— — — — — —
"Ahhh—my lord! My glorious lord!"
Guinevere leapt off the white horse and rushed forward, her every step trembling with reverence. When she reached the Divine Sword of Salvation, she fell to her knees and extended both hands, gently caressing the blade's weathered surface.
"It took so long… far too long for me to stand before you again. The fault lies with me, Guinevere."
Her fingertips brushed across the cold metal. She turned to glance at Lancelot, who stood quietly behind her.
The Valkyrie opened her mouth, then sighed softly, seeming to understand what Guinevere intended. She gave her a small, encouraging nod.
Seeing that, Guinevere smiled—a beautiful, almost heartbreaking smile.
She stood up straight and pulled out a cup cast entirely from gold.
It was the Holy Grail—a relic born from the dying breath of her past self, the White Goddess, Gwenhwyfar.
Holding the cup reverently, Guinevere tilted it forward. The shimmering liquid within trickled down onto the sword's dull blade. Her voice trembled with apology as she whispered:
"I'm sorry… the earth's life energy I've gathered is still insufficient."
"The land below is plagued by the greed of the Campiones."
"I did my best to collect the divine energy, but most of it was taken by one of those Campiones—the so-called Black Prince, a Godslayer. This is all that remains, just enough to nourish you."
"To make up for my failures… please accept this offering."
As she spoke, Guinevere's legs pressed tightly together, their shape shifting. Her fair skin rippled and hardened, turning into a long serpentine tail covered in glimmering golden scales.
She had become a Snake/Dragon Heretic God, a form only attainable by sacrificing eternal life itself.
And the life of such a God was the finest nourishment for the Divine Sword of Salvation—one of the keys required to awaken its true power.
The Wind King, witnessing this transformation, gave a muffled growl and stepped forward, clearly intending to stop her.
But Lancelot blocked him, shaking her head with quiet sorrow.
The Wind King hesitated, then stepped back, fists clenched but silent.
Guinevere, her complexion pale as paper, gripped the sword's hilt with trembling hands. As she struggled to pull it free, she began to chant in a voice filled with both faith and desperation:
"We beseech the rebirth of the sword—Let it cut through the darkness of the end, and slay every Campione who defies the gods!"
"O blade above all blades, sword of divine glory—"
"You are the light of salvation, the destroyer of Rakshasas. Born to purge this world of evil!"
As her incantation rang through the void, Guinevere's body grew translucent, fading like mist.
Meanwhile, the rust coating the sword began to crumble away, revealing a radiant blade of platinum-white metal.
Seeing this, Guinevere raised her voice one final time:
"O Holy King of the End—show yourself before us!"
A hazy silhouette appeared beside the sword.
It was a man with white hair and handsome features—a veteran warrior whose sharp gaze was tempered by weariness. He wore a blue coat and trousers beneath a white cloak, his expression carrying both dignity and exhaustion.
Looking at the fading Guinevere, he gave a wry smile.
"…You shouldn't have gone this far."
"My King!"
Guinevere's face brightened with joy, but even as her body continued to dissolve, she spoke solemnly through the tears.
"Please… be careful. A terrifying Campione has been born into this world. You must take caution…"
Her warning faded as her form scattered into glimmering white dust, dispersing into the cosmic wind.
Lancelot watched in silence for a moment, sorrow in her eyes, before pulling down her hood.
"My friend," Lancelot said quietly, "do you still recognize this face?"
Rama looked at her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "Ah… it's you. I never thought we'd meet again."
"Nor I," Lancelot said with a fierce grin. "To think I'd once more stand beside the ally who fought Rakshasa and defied the Mother Earth. Seems fate isn't done with us yet."
Her expression shifted to that of a warrior eager for battle.
"Looks like we'll be fighting side by side again, on the battlefield."
Rama let out a helpless chuckle. "You're still the same—your heart lives for combat."
Then he turned toward the masked god. "Hanuman. You've done well."
It was a simple, heartfelt thanks to his loyal servant, who had sought his revival for a thousand years—even if this resurrection was not one Rama desired.
Hanuman knelt on one knee, bowing his head in reverence.
Rama then looked back to Lancelot. "What Guinevere said about a fearsome Campione… it caught my attention."
Lancelot frowned. "You mean Ryo Yagami, right?"
"For some reason, even though that Campione was born less than half a month ago, I can sense a danger from him that I can't even describe."
"Ryo… Yagami." Rama repeated the name softly, brows furrowing.
"The gods are warning me… pleading with me, even. It seems this Campione has committed an unforgivable sin against Myth."
Before he could finish, his expression suddenly changed. He looked down, alarmed, at the planet below.
"What is it?" Lancelot asked, confused by his sudden tension.
Rama's face paled. Cold sweat ran down his temple as he shouted, "Watch out—something's coming!"
And then it appeared.
From the planet's surface, countless streams of golden light converged, merging into a colossal pillar that shot straight into the heavens—directly toward their floating island.
"An attack… from the surface? Impossible!"
The island was engulfed in blinding light.
At that critical moment, Rama unsheathed the Divine Sword of Salvation.
Behind him, an enormous magic array unfolded—a perfect square, ten meters on each side, carved with radiant golden lines.
Within each grid of the array hovered a divine weapon, bestowed upon Rama by the gods themselves for slaying Campiones.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of sacred weapons appeared at once, forming a vast golden mandala behind him.
With a thunderous roar, Rama swung the Divine Sword forward.
"Go!"
The divine weapons shot out like golden lightning, colliding head-on with the incoming beam.
The resulting explosions were deafening. Golden fire burst across the void, and the sound of continuous detonations drowned out everything else.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The light and heat rivaled the brilliance of the sun.
In the midst of this violent clash, Rama gritted his teeth and appeared beside Hanuman and Lancelot. Grabbing both of them by the arm, he darted toward a corner untouched by the blast.
He was trying to descend—to crash-land on Earth.
Moments later, the radiant light swallowed the divine array entirely, pressing the sword down from orbit.
The floating island disintegrated under the force, while Rama and his companions fell like shooting stars toward the planet below.
On a small island a few dozen kilometers off Tokyo Bay, Athena turned to the man standing beside her, who had just lowered his hand.
"It's over?" she asked.
"No," Ryo said, shaking his head. "That was just a greeting. I never expected something like that to finish him off."
"A greeting?" Athena raised a brow, curious. "Then what was the point?"
Ryo smiled faintly, his eyes following the fiery streaks falling from the sky.
"Nothing much. I just didn't expect him to take that long to realize what was happening, even after I made it so obvious."
"So his battle instincts really are dulling?" Athena frowned slightly. "Don't get careless. He's still the 'Strongest Steel,' after all."
"Strongest?" Ryo's lips curved upward.
He didn't move again, simply stood there with his head tilted back, waiting in silence for the falling stars to reach the earth.
High above, Rama suddenly looked down.
And in that instant, god and man locked eyes.
Ryo felt that after this battle, his mission and preparations in this world would finally be complete. Then he could return to Little Garden.
He couldn't help but wonder what kind of rewards he'd get later.
.
.
.