The massive cruise airship [Ehangwen] shot up into the skies over North Wales.
Even bearing hundreds of soldiers, this sky vessel sliced through the clouds without a tremor, crossing Britain's rugged mountain ranges and entering the wild airspace above the Celtic Sea.
On the bow of the ship, on the broad deck where the fresh sea breeze blew, Lancer leaned against the railing, gazing down at the endless horizon.
She brushed her wind-swept blonde hair up out of her face and, standing next to Kay as he, too, watched the sea, quietly spoke.
"Brother, I've been thinking lately… doesn't it seem like this land of Britain—and everywhere we go—has an awful lot to do with Rome, or more precisely, the Greek gods?"
Lancer's gaze flicked to the massive weapon slung diagonally across Kay's back: [Hippolyta's Axe].
"Like the golden axe of the Amazon queen you retrieved from the Labyrinth, the sword [Chrysaor] owned by Sir Arthégal—Sir Britomart's destined partner—and even Zeus's thunderbolt…"
"Now that you mention it."
"It's amazing that on this isle called the world's end, the shadow and influence of Roman myths are still so thick."
Kay shrugged, inhaling the salty sea breeze.
"Well, Rome did sweep through Britain back in the day. When they withdrew, they probably left behind all sorts of divine relics scattered across every corner of the land. It's already a place steeped in mystery—so who knows how those things drifted here? Could even be those damn changelings."
"Yes. Actually, when I first conquered North Wales, I once ran into one of those divine relics and suffered huge losses."
Lancer narrowed her eyes, recalling the fierce territorial war of the past.
"Back then, the one ruling North Wales was King Rience. He was a powerful warrior, and his weapon was outrageous too: a legendary divine greatsword said to be forged by the Roman god of smiths, Vulcan."
"Ah, you mean Hercules's sword."
"Indeed. The legendary blade used by the hero Hercules—[Marmier Dvards], the Greatsword of Glory. A holy sword rivaling Excalibur itself. Against its unparalleled might, even after I freed the light of [Rhongomyniad] multiple times, I barely survived death over and over again."
She referred to Heracles by his Roman name, Hercules. Thanks to the influence of Roman Britain, more people here called him Hercules than Heracles.
Hearing Lancer's calm confession, Kay's expression turned grim. A holy sword on par with Excalibur… no matter how much the monster he'd become under Scáthach's training, facing that overwhelming power head-on would reduce him to dust.
In fact, across all Britain, the only being capable of withstanding such unorthodox force head-on and emerging unscathed would probably be someone like Boitegan—unless a Noble Phantasm existed to neutralize or block it.
"So? Did you snag that fearsome holy sword as spoils? Is it in our armory?"
At Kay's question, Lancer frowned and shook her head.
"No, that's the problem. After a fierce struggle, I beheaded King Rience and then left briefly to reorganize scattering troops and secure the battlefield. But when I returned just minutes later… the Marmier Dvards that had been plunged into Rience's corpse had vanished without a trace."
"Vanished? You mean someone stole it."
"Yes. I've inquired for years, scoured North Wales from end to end, but in the end, I couldn't find any sign of that blade's whereabouts."
A holy sword of that caliber ending up in the hands of some unknown party—Kay folded his arms, his concern deepening.
"This gives me the creeps. If the guy who stole that sword turns against us or ends up under Boitegan's banner… it'd be a nightmare beyond imagination."
"Indeed. We never know when or where we might cross paths with the light of that holy sword again."
A heavy silence settled over the deck. Kay tapped Lancer lightly on the back to clear the air.
"Come on, let's not pull our hair out over something that may or may not happen. We'll deal with the lost sword after we take down the Irish tyrant. By the way, is there anything you feel like eating right now?"
"Huh? Something to eat?"
"Yeah. I mean, seriously—this giant flying banquet hall has all these uselessly luxurious decorations, but no proper kitchen to cook in? Doesn't Morgan have zero sense when it comes to this stuff?"
Kay grumbled, shouting toward the staterooms.
"Tamamo! Come out here and set up a makeshift kitchen in a corner of the deck!"
Ignoring any sense of battle tension, Kay led Lancer toward the staterooms to start cooking preparations without delay.
Lancer let out a wry laugh, shaking her head at his absurdity, yet felt a strange sense of relief watching her kindly brother's retreating back.
