I, Kurumi Tokisaki, Am a Wanderer

"Scrap metal, plants, Dwarves, and rabble... and those foolish enough to claim divinity in my presence—"

The God of War, Artosh, wore a calm yet utterly unrestrained smile.

No matter what species he faced, they were nothing more than insignificant insects.

In the face of a power capable of piercing a planet in a single blow—no, even several planets aligned in a row—everything would inevitably be reduced to dust.

Power revealed, laws defined—this was the essence of "the strongest."

—Godly Smite.

A blazing sun... descended.

Gazing upon the scene before her, a storm so catastrophic it threatened the world itself, Think Nirvalen fell into doubt.

Had everything she prepared for this war... truly been meaningful?

In that instant, all races—including every fleet of the Dwarves—completed a full exchange of information.

Using every observational method at their disposal, they arrived at the same conclusion.

—Calculation impossible.

Even the two creator gods watching over the battlefield—the Forest God Kainath and the Forge God Ocain—were rendered silent.

They were wrong... everyone was wrong.

In the face of the God of War, they were all nothing but ants.

Think Nirvalen's six-sided pupils reflected the radiance of the sun, and she could no longer afford to wait. Braving the scorching heat that threatened to melt the fleet, she moved. Amid the shocked expressions of her spellcasters, the Eighth-Tier Magician who had vanished for over twenty years reappeared.

—Void Zero Protection.

Fully deployed! Target: Avant Heim!

Immediately, Think Nirvalen's proclamation was confirmed by Nina, who repeated her words with certainty. Rallying, the Elven spellcasters fully unleashed their arsenal—18 beams, each containing 186 layers of divine glyphs, all directed at the enemy.

Void Zero Protection was at full power.

Simultaneously, the Dwarves' advanced warships launched twelve torpedo-like projectiles, cutting graceful arcs through the air as they roared toward Avant Heim.

Eight Dragonias, bound by their contracts, sacrificed their lives to unleash eight strikes of Far Cry.

The Fairy species warped reality with their Fallen Garden, and the Phantasma species released their destructive Dissolution Horizon.

A deluge of power sufficient to scour the entire planet surged forward, an unstoppable tide hurtling toward the falling sun.

Terrifying storms raged across the fleets, the skies cracked and turned crimson, oceans dried up, and death blanketed the land.

Not even corpses remained; everything was annihilated by the vortex before them.

The spectacle was so dazzlingly destructive that it left one in despair. The collision of forces formed a fiery cataclysm that compressed, expanded, and erupted.

Think Nirvalen clutched Nina tightly, fully activating Eternal Fourth Protection.

Unlike other spiritual disruption spells, Eternal Fourth Protection was the pinnacle of sealing magic, capable of locking anything into another dimension.

She bowed her head and kissed Nina gently on the forehead.

"Hey, Nina, will you marry me?"

"Struggle, resist, and then despair," Artosh's voice thundered, oppressive and unmatched.

"Understand your place, you conniving specks of dust—"

"You will come to see that no matter how many insects gather on the ground, they can never compare to the heavens."

"Hmm!?"

A startled sound escaped him.

The once luminous Avant Heim, glowing like the light of the moon, was now shrouded in dark, oppressive lines.

It hung in the sky like a black and red sun, its domain enveloping everything.

Clack.

Clack.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed from beyond the throne room.

The Flügel never walked when they could fly or teleport, and even when they did walk, they were either barefoot or wore soft shoes that made no noise.

Yet in the blink of an eye, the world had utterly changed.

It felt as though all vitality had been drained, a suffocating weakness sweeping over everything, as if something essential had been stolen.

Even the Phantasma species' colossal beast beneath their feet let out a mournful wail.

A girl appeared, striding leisurely from outside the throne room. Her form was clad in revealing spirit armor, accentuating every curve.

The thick-soled black boots she wore clicked against the white marble-like floor, each step ringing out like a death knell upon the hearts of the Flügel present.

—Godly Smite was a strike that combined the full power of the Flügel's Heavenly Smite with Artosh's divine might. After its release, all the Flügel would be left powerless.

And this interval was the perfect moment to challenge the God of War.

If Artosh's God Marrow could be extracted, he would be unable to manifest for a century—or longer.

Afterward, by guiding all the gathered power to pierce through the Spirit Corridor and the planet beneath it, the Star Grail would descend.

