Aslant
The orbit of the magical satellite array gradually returned to normal operations, and Pai Pai shifted his attention back to analyzing the years of data he had collected.
Above the ruins of the Tower of Heaven, the temporal-spatial rift slowly closed.
Erza and Mira's actions had been nothing more than a small interlude, and peace soon returned. Other than the ones directly involved, no one cared whether their attempt had succeeded or failed.
The world seemed to settle back into stillness.
Edolas, Royal Capital
Inside a grand, ancient European-style castle, an elderly man with short stature and twin beard tufts curling like horns knelt on one knee.
"Your Majesty, about three hundred kilometers from the capital, we detected a massive surge of magic power. Based on the feedback, the energy involved may have surpassed the total reserves of the entire capital."
The crowned monarch, clutching his scepter and dressed in regal robes, slowly rose from his throne and descended step by step.
"I see. So it seems the intel from Knightwalker and her unit was wrong. The enemy knows everything… and they've already crossed over."
His voice was hoarse, calm, and utterly devoid of emotion. He walked toward the window, sunlight spilling across his feet before gradually bathing his whole figure. His gaze drifted over the palace, then to the streets beyond, filled with a quiet, almost wistful longing.
"Your Majesty!!!"
Byro stared at Faust in shock. On Faust's face, he could see the resolve of a man prepared to die.
Edolas had no chance against Aslant. In terms of population, economy, military strength, and resources, they were hopelessly inferior.
Perhaps their ancient, inherited magic technology held some worth, enough to be used in defense. But against the thriving, magic-rich world of Aslant, it was nothing more than a fleeting resistance. Edolas was a lamb laid bare on the butcher's block.
Perhaps only the death of the one who caused this crisis could draw the matter to a close.
"Your Majesty, it's not completely hopeless," Byro pressed, voice urgent. "The magic concentration in Edolas is extremely low. If Aslant's mages engage in battle here, they cannot replenish themselves. They would need to return to their world to resupply.
If we can hold out long enough, the scattered magical energy from their war will be absorbed into our ley lines. Edolas still has a chance!"
"Please, Your Majesty—"
"Byro," Faust cut him off coldly, "do you even believe the words you're saying? A simple decapitation strike would render all of that meaningless."
Byro fell silent.
"Still," Faust continued, "I have no intention of dying. This world… in the end, it belongs to us!"
His pupils flared crimson, his face twisting into a grotesque snarl as veins bulged along his hand gripping the scepter. Then, in an instant, his expression relaxed again, as though the outburst had been a fleeting illusion.
He waved his hand dismissively.
"Take men and investigate. See if we can negotiate. Find out what the enemy wants. Give them what they ask for, whatever the cost—stall them. Buy us time."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Byro bowed deeply, then departed.
Faust sank back onto his throne and closed his eyes as if to rest. Yet inwardly, his mind churned with restless thoughts. Aslant's behavior was… strange.
First, one basic truth: Edolas had scarce magical resources.
Aslant was a world built entirely upon magic. Its mages and machinery consumed astronomical amounts of magic every day—something inconceivable in resource-starved Edolas.
To Aslant, Edolas was nothing more than an abandoned mine. Extracting anything of value here would yield little, while the costs of exploitation would be immense.
What did Edolas have that Aslant might want? Magical beasts, land, population, and magic technology.
Magical beasts? Possible. Edolas's monsters were massive, lacking magic, yet hardy enough to survive harsh environments. They could serve well in livestock breeding programs.
But there was no need for a permanent base. A decapitation strike, seizing relevant research and specimens, would be sufficient.
Population? Another possibility. Though devoid of magic, Edolas's humans were still intelligent, capable of communication, and well-suited to be slaves or cannon fodder.
Magic technology? That too had merit. Seizing Edolas's unique magical systems, or using this world's different environment to conduct dangerous experiments unsuited for Aslant's soil—that was logical.
The real question was how far Aslant's leadership was willing to go and how broad their vision was.
Surely it wasn't just some fool panicking at the idea of another world posing a "threat" and, waving the banner of "justice," throwing endless resources into wiping it out?
No. Any organized force acted with profit at the forefront.
Without long-term, concrete benefit, no project could be sustained—especially not one demanding such astronomical consumption. How many power blocs would be forced to surrender their share of the pie?
If Aslant had chosen to pour such resources into Edolas, there had to be something they desired. Otherwise, their mages could simply storm the palace, kill Faust, and end everything.
If another threat arose, kill again.
Far cheaper.
"So… what exactly do you want, Aslant? Is it one thing, or all of them?" Faust murmured, propping his head against one hand. His breathing slowed, and at last, he truly drifted into sleep.
While the human kingdom's upper echelons scrambled in fear, the skies of Exceed's nation, Extalia, were equally unsettled.
Though their magic technology lagged behind humanity's, they held one undeniable advantage—their cities floated in the sky, affording them unmatched vision.
Scouts on the periphery spotted the massive flare of light from the Tower of Heaven's ritual. Once reported, the Exceed quickly mobilized, using human-supplied magic devices to investigate the cause.
Soon, they detected a minor magic surge.
The common folk barely noticed. They interpreted it as a sign of the Queen's divine blessing, proof that magic in the world was recovering, heralding the dawn of a new golden age.
But the leadership was far from calm.
According to Queen Chagot's prophecy, the near future held only ruin: all sky islands would fall, Extalia would be destroyed, magic would vanish completely, and both humans and Exceed would face the end.
Thus, they had already drafted an escape plan—sending their young to Aslant to preserve their legacy.
But now? The world's magic seemed to be recovering. No fear of depletion. No falling islands. What was happening?
"I cannot see… all is shrouded in fog," Chagot confessed from her throne, tears glistening beneath her ornate diadem, her massive white wings flaring in anguish.
Her prophecies had failed.
Not in the sense of blindness—but chaos. The vision from one second shifted to something else the next. The farther ahead she tried to see, the more splintered possibilities appeared.
Unlike before, when the future had been a single clear path, countless potential timelines now branched like rivers, overwhelming her.
Chagot was too weak. Her mind could not process the flood of futures, let alone compare them, choose the optimal thread, and guide Extalia along it.
The result was simple: her prophecies had become useless.
"Humans—it must be them," one elder suddenly declared. "Only they could cause such chaos. Your Majesty, you must issue a divine decree! Increase their tribute."
Chagot hesitated, but the elder pressed on.
"Whatever the truth, we must prepare. Extalia is small. Our population is small. We lack the resources to sustain ourselves.
Only humans have vast lands and endless resources to exploit. Seizing what they hold is the only way to preserve Extalia and prevent humanity from growing too powerful. For the sake of the Exceed, we must do this."
Very well… handle it, Chagot relented at last.