At this moment, the skies over London were first filled with yellow stars, soon followed by red, blue, and green ones.
A vibrant, star-studded spectacle.
As the great war began, the citizens of London, mobilized by Princess Carissa's declaration of war, couldn't help but stop in their tracks, gazing up at the sky in awe at the magnificent celestial phenomenon that resembled something straight out of a religious painting.
Ordinary people were still marveling at this grand astronomical display, but the magicians of Britain were already horrified.
There was no mistaking it—the sudden appearance and explosive detonation of this power belonged to the miracles of Christian faith, the power of God!
Using Fiamma of the Right's body as the control anchor, combined with the focused malice of the entire world, and under the influence of the grand Christian magical ritual from the "Star of Bethlehem," the return of the four classical elements to their rightful places was now a palpable sensation. Even novice magicians could feel it.
It was as if the elements of the world were boiling. A large-scale ritual was actively correcting the positions of the four elements.
In the pursuit report issued by the Anglican Church against the Crowley faction, two silhouettes sat comfortably in chairs within St. George's Cathedral.
One of them was the head of the Anglican Church, Supreme Archbishop Laura Stuart.
"Aleister Crowley is Edward Alexander Crowley... As expected."
"As expected"—that was Laura's preface.
The solemn and cold atmosphere of St. George's Cathedral seemed to freeze over with the mere mention of that man's name.
The magician Edward Alexander Crowley.
In the magic world, whether for better or worse, the renown of this name was beyond the comprehension of outsiders.
Said to be the world's strongest magician in legend, the most famous magician of the modern era, the man who established the framework of modern Western magic—had he lived in a different time, he might have been canonized in the New Testament of the Bible.
Currently, about twenty percent of the world's magicians are his direct disciples. Nearly half have been influenced by his teachings to varying degrees.
Some see him as the greatest and most noble magician in the world.
Others revile him as the most depraved and despicable scum of a magician to ever exist.
After all, he was personally responsible for the destruction of the world's largest and most powerful magical society—the Golden Dawn.
Among the eccentrics of the Golden Dawn, Aleister stood out in his own way.
His oddities included—but were not limited to—writing *** novels full of over a hundred metaphors while supposedly conducting methodical magical research; endlessly arguing with his peers and incorporating them as characters in his theatrical works to vent his frustrations; swapping out a butterfly ornament covering an indecent statue with his own necktie; and even bringing his *** into magical rituals.
He even used a group of young girls—around the age of his own daughter—as sacrificial subjects in his experiments.
...However, he did redefine so-called "otherworlds"—the overlapping but differently leveled realms like Heaven and Hell—and brought a new perspective to magical rituals. In this regard, his achievements could not be denied.
After killing his mentor and destroying the Golden Dawn, Aleister Crowley undoubtedly became the greatest villain in the history of the magic side.
Especially when he abandoned magic and embraced science.
Such a betrayal by Aleister was like someone crowned as a symbol of magical culture waving a white flag toward scientific civilization—without anyone's consent. Equivalent to what?
"We wish to fight to the death. Why does Your Majesty surrender first?"
To the magic world, there was no greater insult.
Regrettably, Aleister was not an emperor, nor did he have any descendants or loyalists to whitewash his legacy. And so, even after all these years, he remained the sworn enemy of magicians around the world.
Though official reports claim he died on December 1, 1947, and that his grave lies somewhere in the English countryside, suspicions persisted. A department specifically created to deal with Crowley was kept alive to investigate any successors or signs that he might still be alive.
And now, a specially calibrated spiritual detection artifact had just produced an unbelievable result.
A man who was supposed to be long dead...
A magician who had supposedly been assassinated by the Anglican Church's hit squad... was alive.
The members of the Anti-Crowley Department were outraged.
That sinner!
"Your Eminence, shall we—"
"Stand down."
"Understood. I'll ready the hunter unit at once—huh?! Your Eminence, you..." The Anti-Crowley magician looked up, startled and confused.
