Major General Farage stood frozen, staring at the sky in disbelief.
One of the Empire's airships—a flying fortress, layered in overlapping barriers and maintained by elite magicians—had just been shot down by a single blow.
Not damaged.
Not crippled.
Destroyed.
"…Impossible," Farage muttered.
According to reports from the Imperial Intelligence Bureau, the enemy unit consisted of a rare monster species known as dragonewts. They were said to possess combat power comparable to humanoid dragons—but even so, they should have remained within acceptable threat parameters.
What Farage was witnessing now exceeded those parameters by an absurd margin.
"Is that thing really a monster?" he snarled. "Was the intelligence they sent me completely worthless?!"
For a fleeting moment, suspicion crossed his mind—perhaps this was a deliberate purge of mages like himself.
But no.
That didn't align.
"…They changed forms right in front of me," Farage realized. "That must be the metamorphosis described in my teacher's writings."
Among monster races, there existed beings capable of freely shifting between a civilian form and a battle form.
Dragonewts—evolved from lizardmen—were supposed to be B-rank threats at best. Winged, capable of elemental breath, dangerous in groups but never decisive on a battlefield of this scale.
That was the theory.
Reality was different.
"What's going on?" Farage demanded.
His lieutenant swallowed nervously.
"According to the energy readings… the enemy transformed. During that process, their output skyrocketed. Several times beyond standard A- rank."
"…Several times?" Farage snapped. "And you're telling me they're immune to magic as well?!"
That wasn't entirely accurate.
Gabil and his unit did not possess Magic Nullification.
The truth was worse.
The Empire's magic simply wasn't strong enough to breach the Multilayer Barriers protecting them.
"…I hate to say it," the lieutenant continued, "but our magical attacks are ineffective. Meanwhile, the enemy is systematically destroying our airships."
Farage clenched his teeth.
I can see that myself.
They numbered only around a hundred dragonewts.
Normally, that would not inspire fear.
And yet—
A veteran commander's intuition screamed danger.
"…So they're as strong as greater majins," Farage muttered. "No—this exceeds that. Hazard-class at minimum. Possibly even Calamity-class."
"Yes, sir. That matches the analysis team's conclusion."
"How troublesome," Farage growled. "Even A-rank monsters are manageable if magic works. Then what about the leader?"
The lieutenant hesitated.
"Speak," Farage barked.
"Yes! According to measurements—the leader's energy output is ten times higher than the others."
"…Ten times?"
Farage fell silent.
That level of magical energy rivaled a Demon Lord.
Even his former teacher, the endlessly reincarnating Gadra, could not reach such levels.
"The intelligence bureau has no record of this individual," the lieutenant added. "Which suggests he did not participate in the monster nation's tournament."
"Rumors indicate he was hosting a scientific conference on medicinal herbs," the lieutenant continued. "It was likely a cover to conceal a Disaster-class asset."
Farage's eyes narrowed.
So that's it…
The transformation.
A deliberate suppression of power.
They allowed the Empire to underestimate them—then revealed their true strength only after confirming that airships relied primarily on magic.
We've been played.
Still, Farage forced calm into his voice.
"Everyone, steady yourselves. The opponent is a monster. That alone means victory is possible. Activate the magic canceler. Neutralize their movements."
The airship was designed to counter Veldora himself.
With the magic canceler fully engaged, even a True Dragon would be forced to its knees.
At present, the canceler was still operating—its range extended even to the ground. This was meant to be a test run, yet its effects were already visible.
By disrupting magicules—the very foundation of monster existence—it could slow them.
A focused beam could immobilize them entirely.
"Activate immediately!"
As the lieutenants rushed to comply, Farage surveyed the battlefield again.
The enemy dragons were operating in teams of five.
Out of twenty airships engaged, fewer than ten had fallen.
Damage is still acceptable.
"Major General," a lieutenant warned, "if we proceed, our own airships will be caught in the effect."
"So?" Farage replied coldly.
"…Nothing, sir."
"Then do it."
"Yes, sir!"
An airship relied on magic to fly.
When subjected to the magic canceler—
Gravity would take over.
Crew survival was impossible.
Farage knew this.
He ordered it anyway.
"Deploy the magic canceler!"
The remaining ships repositioned, encircling Gabil's formation. Beams of magic-canceling radiation fired in succession.
Dragonewts fell.
Airships fell.
Explosions tore across the battlefield.
This sacrifice is necessary, Farage told himself.
When the smoke cleared—
"We did it," one lieutenant said shakily. "Only the leader remains."
"Even if he resists magic effects," another added, "he can't withstand the heat and shockwaves."
