes, a gift," Kurumi said, her voice dropping to a seductive murmur.

Her fingers brushed against her skin with the softest touch, as if savoring the sensation. She let her hands wander lower, gliding over the curves of her body. Her fingertips gently traced the contours of her form with a sensual ease, stirring the very air around them.

She let her hands glide down her waist, caressing the fabric that clung to her, before slipping her arm around her waist, drawing her closer.

With barely any space between them, Kurumi pressed her body against Think Nirvalen's, the closeness amplifying the heat between them. Leaning in, she let her lips hover near Think's ear, her breath a teasing whisper against her skin. She pressed her chest more firmly against hers, her voice dropping to a playful murmur. "How about a special solvent to remove that pesky writing?"

"And as an added bonus, I'll make a new pact with you. For the next month, you must wear your formal attire."

If Think Nirvalen agreed, the prior pact—forcing her to wear the sheer outfit—would be nullified.

"What's your angle?" Think Nirvalen remained wary. The devil never made house calls without ulterior motives.

"My, my, nothing complicated," Kurumi said as she pulled back slightly, her hands brushing lightly over her own hips. Her tone was light, almost dismissive, yet carried an undercurrent of undeniable confidence. "Just something you'll inevitably choose yourself. I'm simply letting you know in advance."

With Think Nirvalen's intelligence, there was no chance she would allow Artosh to deliver the first strike.

But wars always needed a lever to set them into motion.

Unlike Think Nirvalen, whose secrets Kurumi held firmly in hand, the Dwarves were far less susceptible to manipulation.

Their obsession with logic—"this works," "this doesn't"—meant Kurumi's usual tricks held little sway.

At present, the tension between Kurumi and Lóni Drauvnil was so palpable it felt like they might come to blows.

Lóni carried an enormous hunk of iron strapped to his back—a mechanism so massive it could only be described as a grotesque blend of sword and ruler.

The Dwarves, who sought even the soul gems of Elves and the bones of Dragons, were naturally captivated by Kurumi's ticking clock-eye.

"All we need to do is manufacture enough E-Bombs—enough to obliterate every continent," Lóni declared, his tone brimming with resolve. "When the blinding light rips the earth clean, only the Dwarves and our god Ocain will remain."

"Do you truly think the God of War... or the Elves... will give you that much time?" Kurumi asked coolly.

Lóni fell silent.

E-Bombs, created by detonating dormant god-marrow, had a naturally limited production rate. Their creation hinged entirely on Ocain's efforts. Manufacturing enough to reset the planet would take... time.

Sliding a small vial across the table, Kurumi chuckled lightly. "Perhaps you should consider our proposal?"

Lóni eyed the dark-gold, star-like fragments within the vial. Instead of answering her, he asked bluntly, "What is this?"

Unlike twisting words into traps, Lóni preferred tangible evidence.

"Fragments of the strongest Dragonia ever slain by God of War Artosh—Hartyleif the Final ," Kurumi replied.

The dragon bones themselves? Those were safely tucked away in Kurumi's stash. These fragments? Merely leftovers from a certain unlucky demon.

Lóni froze, stunned. How did she even acquire such a thing?!

Mistaking his shock for hesitation, Kurumi casually produced something else.

"How about this—a limited-edition revealing photo of Think Nirvalen, the secret head of the Elves and your old flame. Care to reconsider?"

"Deal!"

—

Melvoil

Having concluded her deal with Kurumi, Think Nirvalen's brow furrowed in frustration.

It seemed... she'd been tricked. Again.

The pact dictated that for the next month, Think Nirvalen must wear formal attire. But... it hadn't specified anything about undergarments.

In other words, the proud Eighth-Tier Magician would spend an entire month going commando.

Honestly, she might've preferred the sheer garment.

"Kurumi Tokisaki!!" Think Nirvalen ground her teeth.

For now, though, she needed to focus on removing that humiliating mark from her thigh.

Raising her skirt, Think Nirvalen applied the cool dissolving solvent along her slender leg, shivering slightly from the sensation.

At that exact moment, Nina shuffled in, her face flushed and awkward.

"F-frontline leader... are you...?"

Think Nirvalen froze mid-motion.

To Nina, it looked like Think Nirvalen had... wet herself.

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