"I said, stand down," Laura replied with a gentle smile.
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
As silence once again descended upon St. George's Cathedral, after a long pause, the leader of the Knights faction—seated opposite Supreme Archbishop Laura—finally spoke.
"Your Eminence, Her Majesty the Queen has relinquished control and gone into seclusion. Princess Carissa holds the regency and is currently stationed on the Calais–Gravelines front in France, resisting the assault of the 'Princess of Total Destruction.' I ask that you take command."
In stark contrast to the serene and gentle demeanor of the Supreme Archbishop—who still appeared as a young girl—the Knight Leader wore a tense and stern expression.
Roughly thirty-five or thirty-six years old, with neatly styled blond hair, handsome features, and a straight-backed posture, he wore a tidy suit and carried himself with grace.
Perhaps due to his noble lineage and profession—guarding those of royal blood—he was well-versed in palace etiquette and upheld knightly values, exuding the strict aura of a military aristocrat.
As the heads of two of Britain's three major factions, they stood just beneath the most influential figures in the nation: Queen Elizard and the acting regent, Princess Carissa. In short, they were the highest authorities in Britain outside the royal family.
The Knight Leader's underlying message was clear—do not act rashly. Britain was no longer basking in the faded glory of the empire on which the sun never set.
The greatest enemy right now was the Roman Catholic Church. If they could crush the Roman Catholics and their secular allies like France, Britain could extract ample gains.
Besides, Academy City held tremendous power. Edward Alexander Crowley was the General Superintendent of Academy City—there was every reason to tread carefully.
You saw it during the global broadcast—the top-ranked esper from Academy City clashing with that unidentified magician. Britain couldn't survive even one stray blow from their fight.
"Take command... But isn't Queen Elizard, along with Princesses Rimea and Villian, still in London?"
Amid the colorful light pouring through the stained-glass windows, reminiscent of flickering candlelight, Supreme Archbishop Laura absentmindedly played with her golden hair—hair that could pass for merchandise in a jewelry store.
It was obvious she had refused.
"Are you certain of this decision?" the Knight Leader asked, rising to his feet.
To him, the grudges of the magic side mattered far less than making Britain great again.
"Patience," Laura said, rising as well. She waved her hand dismissively, tone calm but unquestionable.
Without further reply, she walked slowly toward the stained-glass window, bathed in brilliant colors—as if, to her, eliminating Edward Alexander Crowley was a matter more important than her duties as the head of the Anglican Church, or even her own identity.
"Even he's taken action... Then Fiamma of the Right must have lost. But why haven't the global Christian miracles disappeared...?"
The farsight search spell was on the verge of collapse, showing only rough outlines. While it could still approximate the target's location, it couldn't discern who they were speaking with or who was nearby.
Yet Laura Stuart's expression had already changed dramatically.
"...Then."
In the next instant, she removed the massive silver hairpin that secured her golden hair—hair nearly two and a half times her height.
"Your Eminence..."
At that moment, the Knight Leader's eyes widened. A bone-chilling cold rushed up from his feet to his head. His scalp tingled from the icy sensation. His entire body felt as if it had plunged into an icy abyss. He even began to tremble...
The waterfall of golden hair cascading down now radiated an ominous magic. Hidden within its folds, a color of utter darkness and profundity slowly emerged.
It was hard to believe that simply letting down her hair could so drastically alter a person's aura. All the traits once associated with Laura Stuart—her mischievousness, her girlish naivety, her cunning charm—vanished entirely. In their place—
Deep darkness. Countless cold and sinister shadows. From atop her flowing golden hair, a "massive and ominous demonic visage" projected a terrifying sense of despair.
In a daze, the Knight Leader recalled an old legend: that ancient witches hid demons in their hair.
"Things are about to get even more interesting, Aleister. And this annoying contract—it's time to end it..."
...
Star of Bethlehem Fortress.
"Touma!"
"Hey! Wake up!"