"The price was high," a third said, "but hundreds of greater-majin-level threats were eliminated."
Relief spread.
"Do not relax," Farage snapped. "A victory bought with our own blood is nothing to celebrate. And this is not over."
The leader was still airborne.
Still resisting.
More than twenty airships had been lost.
Failure was unacceptable.
"If only we were facing Gobta of the Four Heavenly Kings," someone muttered. "He can't fly."
"If Gaster's tank unit were free to support us—"
"But the magic canceler is immobilizing him," another argued. "If we keep irradiating him, he'll collapse eventually."
"No," the analyst replied. "His energy depletion rate is negligible."
A chill ran down Farage's spine.
Seventeen airships focusing on him… and that's all it does?
That meant the weakening effect barely applied.
This being was abnormal.
Stronger than Gobta.
Stronger than any Heavenly King.
Then—
A realization struck him.
"…That monster," Farage whispered, "is Veldora."
The idea snapped into place.
Everything made sense.
"That's it," Farage said louder now. "He's weakened after being unsealed. That explains the form, the name, everything."
The lieutenants reacted in mixed ways.
"So that's why…"
"Weakened? This is weakened?"
"Even his subordinates rival archdragons!"
Farage nodded grimly.
"That is the terror of Veldora. The Empire once fell to him. My teacher Gadra told me so. Even sealed for centuries, he remains pride incarnate."
The lieutenants accepted it.
"Then losing airships is understandable."
"We're lucky we reacted quickly."
Farage's flawed conclusion spread.
Logic bent to fit fear.
"That dragonewt leader—'Gabil'—must be an alias," Farage declared. "A false name to hide while he recovered."
No one dared argue.
Morale stabilized.
Veldora is trapped, Farage reassured himself. The magic canceler will drain him. In one hour, he will die.
"Status?"
"Output stable at eighty percent."
"Time to full power?"
"Less than an hour."
Farage smiled thinly.
"Then it's decided. Within that hour, Gaster will secure the ground. The Four Heavenly Kings will fall."
The lieutenants moved efficiently, adjusting plans, reviewing contingencies.
Hope returned.
"The goddess of victory smiles upon us," someone said.
Farage believed it.
Completely unaware—
That the being they had mistaken for a dragon god
was merely one general of Atem, King of Eterna.
An air of premature victory filled the bridge.
"Bring out the wine."
"Good idea. Fetch the four-hundred-year-old vintage from storage."
"To think we'll be avenging the Empire's humiliation today… By the time it settles, our victory will be complete."
"Understood."
"—May I have some too?"
The voices froze.
Before anyone realized it, a beautiful young girl with long bluish-purple hair tied into a side ponytail was sitting casually in the lieutenant's chair beside Major General Farage.
…When did she get here?
No—more importantly—
How did she get here?
She wore a military-style uniform far too formal for her apparent age, yet it only emphasized her unsettling cuteness.
Farage felt cold regret creep into his spine.
He had relaxed.
They all had.
Victory had seemed certain—and that arrogance had opened the door.
"Who are you?" Farage demanded.
There were supposed to be multiple layered barriers—inside and out. Not a single alarm had gone off.
The girl tilted her head.
"Huh? Is that not allowed?" she asked meekly. "Then tea is fine. I've been watching you for a long time and got thirsty."
The bridge crew finally noticed her.
Shock spread like a disease.
No alarms.
No disturbances.
No traces.
She sat there naturally, smiling.
"I asked who you are!" Farage barked, rising from his chair and drawing his gun.
The barrel pointed straight at her forehead.
She didn't flinch.
She laughed.
"You really want to know? My name is Ultima," she said brightly. "This precious name was bestowed upon me by Atem-sama."
—One of the Primordial Demons.
—The Violet.
—A being that predated nations.
Farage studied her carefully, trying to assess her power.
Stay calm. Draw information. Buy time.
"Ultima… I've never heard of you."
"That only means you're ignorant," she replied sweetly. "I came to interrogate you, but honestly, I didn't expect much."
"Interrogate us?" Farage scoffed.
"You'll be dead soon anyway," Ultima continued cheerfully. "So I want you to tell me everything you know before that happens."
A pressure settled over the bridge.
It was subtle—but unmistakable.
The same pressure Farage felt when standing before the Imperial Guardians.
Am I… afraid? he wondered bitterly.
No—that wasn't it.
The real problem was simple and terrifying:
She had infiltrated the flagship alone.
And that meant one thing.
She was here because of the "dragon" outside.
So this was Veldora's subordinate—his hidden trump card.
