"ROOOAR—!!!"
A deafening roar exploded again.
It was Deliora—struck down in a single blow.
As Zeref's so-called "immortal calamity," the fatal wound carved open in its chest still hadn't taken its life.
"Szzzz…"
The skin-crawling sound of flesh writhing.
The lethal gash in its torso healed at a visible speed—fresh buds of meat twisting together, rapidly filling the gap.
The agony didn't make the demon retreat. It only lit its feral madness on fire.
It clawed its way up from the rubble, its huge, brutal eyes bloodshot red.
"BOOM!"
Deliora opened its mouth wide and, ignoring the strain on its own body, spewed another deep-red heat breath—powerful enough to shave a mountain peak flat.
But—
How could a straight-line, mindless blast like that ever touch a knight who danced through the air like a swallow, elegant and untouchable?
"Shk—!"
The black dragon wings barely twitched.
The knight's figure drew a faint afterimage in the air, slipping past the annihilating beam as if brushing by it.
Dodge. Close in. Slash. Pierce.
Smooth as flowing water—one seamless chain.
"Shk!"
In less than a heartbeat, Deliora—just barely back on its feet—didn't even have time to roar a second time before it tasted that near-death pain again.
The twin spears crossed—
And its head was instantly punched through. The massive body crashed down once more.
"…Hah."
Watching this fairy-like girl display such overwhelming force, Shane felt a surge of grim relief.
Not because he was glad she hadn't attacked him.
But because he was glad—truly glad—that out of caution, he hadn't unleashed the vision in Magnolia, or any other densely populated city.
With Lancer's utter indifference to life, plus this kind of terrifying destructive power…
He couldn't even imagine how big the disaster would've been.
And in the few seconds Shane spent thinking, the battlefield had already devolved into one-sided slaughter.
"Grr…"
"ROAR!"
Deliora roared, stood up, and was cut down.
Then stood up again—and was cut down again.
Faced with this ugly demon that kept proving its "immortality," the unknown Lancer showed remarkable patience.
No frustration. No emotional fluctuation.
If it gets up, kill it.
If it gets up again, kill it again.
Over the endless years of battle, she'd met too many enemies like this.
"Immortality" sounded troublesome, but the solution was oddly simple—
Repeat the killing until it can't revive anymore. Kill it until regeneration can't keep up with death.
All that changed was how many times you had to thrust the spear, depending on how strong the "immortality" was.
It sounded easy in theory.
But to anyone watching, this machine-like efficiency—this cold, merciless execution—was utterly shocking.
…
On the distant high ground, Ur's jaw hung open in stunned disbelief.
The Deliora that had once driven her to despair—forced her to brace herself for sacrifice—
Was now nothing but meat on a cutting board.
"H-how… is this possible…?"
Ur had fought Deliora with her own hands. She knew exactly what it was.
A wall of absolute hopelessness—something no magic or method could truly shake.
And yet now…
That wall was being dismantled and shattered at will by a girl so small she wasn't even as tall as Ur's daughter.
The contrast was so violent it felt like Ur's entire worldview was cracking apart.
Meanwhile, near the edge of the battlefield—
Shane was much calmer. Or rather, he hadn't forgotten why he was here.
Find clues to Lancer's true name.
He disliked both Deliora and Lancer.
Since no one was paying attention to him, he gladly took advantage. He found a flat rock, sat down like a front-row audience member, and watched the massacre with his chin in his hand.
"I'll admit it… this technique is art."
His eyes narrowed, golden light swirling in his pupils as he greedily parsed every single motion Lancer made.
They were all basic moves—thrusts, cuts, blocks. No fancy flourishes at all.
And yet in Lancer's hands, the transitions were flawless—no waste, not a single extra motion.
Paired with speed so fast the naked eye could hardly track it—
It created a kind of despairing pressure: you know exactly what she's doing, and you still can't resist it.
"So that's how it is…"
As Shane watched, he began reenacting the motions in his head.
"Compared to passively absorbing experience from a class card… watching the person fight up close is way more valuable."
