I, Kurumi Tokisaki, Am a Wanderer

Mocking the gods, Rick toyed with the black king piece in his hand.

The chess piece glimmered with an ethereal hue, so fantastical it felt unreal. Rick couldn't quite recall where it had come from.

"The Spirit Corridor, the source of all things, the tide of all creation?" He posed dramatically, a wild grin spreading across his face, tinged with madness.

"God of War? God of Forests? God of Forges?"

"Hey, my revered gods~ How are you feeling right now?"

On the battlefield, there were precisely 32 scarlet circles.

Remaining behind, Kurumi smiled as she drew a red cross through the final circle.

According to Schwi's calculations, deploying the Enderpokryphen—a device capable of bending all energy into a single focal point like a lens—at these positions would enable them to pierce through the planet in a single moment.

To accomplish this, they needed a total of 32 Enderpokryphen devices.

Planting these devices across the already heavily fortified final battlefield would have been a formidable challenge...

But for Kurumi Tokisaki, the Spirit of Time, it couldn't have been easier.

Looking up at the black-and-red-clouded sky, the countless Kurumis scattered across the battlefield wore smirks of provocation, almost savage in their intensity.

"Hey, are you ready?"

"We... we're ready, you know~~"

"Time to head out," Kurumi called, lightly tapping the table to bring Rick out of his thoughts.

"Head out?" Rick hesitated. "We could just use the telescope to observe from here. But... I suppose, for a moment like this, it's best to witness it firsthand."

"No, no." Kurumi chuckled softly. "I couldn't care less about the so-called Star Grail or the One True God's Throne."

"If you want them, feel free to take them."

Suspended 20,000 meters above ground, like a massive whale floating in the sky, lay the territory of the Flügel.

This was Avant Heim, the second-ranked among the Ixseed and one of the strongest fantasy species, a fortress as radiant as the legendary Heaven's Whale.

The floating fortress itself glowed faintly, bathed in moonlight that reflected off its myriad chaotic structures, including countless turrets and innumerable pairs of cold, blue eyes brimming with killing intent.

Within, it was like a paradise. Girls with luminous, wing-like appendages flitted about, casually discussing their latest hunts of powerful beasts as if they were planning a shopping trip.

The Flügel were unquestionably the apex predators of this world. Even the Elven and Dwarven Alliances, despite their uneasy truce, tread carefully around them.

Incidentally, due to the God of War's peculiar tastes, every Flügel was crafted in the form of a perfect, beautiful maiden.

After all... "You are all my wings."

At the fortress's central palace, the Throne Hall, the supreme God of War reclined on the highest throne.

This was the strongest of all gods, the creator of the Flügel, the embodiment of "war" itself, and the epitome of "strength."

His sharp, golden gaze bore down upon the earth, his towering form cloaked in a mantle of eighteen massive wings folded around him like a shroud.

"The compost heaps and groundhogs are inching closer, my lord," Azril reported, kneeling with one leg on the ground. Her folded wings shimmered faintly, and her halo dimmed as she delivered her prayer-like report.

"Oh, is that so?" The titanic deity smiled.

"—So it's almost time," he said, his tone brimming with anticipation. His evident excitement made Azril feel both awed and uneasy.

"—Ahahaha! It seems that the one who will kill me is finally approaching."

Azril looked up at her master. That fierce, ecstatic grin... she hadn't seen it since the day he slew Hartyleif the Final.

"Impossible," she declared, clutching her chest. "My lord is the strongest, the apex."

She raised her arms in fervent devotion. "No one on this earth can stand against my lord."

"My wings..." The God of War smiled.

"What is the point of being the strongest without challengers?"

He gazed westward, toward the distant lands where the alliances lay.

Long ago, the one hailed as the strongest dragon king, known as Hartyleif the Final, had awaited a challenger in much the same way.

Was it only in defeat that one could truly understand strength and weakness?

In this world, who could grant him such a defeat?

The heavens burned as radiant light erupted across the sky without warning.

Under Kurumi's orchestration, the Elves and Dwarves had chosen to strike preemptively.

But both factions had their own schemes.

A verdant beam of light soared into the heavens. It was the unleashed power of the Void Zero Protection. With Think Nirvalen leading them, the Elves prepared 18 beams of the Void Zero Protection.