The Intelligence Bureau had no records of her. That alone made her dangerous.
Farage steadied himself.
Gadra had taught him well.
Such an aura could only belong to one type of being.
He raised his gun slightly.
"You're a demon," he said.
Ultima's eyes sparkled.
Oh? Very good. Correct."
An incarnated demon.
Named.
High-ranking.
Archdemon at least, Farage judged.
If she were a newly born demon, she'd be manageable. Even an ancient one could be sealed.
Seal her magic, and demons are nothing.
Farage subtly signaled his crew.
Activate the magic canceler—this ship only.
Spell guns would fail. Magic-enhanced weapons would shut down. Even their own mages would become useless.
That was fine.
That was the point.
Without magicules, demons were just flesh.
He continued speaking, keeping Ultima's attention.
"So even Atem has demons like you under him."
"Huh? Atem-sama's?"
"You don't need to pretend. You're here to rescue your master—Veldora."
Ultima blinked.
"…What?"
"I told you," she said slowly, "I'm here to interrogate you. Are you not listening?"
Farage frowned.
Was… something wrong?
"…What do you want to know?" he asked warily.
Ultima beamed.
"How this ship works. How many forces the Empire still has. Their strength. Their positions. Everything."
The bridge fell silent.
Farage smiled.
"Kukuku… You think I'd tell you that?"
"That's fine," Ultima replied. "Is the tea ready yet?"
Farage snapped.
"I'll give you something better than tea!"
He fired.
The magic canceler surged.
The airship's internal magic died instantly.
Farage's weapon wasn't a spell gun.
It was a Colt M1911—an antique firearm brought by an Otherworlder. Seven plus one rounds. Large caliber. Meticulously maintained.
He emptied the magazine.
Eight shots.
The smoke cleared.
Ultima opened her palm.
Eight bullets dropped to the floor.
"…What a fun toy," she said innocently. "But I
prefer Atem-sama's."
Farage felt his stomach sink.
That wasn't supposed to be possible without magic.
He drew his saber.
The Imperial Magic Saber functioned even under cancellation, fueled by internal circulation.
"I'll banish you," Farage growled.
Ultima yawned.
"You really think this is working?"
"Your magic is sealed!" Farage shouted. "This ends now!"
She tilted her head.
"…Huh?"
"Kukuku—are you scared?" he mocked. "This is over!"
The moment he lunged—
"I'll kill you last."
A voice whispered behind him.
His blade pierced empty air—only the chair.
Ultima stood behind him.
"I said you don't have to talk," she said gently. "I can read the answers myself."
A head flew past Farage.
Blood splattered the wall.
A lieutenant collapsed—headless.
Screams erupted.
Ultima moved.
Heads fell.
Bodies dropped.
The bridge became hell.
"MAX OUTPUT! FIRE ON THIS SHIP!" Farage screamed.
Ultima sighed.
"That magic canceler of yours… it disrupts magicules, right? Effective on monsters."
She vanished.
Another head burst.
"But incarnated demons like me?" she continued calmly. "We don't depend on magicules."
She flicked her wrist.
A body exploded.
"As long as we're conscious, magic answers us. Watch."
Farage's mind broke.
This defied everything he knew.
Desperate, he roared—
"Spirit Summoning! Ifrit!"
Fifty mages powered the summoning.
A colossal fire giant manifested, shattering the bridge.
Farage laughed.
"Spirits dominate demons! Die!"
Ultima smiled.
And Farage learned how terrifying a smile could be.
The next instant—
Ifrit froze.
Then shattered.
"Frozen Hell," Ultima whispered.
Silence.
Terror.
"Well then," Ultima said brightly, "let's continue the interrogation!"
Minutes later, she smiled in satisfaction.
She had everything.
Only Farage remained.
She turned to him.
"You called me a fool," she whispered. "So I'll give you despair."
A black flame formed in her palm.
Farage recognized it.
"Abyss Core…"
Far larger than any human could ever create.
Ultima tossed it casually.
"Bye bye~"
She vanished.
The flagship was consumed.
The Abyss Core expanded—
Becoming Nuclear Flame.
Farage watched, enraptured.
"…How beautiful…"
The black fire erased him—body and soul.
The Air Assault Division was annihilated.
Shockwaves.
Shrapnel.
Chain explosions.
The sky burned.
Thus ended the Empire's greatest trump card—
without ever laying eyes on Veldora.
And far away—
Atem, King of Eterna, continued to watch.
Unmoved.
Unconcerned.
Because the Empire had just learned the truth:
They had mistaken pawns for gods—
—and had paid for it with annihilation.