In the world centered around the artifact known as the Star Grail, there was once a confrontation between the "two strongest."
In the distant past, a towering peak rose from the earth. It was the highest mountain in the world, and at the same time, a throne of scorching heat.
Today, that mountain peak no longer exists, and the people of the world have no chance to gaze upon it or climb it.
But the tale of that awesome confrontation is still passed down through the ages.
The strongest of the God-Spirits—the "War God" Artosh.
The strongest of the Dragonia—the "End Dragon" Hartyley.
The two beings, symbolizing the strongest of the two most warlike races, decided to hold a thunderous, decisive battle upon the highest peak overlooking the world.
"I ask thee—what is the meaning of 'strongest'?"
The War God Artosh asked, standing at the apex of the scorching throne.
—He was the very concept of "war" made manifest.
He continuously honed his soul of strife between life and death, an embodiment of the cyclical principle of battle. He was, without a doubt, the strongest in the world.
The target of the peerless warrior's question was an equally powerful being.
"That is something thee can never comprehend."
The "End Dragon" Hartyley replied lazily.
—A kingly dragon whose form blotted out the sun.
It was born from the remains of a god, the most ancient of the Dragonia.
The proud Dragon King, whose body and soul were indestructible, looked down upon the world from the searing highest point.
Nothing could harm it—not even a god. It, too, was undoubtedly the strongest in the world.
God and Dragon, strongest versus strongest. Their showdown began with a simple question and answer.
"Why dost thou say that?"
"Because thee are the strongest."
The War God asked again, and the Dragon King answered immediately.
"Then what, precisely, is the 'strongest'?"
"I cannot answer, for I, too, am the strongest."
"Thou art the strongest, yet cannot comprehend what the strongest is?"
"Precisely. For it is usually the weak who can understand and define the strongest."
"Then how do we prove ourselves the strongest?"
"It is impossible. Just as a theorem cannot prove itself, a full cup cannot be filled further. Infinite victory appears as the natural state of things. With no one to defeat, no answer can be found. This question will ultimately fall into an infinite loop."
The two powerhouses fell silent. The quiet lasted for a moment, or perhaps an eternity.
In the confrontation between two beings beyond comprehension, even time itself lost its meaning.
"Then who can prove the strongest!"
The War God's roar shook the heavens. The Dragon King answered with its full attention.
"The weak can prove it. Only those who dare to challenge the strongest can prove the strongest. When thee are defeated, then thee shall know the strongest."
The Dragon King's answer was rather disappointing to the War God, and he shook his head in displeasure.
"Indeed. Without knowing weakness, one cannot know strength. Just as without knowing light, one cannot understand darkness."
Artosh stared at the dragon before him and spoke faintly.
"Strongest of dragons!"
A shimmering golden spear had appeared in Artosh's hand at some unknown point, and he aimed it at the Dragon King.
"I need only be defeated by thy hand to know my own strength?"
"Nay. Because thee will never be defeated by me."
Hearing this, the War God was deeply disappointed.
"Pitiable War God. Thee are revered and feared by all, and thus thy strength is but an empty strength. Thee can only continue to display thy strength as always. Thee will never comprehend what it means to be the strongest—but thee need not despair."
The Dragon King Hartyley knew full well that the spear in the War God's hand could burn even time to ashes, that its own indestructible scales, flesh, and bone would all be melted away.
And yet, the proud Dragon King known as the "End Dragon" spoke these gentle words before its end.
"I have long known this day would come. A long, long time ago, it was fated that I would be defeated by thy hand."
"Therefore, when this day arrives, I declare that thee, too, will be defeated. Thee who are called the strongest will eventually be defeated by thine own strength. When that day comes, thee shall know what is strong, and what is weak."
Artosh's heart was filled with an unshakeable indignation and hatred. He roared.
"Foolish dreams! I will fight and never be defeated, standing eternally upon the highest throne."
"Indeed. And for that very reason, thee shall surely face defeat one day."
Thee are fortunate—a faint voice sounded. Hartyley slowly spread its wings, as if to cover the entire continent from the peak of this highest, scorching mountain.
"What a meaningless exchange, dragon who has forsaken strength!"
"It is a meaningful exchange, War God who will one day know what is strongest!"
...
Will I one day know... what is strongest?
The words of the End Dragon from his dream still echoed in the ears of the ruler of the Flügel, who sat enthroned upon a seat of black iron.
The strongest god, the War God—Artosh, the God-Spirit creator of the Flügel, opened his golden eyes and observed the world.
It was a world riddled with scars, where traces of life were difficult to find.
The gods, with the one and only Seat of God as their prize, led their respective races in an endless war of conquest.
All living things in the world were trapped in an infinite cycle of killing and being killed, hating and being hated.
Red ash blotted out the sun, and emerald spirit-remains were scattered across the land. This was a war of a scale sufficient to destroy the planet.
This era of mutual slaughter continued tirelessly, without end.
No rivers of blood flowed on the earth, no cries of grief echoed in the sky. Only despair, lamentation, and resentment filled the world.
The world was like a corpse that continued to wander after death; even the most talented poet could not sing of this history.
In this world, legendary warriors died every moment, and new legends were born.
In a single instant, the War God witnessed the deaths of countless beings, yet he turned a deaf ear to their wails, merely sighing.
How many years had it been since he had nailed his only friend, and only enemy—the End Dragon Hartyley—to the highest mountain?
Fifteen thousand years, perhaps.
It was a pity that even after so many years, no being had been born that could grant him his wish.
The god, who had not held the steel spear that had once melted the highest dragon for a very long time, stood up, a hint of weariness in his eyes.
How truly dull.
In this world, did a being that could truly fight him even exist?
As the great war unfolded in its pathological way, the War God, whose power continued to climb ceaselessly, had a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Perhaps, a being that could match him simply did not exist.
How I wish an enemy would descend from the heavens.
The man who was himself the supreme god of this world prayed.
And then—
A miracle occurred.
He felt it. An immense power that did not belong to this world flashed across its surface.
In just an instant, that being concealed its aura, and even the War God could no longer find it.
But one thing was certain: that being was strong.
"An enemy... has finally come."
Amidst the kowtows of countless Flügel, their master, who had been weary for fifteen thousand years, began to laugh softly.
"Our great master, what are you saying, meow?"
The number one individual of the Flügel—Azrael, who could not understand her master at all, looked at him as he seemed to have regained his spirits and voiced the confusion of all Flügel.
"My enemy has arrived."
The War God stroked his steel-tough black beard, looking down upon his beloved wings, and issued the supreme command.
"My wings, I command you: find him!"