The instant the fairy Lancelot transformed into a dragon, flames began to ignite.
Just as she had said, as the Calamity of Flames, she herself was the best source of fire.
No, having incarnated as a calamity, perhaps it was no longer proper to refer to her as "she."
It should be "it."
At this very moment, the existence circling ceaselessly around this place had extremely simple electrical currents flashing through its mind.
"Restriction lifted. Scorched Earth Mode activated."
As the dragon she had become began to spiral in the sky, flames ignited in every place she passed.
Commanding fire, spreading it across every inch of land she swept over— for the fairy Lancelot, now turned into Albion, it was not so much an ability as it was a divine authority.
And immediately after, it began an attack.
"Advance, cancelled. Switching to low-altitude flight mode.
Patrol current area. Lock current target range.
Departure command: denied, reason unknown.
Residual command confirmed.
Target: annihilate hostile lifeform.
Commence action. Confirm target position. Preparing long-range armament strike."
But just as it locked onto Cernunnos' location, ready to unleash another beam against him, its visual imaging captured another figure.
"Warning. Immediately abort current attack.
Reason: unknown. Analyzing system behavior.
Hypothesis: Current attack may harm special subject.
Scanning for special subject… Recognition complete.
Target confirmed: Human species, codename Guinevere.
Core directive confirmed: Protect Guinevere.
Attack protocol revised. Cancel long-range armament. Switching to close-range combat mode.
Furnace output, increase.
Advance, full speed."
And so, with faint electrical signals flashing through its mind, the Boundary Dragon that had been circling the cavern's ceiling suddenly shifted its direction, plunging down toward Cernunnos.
The once-azure meteor had long since been dyed the color of destruction. That crimson dragon body, descending at triple the speed of sound like the Sword of Damocles falling from the heavens, struck Cernunnos' rotting flesh with overwhelming impact, smashing a deep crater into him while simultaneously unleashing a scorching breath hot enough to melt the hardest metals. In an instant, another bottomless pit was blasted into his body.
But "bottomless" was only relative to humans, or to the dragon that was the Flame Calamity.
To the colossal body of Cernunnos, the wounds inflicted by fairy Lancelot were but scratches.
Yet the fire she spread across him undeniably hindered his regeneration, halting his body from swelling further.
Then, fairy Lancelot rose into the sky once more, widening the distance between herself and Cernunnos, charging power for the next attack.
That stance, reflected in Guinevere's eyes, stirred something within him.
Fairy Lancelot's previous attack had intentionally avoided him. Even the aftershock had not harmed him. Yet at the same time, she had inflicted real damage on Cernunnos, consuming the energy that would have otherwise gone to regeneration, slowing the proliferation of flesh around Guinevere and granting him a moment to breathe.
"…Even after becoming a calamity, she's still fighting for my wish…"
"In that case, I… I can't just collapse here."
Muttering, Guinevere squeezed out the last of his strength and pushed himself back to his feet.
Though the dragon still held absolute aerial superiority, Guinevere knew Lancelot could not defeat Cernunnos.
Even with her relentless bombardment and the authority of burning the land, the damage she inflicted could only just keep pace with Cernunnos' regeneration. And even then, only temporarily. Once Lancelot's magical energy was exhausted, nothing would stop the flesh's endless proliferation.
Therefore—he had to destroy Cernunnos completely while he could still move.
Just now, seeing Lancelot fight on even after discarding her reason, he suddenly remembered: he was not yet out of options.
He still had one card to play.
Although he had already used "Divine Fire Unsheathed" twice and his Noble Phantasm, Judgment of Divine Fire, had disappeared, this disappearance was not complete erasure. Rather, after consuming its non-renewable energy source, it could no longer be projected.
In other words, the traces of the Noble Phantasm still remained within him. He could still feel the magic circuits carved into his body. With an equivalent energy source injected, he could unleash Divine Fire Unsheathed once more.
But where could he find a flame on par with divine authority?
The answer: he already had one.
The flame that could burn all things, deny all life, incinerate all beings, and return everything to primordial chaos—
The Flame of Chaos.
