"Guinevere, are you planning to exchange this information for this divine artifact?"
Erica even let out a soft scoff. "I don't know where your confidence comes from, but I could easily take the artifact back after obtaining this information."
"Indeed, Your Majesty has made no promise, so even if you were to reclaim the artifact now, it would not tarnish your golden word," Guinevere replied with an elegant smile. "But as a Demon King who slays gods, do you truly care about the ownership of such a divine artifact?"
"...Go on."
"As a Divine Ancestor, part of a god's blood flows within me. Therefore, I understand very clearly that between gods and Godslayers, there exists a pathological craving. By nature, these two are destined to fight and kill one another. From the moment the names Heretic God and Godslayer were defined by Names, this fate became inescapable."
As she spoke, Guinevere placed a hand over her chest. "Although I have undergone reincarnation and lost the memories that once belonged to a god, even so, I still harbor a heartfelt longing to battle a Godslayer. And I believe that on the Godslayer's side, there is the same intense yearning for the descent of a god."
She was not lying. Setting aside certain Godslayers whom those present had never encountered, even among the few they had met—Marquis Voban, the King of Swords, and Luo Hao—none of them could be described as anything less than battle fanatics.
There was no need to elaborate on Marquis Voban. In order to forcibly cause a Heretic God to descend, that most ancient Campione had spent years collecting shrine maidens and witches from across the globe. He had also expended enormous manpower and military force searching for the proper place and timing, throwing nearly half the world's esoteric circles into chaos and unrest because of his scheme.
As for Salvatore, although he was not as conspicuous as that senior, he was someone who, for the sake of the Gorgon Stone and the Athena it would draw forth, had crossed the ocean from Europe to Japan without hesitation.
And Luo Hao's obsession with the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun Wukong, had endured for a full century...
When a Demon King and a god so much as draw near to one another, the spark of battle ignites. That was simply how it worked, for no discernible reason.
At that moment, Satsuki suddenly spoke. "So you want us to give you the divine artifact, and use it to fully awaken the guardian deity within you?"
"Exactly."
"Who is he? If he's merely a second-rate nobody, then you won't be leaving today." Satsuki's words were as direct and cutting as ever.
"I do not doubt your ability."
After all, one of her colleagues had once been defeated in an instant by the woman before her. In terms of raw strength, Angela was roughly her equal. If Satsuki could eliminate Angela in a single moment, then dealing with her would require no effort at all. Moreover, a Godslayer stood beside her—an existence she likewise could not oppose.
A wise person knows when to yield. Guinevere's eyes unfocused, and in the next moment, upon the surface of the nearby lake, the image of a knight clad in white armor was reflected.
Including Satsuki, everyone present fixed their gaze upon the white knight's figure within the lake.
He existed in a vague state between presence and absence in this world, like a phantom reflected in a mirror.
Yet along with that figure, the surrounding sky was instantly filled with a strange atmosphere: calm and frenzy, heat and cold, loyalty and betrayal...
Several mutually contradictory elements churned through the air. Chaotic curse power intertwined with the majestic divine power of a god of Steel.
All the ordinary people present fell unconscious in an instant, then vanished from this space.
Those who could not endure divine might had no right to behold a god.
Those remaining—who could still maintain consciousness—were only Sayanomiya Kaoru, Ena, Erica, and Satsuki.
In truth, with Amakasu's ability, he should have been capable of enduring this divine pressure.
However, "confronting a god" was clearly beyond his pay grade, so he voluntarily gave up resistance and was expelled from the barrier of his own accord.
"Everyone... this is my guardian deity, and also my uncle. In life, he served King Arthur as one of the Twelve Knights of the Round Table. He was known as the 'Knight of the Lake,' a great knight—and a source of Steel second only to that Last King—Lancelot."
As she introduced him, Divine Ancestor Guinevere's face filled with pride. "Does such an existence qualify as your opponent?"
"A source of Steel, hm?"
Satsuki's Tenseigan observed the phantom before her. Although the interference of the Divine Arena intruded as usual, the distinctly Steel-like divine power still allowed her to roughly gauge the god's strength.
