The thick divine thunderbolts roared with a destructive power that shook the void, resembling countless silver-white dragons howling in fury.
This was no ordinary lightning—it was the [Salvation God Thunder], the manifestation of the power of the [Divine Blade of Salvation].
Its wrathful might far surpassed that of the thunder wielded by Indra, Thor, or Zeus. This was the thunder of divine judgment, capable of punishing even the gods themselves.
Even Artoria had no desire to test its power directly.
"Thou who reigns! Mask of flesh!"
As torrents of magical energy surged like rivers into her palms, Artoria invoked the incantation of a spell she was most familiar with—one involving flames. It was a reflexive choice, as the chant was merely a formality.
If I ever find myself in the world of Soul Reapers, I'll just properly learn this [kido], she mused.
"All creation, flutter! He who bears the name of man! Etch the twin lotuses upon the wall of blue fire, and await the abyss of conflagration beyond the heavens!"
Dozens of massive crimson magic circles, each spanning thousands of meters in diameter, materialized in the void. They rotated slowly, casting an eerie red glow across the emptiness of space.
Boom!
The divine thunder descended, splitting the heavens. At the same time, Artoria clenched her fist tightly.
"[Explosion—]!"
In that instant, it was as though the very concept of "destruction" had materialized in the physical world.
Space-time twisted, shattered, and collapsed into nothingness.
The resulting explosion was so devastating that it disrupted the motion of nearby celestial bodies.
Were this battle occurring in another world, the Earth itself might have been obliterated.
Yet, compared to stories where the protagonist used a White Horse transformation to burn entire universes, this was but a minor catastrophe.
Even so, the sheer force of the collision overwhelmed Artoria, causing her to briefly lose consciousness. When she awoke, she found herself lying on scorched earth, her body aching as if every bone had been shattered.
As she rose, her body groaned in protest. But within a few breaths, the abundant life energy of the earth began to flow into her, rapidly hea- ling her injuries. Her strength, too, surged beyond its previous limits.
Although she despised relying on such a method—knowing it accelerated the planet's decline—this was no time for restraint.
The Last King also drew power from the earth's essence, and his ability to harness it far surpassed her own.
She had hoped to defeat him before he returned to the ground, but it seemed she had been too naïve.
The battle had brought them both back to Earth. Now, it was a fight for survival—not just for her, but for the planet itself.
"Father!"
A familiar voice called out, and Artoria turned to see Mordred descending from the skies, her horned helmet in hand as she ran toward her.
That transforming helmet really is cool, Artoria thought, even in the midst of the chaos.
"Father, are you alright?"
The concern on Mordred's face warmed Artoria's heart. Her cold, steely expression softened, if only slightly.
"I'm fine. As long as I stand upon the earth, wounds like these will heal quickly… though the same can be said for our opponent."
Artoria rotated her shoulder, her joints and armor creaking slightly, and directed her gaze toward a distant location.
On a small, nameless island in the Pacific, two-thirds of the land had been obliterated. Millions of tons of seawater poured into the void left behind.
There, a pale-haired youth in a long coat floated on the water's surface, gazing blankly at the sky.
"…So, this isn't a dream," he murmured.
The pain coursing through his body confirmed his reality. Even as he drifted, his body instinctively absorbed the earth's life energy, repairing and strengthening itself.
"What a formidable opponent… To endure the [Salvation God Thunder] while still inflicting such damage upon me… Impressive. But how unfortunate for her—she failed to eliminate me outright and has only ensured my return to the earth."
As the Last King, he could draw power not only from the land but also from the sea. As long as he remained on this planet, he could continuously siphon its essence to strengthen himself.
Staring at the [Divine Blade of Salvation] in his hand, he muttered, "How greedy must you be, O blade of salvation?"
The question was meaningless, almost comedic, as it was essentially him talking to himself—the blade was a part of him, after all.
The Last King had been granted two powers by fate to fulfill his mission of slaying the rebellious gods and demon kings of the earth: the [Divine Blade of Salvation] and the [Covenant Grand Ritual].
The [Divine Blade of Salvation] was not merely a weapon but his other half, his greatest strength.
The [Covenant Grand Ritual] allowed him to draw on the celestial power of the "Sword God's Constellation" to exponentially amplify his magical energy whenever multiple Campiones existed on Earth.
The more Campiones there were, the greater the power he could obtain through the ritual.
"Five Campiones… I must have slept longer than I thought this time," the Last King muttered.
Sadness flickered in his gaze. The greater the number of Campiones, the longer it would take to eliminate them all. And the longer it took, the more perilous the situation for the planet.
What made matters worse was the existence of an adversary far more challenging than all the Campiones combined. If he couldn't deal with her, he wouldn't even have the chance to confront the Campiones.
If he lost to her, perhaps he could finally escape the chains of fate. But if he won...
The thought made him want to sigh, but he suppressed the urge.
Even if he wished for his opponent to defeat him, he was a hero born to vanquish demon kings. Laden with the weight of destiny and expectation, he could not allow himself to hold back.
Looking up at the quiet, deep night sky, he briefly wished he could remain like this forever, floating aimlessly on the waves like a rootless weed. But he knew it was impossible.
Time was of the essence. If he didn't act quickly, the beautiful planet beneath him would crumble under the weight of his very existence.
"Whew…"
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept across the sea, abrupt and unexplained.
The wind's destination, however, was clear—it converged on the island where the Last King floated.
As the storm subsided, a figure wrapped entirely in white cloth appeared beside him.