He nodded, satisfied. In this short time alone, he'd already "stolen" plenty of force-generation tricks and combat details.
Once he fully deciphered Lancer's true name, those insights would turn into real combat power.
More than that—watching Deliora, utterly helpless—Shane's mind started to drift.
"Maybe… I don't need to treat visions like a tiger in the grass."
Before, he'd always feared the visions going out of control, treating them as a dangerous problem that had to be solved. But now…
"If I can use this mechanism properly… maybe I can turn the visions into a weapon against strong enemies."
His fingers rubbed his chin, thoughts racing.
"If I prepare mentally ahead of time, as the initiator I naturally have more information than an intruder."
"No matter what, in this domain my advantage is bigger than the enemy's."
"This is basically a 'Reality Marble' that doesn't distinguish friend from foe… but still favors me."
The more he thought, the brighter his eyes got.
"Damn—this could be a trump card!"
"Borrow a blade to kill… and use the fight to collect information on the Heroic Spirit while I'm at it. Two birds with one stone!"
With that realization, Shane slapped his thigh, suddenly finding the increasingly "real" visions far more lovable.
Just then, the battle finally shifted.
"Huff… huff…"
After being knocked down who-knew-how-many times, its body shattered and rebuilt who-knew-how-many times—
Even Deliora, the "immortal calamity," had reached its limit.
Its regeneration clearly slowed. Wounds that used to close instantly now took several seconds just to stop bleeding.
That massive body wobbled—utterly spent.
Finally, its knees buckled. It dropped heavily to the ground, unable to rise again.
"…"
In the air, the knight who had been expressionless the entire time stopped attacking.
She hovered under the heavy rain clouds, twin spears lowered slightly, aura tightening—like she was brewing a finishing blow.
Shane's expression sharpened instantly. He sat up straight.
"A Noble Phantasm?"
From his experience using Muramasa's Noble Phantasm, most Heroic Spirits released theirs with a "release line."
And those lines often carried fragments of legend, glory—or true-name information.
This was the key.
He couldn't miss it.
Shane held his breath, eyes locked on the silhouette in the rain.
Then—
In the endless patter of rain, that clear, cold, ethereal voice rang out for the second time.
Not a long, epic chant like Shane expected.
Just four short, forceful words:
"Arondight…"
"—HUM!!!"
The moment the name fell, the girl's posture… burst outward like a deep lake exploding in a rainy night.
No earth-shattering explosion—only a streak of deep blue light, impossibly fast, impossibly beautiful.
A single strike—like a draw-slash that vanished the moment it existed.
"Psh—"
Deliora's colossal body went rigid.
A vast hollow appeared between its chest and abdomen, a dead, freezing emptiness.
But the one wearing the most dramatic expression wasn't Deliora.
It was Shane.
His face twisted into something wild: excitement, shock, and a surreal, absurd realization all tangled together.
"Arondight…"
He stared blankly at the small figure who was slowly finishing her motion, whispering unconsciously:
"Arondight… the unbroken lake's light…"
He never would've imagined that a girl serving as Lancer would wield a Noble Phantasm with that name.
Shane knew this name far too well.
It was the holy sword paired with the "Sword of Promised Victory"—the blade of the one known as the First Knight of the Round Table, the Knight of the Lake!
"If that's the Noble Phantasm, then Lancer's identity is…"
His gaze swept over the girl's impossibly beautiful face, her petite frame, and the not-exactly-hidden signs of her being female.
"Lancelot?!"
"This is Lancelot?!"
Shane's head spun.
Now he finally understood why his future self would resist so violently when the true name came up—why he'd curse history as "some messed-up dog-shit."
That tragic knight who seduced the queen and shattered the Round Table…
was a dragon-typed beautiful girl?!
"This…"
Even with all his mental preparation, Shane still felt dizzy and shaken.
If it were a minor "wild history" like Muramasa, maybe you could force an explanation.
But this?
Shane felt like every bit of historical knowledge from his last life had been fed straight to a dog.
~~~
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