"Though he is not in a complete state at present, he does seem like an opponent worth anticipating."
After recording the characteristics of his divine power, Satsuki voiced her evaluation.
As for Erica, the Campione, a different and more complicated emotion filled her eyes.
In many European novels and literary works, Lancelot was depicted as a great and trusted knight. At the mention of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, modern people immediately thought of Lancelot. He was the strongest among his brothers and the purest in character.
The mere mention of his name conjured the image of a perfect knight—illustrious in battle and adorned with every virtue: gentle and refined, humble and courteous, honoring glory, brave in sacrifice, generous and devout, fearless before the strong, compassionate toward the weak...
It was as though these qualities had been created solely for him, to the point that all later knights took him as their model and idol.
And among those "later knights" was Erica herself.
To her, Lancelot had always been the goal upon the path of knighthood.
And now, the opportunity to surpass that goal had arrived...
Thus, matters seemed to conclude peacefully.
Yet while things appeared to settle in this manner, at the same time, in another place called Taipei, a distinguished guest was being welcomed.
Taipei—needless to say, it was a central metropolis located in Taiwan Province.
A young man with short black hair, dressed in a neat and impeccably tailored designer suit, was strolling through a roadside night market.
Known as the Noble Prince of Divine Speed, he was a Campione well-versed in myths and legends from around the world, and also one of the few young Demon Kings in existence.
His true name was Alexander Gascoigne, a Godslayer.
A calm glint flashed through his eyes as he seated himself casually at a long table set outside a stall and ordered a few dishes at random.
His love and familiarity with Chinese cuisine made him particularly fond of such roadside establishments. After all, shops that could survive in such an environment might not be high-class, but their value for money was always excellent.
Moreover, whether in appearance or taste, the snacks here were vastly superior to Britain's infamously baffling Stargazy Pie.
Sometimes, without comparison there is no harm. Before he had tasted Chinese cuisine, the Black Prince—long tormented by his homeland's cooking—had genuinely believed that eating was the most unavoidable form of torture in the world.
As plates were set before him one after another—steamed dumplings, boiled dumplings, rice dumplings, seasoned sausages, oyster omelets—the Black Prince's appetite was thoroughly stirred. Just as he was about to begin, the person he had arranged to meet finally arrived.
"...It's been a while, Alec."
"Indeed. It's been about a year since we last met."
Most people in Taipei spoke Minnan, and the newcomer was no exception, so Alec replied in Minnan as well.
She was a girl who looked to be in her teens, wearing glasses.
Her name was Cecilia Chen. Dressed in a white blouse paired with a plain sweater and skirt, she appeared entirely unremarkable.
To get to the point, this girl was someone the Black Prince had met during his travels in the Far East. In return for certain favors Alec had once done for her, she had joined the Royal Factory.
"You should show your face in St Ives once in a while... actually, have you ever visited headquarters? If I remember correctly, you haven't gone even once."
St Ives was the base of operations for the Royal Factory under Alec's command.
Located in Cornwall at the southwestern tip of Britain, it was a small coastal town at the edge of the sea.
"Your memory is correct. To be precise, I have never met any of the others besides you."
Cecilia spoke in a flat, emotionless tone.
It was rare for a teenage girl to show so little emotion in her voice. That either meant she had matured far too early—or that something within her had been stunted. And such conditions were often born of tragedy.
"...In that case, why would someone as reclusive and reluctant to travel as you come so readily to meet me?"
"Because I wanted to see you," the girl answered calmly.
"Pfft—" Alec nearly sprayed out the green beer he had just swallowed. "Cough... that's not funny."
Cecilia glanced at him, then fell back into silence.
She was essentially a quiet, expressionless girl. Yet now, a faint trace of resentment could be discerned. Alec, however, seemed entirely unconcerned. He had more important matters to address.
After a long silence, Cecilia finally spoke again, her tone edged with displeasure.
"It was you who ordered that the moment the 'Fishing Island Needle' was discovered, it had to be reported, correct? You came here for that reason as well, didn't you?"
"Now that you mention it, I suppose I did issue such an order. If that's how you wish to see it, I won't object."