Once the Star Grail was claimed, everything... would end.

Their enemies were the Flügel, the Phantasma species, the strongest of the gods.

Holding her two flintlock pistols—one long, one short—in hand, cold orange flames ignited fully. Kurumi smiled.

"Now then... let's begin our game."

"You bastard! Don't underestimate us!" cried Azril, now in her loli form, gripping a radiant blade as she stood on the path leading to the throne room.

Behind her, other Flügel in their weakened childlike states gathered, their stances defensive and prepared.

After unleashing Godly Smite, nearly all the Flügel had lost their strength; some could barely move.

Yet even so, they mustered what little power they had left, raising their blades to block Kurumi's advance.

Avant Heim groaned in anguish, pouring all its remaining energy into Azril. The torrent of spirit energy, visible to the naked eye, warped the very air.

It felt as though the entire world had shifted. Azril slowly raised her head, standing in Kurumi's path. Her heterochromatic eyes—one gold, one blue—blazed with determination.

"You're not getting past me!" Azril screamed, unleashing a barrage of spirit-constructed projectiles at Kurumi with overwhelming violence.

Afterward, she reached out toward the space before her. "Don't think the Flügel are all brute force and Heavenly Smites! Watch this!"

In an instant, the space ahead erupted violently.

The forcibly opened spatial rift twisted and compressed, attempting to obliterate everything in its radius.

Space warped and distorted, reshaping everything within its bounds.

"Goodness... shouldn't it be me saying that?" a teasing voice came from the front.

"What!?" Azril froze, stunned.

Emerging unscathed from the distortion, Kurumi raised her head with a laugh, her arms crossed before her.

Her dual pigtails, one long and one short, fluttered in the wind. Her inorganic, golden clock-eye gleamed beside her other crimson eye, which radiated a blood-red glow as vivid as a rose.

"Revenge—"

"—Counterattack!"

She pulled the trigger.

Azril tried to evade but found herself held tightly from behind by soft, slender arms.

Another Kurumi had embraced her, leaning close to whisper in her ear.

"Didn't you hear me? I said... 'we.'"

Bang.

The intricate halo shattered completely, leaving Azril gasping and disoriented.

"Fufufu..."

"Fufufufufu..."

Countless Kurumis, clad in black and red spirit armor, danced lightly around, swiftly rounding up the Flügel lolis.

Layer upon layer of eerie, dreamlike laughter filled Azril's ears, drowning her in despair.

"My lord... my lord..."

Her pale face reflected her helplessness.

As the weapon of the God of War, she had failed to stop this monster.

Indeed, those identical, ghostly girls appeared monstrous to her.

Struggling like a child throwing a tantrum, Azril desperately stretched her hand toward the throne room's doors.

"My lord is invincible..."

She whispered to console herself, though a growing unease gripped her heart.

Then... a sharp hand chop struck the back of her neck.

"The last one... captured."

Kurumi gently pushed open the doors to the throne room and stepped inside.

She entered alone, leaving her clones behind.

Her steps echoed as she moved forward.

A towering black-and-red shadow appeared behind her, resembling an eclipse. With a low mechanical hum, a golden clock materialized.

Kurumi raised her head to meet her unparalleled adversary, her twin pistols held firmly.

The being on the throne exuded overwhelming presence. Its health bar was so vast, it appeared as if it had no end—so immense it might surpass trillions.

As expected, the God of War rested his head on one hand, his expression one of intrigued amusement.

"Now... state your name," he said.

Artosh's voice alone caused the air to ripple, the space trembling as if on the verge of a quake.

"Kurumi Tokisaki." Kurumi spoke clearly, lifting her skirt in a polite curtsy, neither humble nor overbearing.

A tidal wave of power filled her vision, the final rays of light shining before her as the God of War lowered his hand from his cheek.

"I've been waiting for this, my challenger."

"A long, long time ago, someone told me they were certain I would taste defeat—be called the strongest, only to fall because of that strength."

"They said the day would come."

"They claimed dragons could see through the cracks of time, so that one... surely foresaw this moment."

"Yet they never told me who it would be before becoming nothing but bones."

"Don't you think dragons are strange creatures? They see death as fortune, witness the future, but say nothing."

"But... I am curious. The one who defeats me..."

"Will it be you?"

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