"Don't you dare die on me! Index is still waiting for you!"
Smack! Smack smack!
In a haze, Kamijou Touma heard voices calling to him—voices of people who were surely important to him. The foggy space around him trembled. Something hurt... Wait, pain?
He suddenly opened his eyes to find Stiyl in front of him, cigarette in mouth, raising his arm for another slap. Kamijou panicked, "Stop, stop! Quit hitting me! Ow, ow—!"
He reflexively tried to block his face—only to realize his entire body was surrounded by a collapsed cathedral. His right arm was completely gone!
"Whew... See? I knew this guy wouldn't go down that easy." Stiyl exhaled in relief. Covered in soot like a scorched rat, he didn't care about appearances anymore. He plopped down onto a pile of rubble and looked at the spiky-haired boy gasping for breath. "Looks like it's nearly over."
"Yeah. Vento of the Front's forces have been defeated. As for the rest of the battlefield... Even I wouldn't survive if I jumped in."
The one who replied was Kanzaki Kaori, a magician from the East.
Her black hair was tied in a ponytail. The T-shirt meant to show her navel had been slashed to rags by sharp weapons. Her coarse cotton jacket had vanished. Her exposed arms and legs were burned bright red from intense heat, steam still rising off her. It was clear she had gone through hell protecting them—thanks to Selene's flare bombardment.
Rumble—!
Right on cue, as if to validate Kanzaki's words, hundreds upon thousands of solar flares ignited on the southwestern horizon. The heat wave reached the far corner of the fortress where the three stood. The resulting shockwave shattered every window in the makeshift cathedral and caused the entire foundation to tremble.
"Selene saved your life," she said.
Blunt as ever, Kanzaki Kaori spoke honestly. She could sense it—Kamijou Touma had lost in his earlier clash with Fiamma of the Right. But why hadn't Fiamma finished him off?
The terrifying energy surge that followed was the answer.
Selene had intervened, cutting off Fiamma's finishing blow—or so Kanzaki believed.
"So once again, I was saved by her..."
"As long as you understand. But she won't always make it in time. Your right hand is gone. Given the situation now, Kamijou Touma, just stay put and rest," said Stiyl, dousing the spiky-haired boy's resolve with cold water the moment he tried to rise.
Kamijou didn't respond. He just exhaled slowly, ignoring the bloodstains on his body, and stubbornly raised his head.
"So what? That's what I've always done. I'm not so weak that I'd let some bastard use my ability to save the so-called world he envisions! Even if I lost my right hand... I'll just take it back!"
"You're one delusional, blockheaded idiot..."
Just as Stiyl prepared to launch into a lecture—
Fwoooosh—!
From a distant sky, an intense, majestic voice roared: "With doubt in your heart, incomplete origin, empty force, and clumsy technique—what grounds do you have to reason with me—?!"
In that moment, Kamijou felt it. A massive pressure bearing down from the sky. It was a holy chant, much like the one when Index entered her John's Pen mode.
But on this scale—how many people were chanting?
A million? Ten million? A hundred million?!
"Wh-what's going on...? My right hand..."
As if responding to something, a force inside him stirred. Kamijou clutched his right shoulder. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.
"Ahhh—!" With his roar, the empty space where his right arm had been once again exploded with invisible power.
Crack crack crack—!
Under the spatial tremors as sharp as blades, Aleister's Blasting Rod flashed violently in his hand.
"I will shatter all phases..."
In that instant, Aleister's eyes gleamed like starlight. It was as though he could see something.
"Coordinates."
A purplish-red glow descended from the heavens. The enormous star hanging in the sky had now fully synchronized with the Bethlehem ritual. The purplish-red celestial body illuminated the Earth—and the boundless "lines" and "planes" enveloping it.
...
"So it begins."
In other words, our little act ends here.
Sensing that Aleister was going all in, Selene slightly eased her offensive and looked at the disheveled man before her.
"Time to use real methods and eliminate you."
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