"Because there was no other reason. And yet... now that you've learned the news, how can you still sit here leisurely eating a midnight snack?" The dissatisfaction on her face became more obvious.
Alec calmly opened another bottle of beer and replied lightly, "Because even if I went personally, the outcome wouldn't change."
"So you'll simply allow that divine artifact to fall into the enemy's hands?" Cecilia's accusation grated on the Black Prince's ears.
"If I said I never expected things to develop this way, would you believe me?"
As an adversary who had crossed wits with Divine Ancestor Guinevere for many years, the Black Prince could almost calculate every possible move she might take and the likely aftermath. Thus, he had been closely monitoring the movements within the Netherworld.
Although the divine power fluctuations that had recently come from the place called Avalon were extremely faint, his senses as a Godslayer immediately told him that this was the prelude to her actions.
Therefore—he had notified the regional heads across various areas to monitor objects that might become her targets.
In East Asia, that object was the divine artifact known as the Fishing Island Needle, and the person in charge there was the girl before him.
Indeed, his calculations had been accurate. She had made her move upon the very target he had anticipated.
But he had miscalculated the result—he had not expected Japan's Godslayer to hand over that divine artifact to Guinevere so readily.
He had predicted the beginning, but not the ending.
Still, now that matters had reached this point, complaint and regret would solve nothing. It was better to devote himself wholeheartedly to the delicacies before him.
Someone once said that fine food was the best medicine for the soul.
The Black Prince was a perfect embodiment of that sentiment.
Eating and drinking at his leisure, it did not take long before he steered the conversation toward the mythological origins of the Fishing Island Needle.
"In certain mythologies, the world began as an endless ocean with no land in sight. At that time, the primordial creator god lowered a fishing line and drew land up from the sea, forming islands. That was the birth of the earth—the story of nation creation."
"Around 4000 to 3000 BCE, maritime peoples traveled south across the Pacific in simple yet highly functional boats and settled in various regions. As a result, oceanic creation myths spread throughout Southeast Asia and eventually reached Japan as well."
"—In Shinto, the land said to have been created by Izanagi and Izanami."
"Exactly. On the primordial sea, where land existed only as scattered fragments, Izanagi and Izanami thrust the Ama no Sakahoko into the waters and stirred, causing solid land to form and giving birth to the Japanese archipelago. Using a fishing hook versus stirring with a spear may seem different at first glance..."
"—But that is not a significant issue."
Cecilia's brief response earned a nod from Alec.
In ancient Japan, hoko were sometimes used as fishing implements—records of such practices remained. At their core, the stories were the same.
"This divine artifact shares the same name as that spear. It should indeed be regarded as a tool of nation creation."
"Do you intend to investigate this artifact further?"
"There is no longer any need. What I cannot understand now is why the people of Japan would agree to relinquish such a nation-creating divine artifact."
Hearing Alec's murmur, Cecilia replied coolly,
"If it was the decision of a Campione, what right would those with mortal bodies have to resist?"
"That's not quite how it works. And Japan is not as fragile as it appears on the surface."
"...Really?"
Cecilia remained skeptical.
"From the intelligence I have gathered, Marquis Voban fell there. And when I traveled to the Middle East previously, I received word that the King of Swords once crossed blades there as well. Although neither side fought with full force, Doni ultimately conceded defeat. More recently, that violent woman from the East personally went to Japan and returned with internal injuries..."
"If that's the case, this Japanese Campione must be frighteningly powerful... and yet she only recently became a Godslayer."
Alec answered unhurriedly, "Which is precisely why brute force would not allow Guinevere to obtain that divine artifact. The two sides must have reached some form of agreement. And I believe that agreement itself is far more important than the artifact."
At that, Cecilia fixed her gaze upon Alec's face.
"Alec, in terms of intellect, you are indeed formidable. Compared to other Godslayers, you unquestionably surpass them. But your actions are overly cautious."
"Do not lump me together with them. I have no fondness for throwing gloves at people."
As he spoke, the Black Prince ordered another plate of oyster omelets.
Perhaps, for him, being able to distance himself from that wasteland of cuisine was what truly mattered most.