Several more hours of flight passed like that.
Finally, cutting through the thick sea fog, the shores of Ireland—their destination—came into view beyond the bow of [Ehangwen].
"…Is that Ireland?"
The party emerged from the stateroom and stood on deck, gazing down at the land.
What met their eyes was sheer horror. Where lush emerald grasslands and forests should have been, everything lay charred and gray, and villages that once bustled with life had collapsed into skeletal ruins.
The once-fertile soil was stained like a dark, crimson tapestry.
Yet in the midst of that grim wasteland, perched precariously on a seaside cliff, stood a gigantic obsidian castle—strikingly gaudy and majestic, displaying all the splendor of a tyrant's citadel.
Built solely through the tyranny and greed that squeezed the life from its people, it was the perfect fortress of a despot.
"Just as rumors said. A typical tyrant's castle, built only for his own safety,"
X muttered coldly as she pushed up her glasses.
"Excellent."
Lancer stepped forward to the very prow of the deck, gripping her holy lance, [Rhongomyniad]. Her kingly presence radiated through her entire form.
"[Ehangwen], deploy the bow's magical radiance bombardment formation! First, break down those arrogant walls with bombardment to cut off their escape, then send in the Second Order of North Wales Knights to exterminate the enemy from within! Aim for that wretched main gate!"
At Lancer's command, a massive vortex of magical energy began to compress beneath the bow of [Ehangwen], releasing a blinding golden flash so intense it hurt the eyes.
But just as [Ehangwen]'s bombardment was about to fire—
Rumble~ Crackle!!!
From the highest spire of the obsidian castle, as if mocking the attack from [Ehangwen], a horrific golden flash of light erupted, blinding in its intensity.
And the next instant, a single pillar of destructive lightning burst from the wall, rushing skyward before plunging in a straight line toward [Ehangwen].
"…What?!"
The aura of that lightning was no mere magic. It was a divine power of the gods—the thunderbolt of Zeus.
It had been loosed by the tyrant Grangotte, ripping apart Sir Arthégal and then launching the spoils he had seized.
"Kuh…! Evacuate everyone!! Full activation, now!!"
In a moment of life-or-death crisis, Lancer instinctively pushed her dragon core to its limit and activated every ounce of [Ehangwen]'s power.
"Shine, [Bright Ehangwen]!!"
KRAAAAAAAAK!!!!!
The waters of the Celtic Sea evaporated, and the clouds split apart in a colossal explosion.
Amid thunderous roars that shook heaven and earth, a massive shockwave engulfed the sky fortress. While Lancer managed to deflect and partially neutralize the lightning's trajectory with all her might, she couldn't wholly contain its overwhelming aftershock.
Screech!!Crack!
"Aaahhh!"
"The ship… it's listing!!"
The side armor of [Ehangwen] ruptured, the buoyancy devices shattered, and the massive cruise airship let out a dreadful screech, belching black smoke as it began to plunge toward the coastal cliffs.
"Damn it!! Hold on!!"
With the deck tilting over forty-five degrees, soldiers screamed and tumbled into chaos.
Yet even in the pandemonium, some were not frozen by fear.
Snap!
Kay planted himself on the collapsing deck, drew the massive golden axe, and without hesitation hurled himself into the air. Like an eagle, he began a free fall of hundreds of meters directly toward the obsidian castle.
Whoosh—
As he tore through the wind, Kay's gaze locked onto the figure standing on the terrace atop the highest tower of the obsidian fortress.
The tyrant Grangotte.
Descending vertically from the sky, Kay's fierce eyes intersected perfectly with Grangotte's arrogant glare upward.
"…Found you, you tin-can bastard."
A savage, beast-like smile spread across Kay's lips.
Beside him, someone fell even faster from the sky.
"Medusa?"
"Master. May I go in first?"
Her voice was as cold as if facing the murderer of her own child. Through the air, Kay saw that Grangotte gripped a black dagger decorated with gold.
"…Do as you please. Tear him apart."
"Yes, thank you, Master."
With that, Medusa, wrapped in violet mana, shot toward Grangotte even faster. There was no need to worry about her.
Kay angled his fall toward the throngs of dragonfang cavalry gathering around the castle, heralding the start of battle.