Just one could cleave the ocean. Just one could bring down the floating fortress of Avant Heim.

The Elven fleet divided their beams equally: nine aimed at Avant Heim and the other nine at the Dwarven high-speed fleet.

Meanwhile, Lóni Drauvnil had similar thoughts, splitting his twelve E-Bombs into two groups—half targeting Avant Heim, half targeting the Elves' King's Leaf forces.

Without a word, both sides quietly redirected their cannons.

Their agreements with Kurumi had set the day and time for their assault, but the choice of targets... that was left ambiguous.

"Raphael! Lead the Ninth Wing and intercept the Dwarven steel ships before they can launch their E-Bombs. Be swift!"

With reconnaissance magic rapidly gathering information, Azril issued orders. Her usual ditzy demeanor was gone, replaced by cold, destructive resolve.

"Sarakyel! Take the Tenth through Eighteenth Wings and teach those plants who truly rules the skies!"

In stark contrast to her typical appearance, Azril's true form was a shadowy menace. Just a glance at her fearsome visage could send ground dwellers into trembling terror.

This was Azril, the First Wing of the Flügel.

In an instant, spatial transfer spells were activated across the Flügel ranks. But just as they prepared to deploy, the supreme throne echoed with booming laughter.

"Ho—Ahahahahaha!!!"

The resounding laughter shook Avant Heim, silencing all the Flügel maidens.

"Ahahaha! So, it's you, isn't it?" The God of War stared into the distance, as if he had foreseen everything. It was clear that nothing escaped his notice, though he left much unsaid.

"Didn't bring that one along to assist you? Or are you planning a sneak attack?"

But... it didn't matter.

No matter the method, he was eager to taste the flavor of defeat.

Yet... he would show no mercy.

In the distance, where the sea met the sky, a torrent of spirit energy surged, so intense that even the Spirit Corridor groaned in response.

The God of War's fierce golden eyes locked onto the horizon as he raised his right hand high.

"Announce!!!"

"All units, prepare!"

As if welcoming long-awaited opponents, he smiled.

In that moment, space and time trembled. Even Avant Heim let out a whale-like wail, and the Flügel emitted faint cries of alarm.

This was the Godly Smite's preparatory phase.

By channeling the collective Heavenly Smite of all Flügel, it unleashed an unparalleled, god-subjugating strike.

The divine intent in his ferocious grin filled all the Flügel with an identical bloodlust.

The laws of the universe wept, and the planet's order twisted in the God of War's grasp.

"My lord is the strongest! Unrivaled beneath heaven and earth! Face the fools and weaklings without hesitation or doubt!" Azril declared, her raised face adorned with a haunting smile.

It was like the mask of a noh play, stripped of all emotion, leaving her a doll-like figure of frigid perfection.

Only Raphael and the God of War himself now understood what she truly was.

Her voice, icy and razor-sharp, rang out, declaring, "To revel in the hatred of ants, to take joy in their anger and tolerate their rebellion—that is the will of our master!"

"Offer our wings to our lord's will! Show those insects what they face!"

The rallied Flügel soared from Avant Heim's palaces, their massive halos glowing with intricate patterns as they unleashed their wings in full force. Their countless blue eyes glinted with pure killing intent.

They were weapons. They were the swords forged to slay gods.

They would never grow, for they were born standing above all else—masters of the skies. It was for this reason that Rick had assigned them the queen piece on his chessboard.

Unyielding... unchanging... they were the pinnacle of strength.

"Do as you will... Ravage them utterly!" Azril's power blossomed like a radiant lotus.

Their supreme master remained seated on his throne.

He did not rise, his left hand still cradling his cheek. Yet his audacious grin brimmed with satisfaction toward his wings.

A pity... his most favored wing still lay within the repair matrix.

In his raised right hand, a terrible power coalesced—one that none in this world could hope to challenge.

"If I fall to the weak, am I truly strong? Am I truly the strongest?"

Unfolding his radiant, pure white wings, his mantle of eighteen pinions unfurled completely. His heart swelled with joy and exhilaration as he declared:

"But no matter what, today, I will find the answer to that eternal question."

"You insects... you've entertained me well."

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