Or by its other name: the Frenzied Flame.
Unlike other flames that had restrictions—usable only by gods, dragons, or heroes—or those requiring intricate magic rituals, the Frenzied Flame was simple.
It required only two things: a spark, and fuel. With sufficient fuel, it could burn everything. Cernunnos would be no exception.
And luckily, Guinevere had both.
Having resolved himself, he drew a deep breath, then raised his voice:
"Everyone, get away from here! Do not look directly at this flame!"
Infusing his last magic into the words to spread them farther, he then retrieved Vike's spear from his storage.
Within this spear resided the forbidden spark.
Until now, Guinevere had only brushed against this power, wielding the weapon's inscribed battle techniques without being truly involved. It was the spear that commanded the Frenzied Flame, not him.
But now, he had to embrace the power himself—to use the spark to ignite what little remained after his magic and life were burned away.
His spirit, his will, his soul.
When Guinevere plucked the tiny golden spark from the spear and pressed it into his own eye, his retreat was gone.
His most precious, final thing was now ablaze.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!!"
The instant that ominous chaotic flame tainted his soul and lodged within his eye, indescribable agony surged from the depths of his being.
Pain.
Pain, pain, pain.
Too much pain. Too much!
It felt as though all order collapsed into chaos. His soul burned, making him wish for death.
Even with his mental preparation, the suffering far surpassed his imagination. Compared to this, even being consumed by Divine Fire seemed almost trivial.
Clutching his head, Guinevere screamed, golden flames bursting from his eyes, searing and melting everything nearby.
It was like molten magma was poured into his skull, burning every nerve. Like a red-hot brand piercing through his eyes, stabbing into his brain and twisting violently. Like his soul was pulled out and ground to pieces on a blazing millstone. Torn apart, shredded, fused into something incomprehensible.
Kneeling on the ground, his reason nearly destroyed, Guinevere longed to sever his own head just to end it.
But he didn't. He bit into his arm, tearing flesh down to the bone, yet he kept biting, leaving desperate marks—
for compared to his soul burning, such physical pain was nothing.
"Too much pain… too much… can't… must… endure…!"
Even as his soul screamed, he knew he could not give in.
He had to endure.
His final shred of will demanded it.
Even if every second ahead was worse than the torments of hell, he had to endure—
For those he loved.
After all, the so-called Lords of Frenzied Flame were never simply those maddest among men.
They became Lords only because, for the sake of those they loved, they chose to endure more torment from the flame than anyone else.
The Frenzied Flame's best fuel was the endless suffering of its vessel, and the unbroken soul that refused to collapse under it.
Only one who survived such torment could be called:
Lord of Frenzied Flame.
Vike was so.
So was the Frenzied Flame Lord, Midra.
So too was the Tarnished who became Elden Lord.
Guinevere tried desperately to endure the ritual of flame's bestowal. But—
It was too much. The pain was unbearable. Every moment, he wanted to give up.
Even as his heart pushed him to endure, he did not know if he would collapse in the very next instant.
At that moment, a gust of wind swept past him. A large figure descended beside him.
"Protective target confirmed in extreme condition."
Seeing Guinevere's state, the dragon-form fairy Lancelot immediately aborted her attack on Cernunnos and landed by his side, scanning his body.
"Hypothesis: Protective target self-igniting for unknown reason. Searching for method to terminate ignition… Search failed. No solution found.
Judgment: Self-ignition cannot be stopped.
Conclusion: Protective target has 50% probability of dying."
With this conclusion, the dragon froze briefly.
Then, within its simple bioelectric currents, a new directive flashed:
"Based on highest-priority directive, establishing contract with target.
Target exhibits no resistance. Contract automatically formed.
From this moment, system will link soul with target, share life… and divide pain."
And so it was.
Without hesitation, the dragon forged a bond with Guinevere, bearing his torment together—even though it did not understand what that meant.
For this was the essence of the girl called Melusine. Even as a dragon, it remained the same.
Even bereft of reason, memory, emotion, even stripped of life as a being, left only with mechanical instinct—
It still wrote its love for someone into its underlying code, and placed it at the highest priority.