Inside the royal palace of the Human Kingdom,
Fairy Tail, Zeref, Mystogan, and Charle gathered together. At this moment, these people represented over 80% of the total power of the world of Edolas—excluding Papai.
If they were united in pursuit of a single goal, there were few—if any—forces in this world that could stand in their way.
Unfortunately, this time, they just happened to face one of those few exceptions.
Irene Belserion (Irene Knightwalker in this world) barely possessed the strength to overturn the table.
"Building a pilgrim's temple... that's just like her." Zeref picked up the intelligence reports from the front lines and gave a wry smile.
"Doesn't this mean we can take action ahead of schedule?" Makarov's voice carried excitement. From beginning to end, Fairy Tail's goal in this war was singular: wake up Papai and bring him back.
Helping Mystogan was part of the deal, but ultimately overlapped with their true mission. As long as Papai left Edolas, peace would return naturally.
It was common knowledge that when constructing a holy site, one should—ideally, or even necessarily—tie it to some kind of legend, omen, or at least to a figure of great power.
And in this world, the only location Irene Belserion could have chosen for such a temple… was most likely Papai's core itself.
And the worst part was—Irene could calculate and determine Papai's exact location.
"No," Mystogan shook his head with characteristic caution. "I believe we should proceed more carefully. We may be overthinking this. After all, she lived four hundred years ago. There's always the possibility she's laying a trap, deliberately luring us in."
"I agree," Charles added.
Then, everyone turned their gaze to Zeref.
None of them had a clear grasp of Irene Belserion's methods. Each could only guess based on their own habits and reasoning.
But Zeref was different. He was from her era—her old rival. He knew.
"Irene must have chosen that place seriously. It's not a decoy," Zeref said with quiet confidence. "From what I know of her, she disdains such tricks.
And besides, it would be pointless for her. If she truly wanted to stop us, she could simply drag the Magical Conduit Core into self-destruction. After that, no one could ever calculate Papai's location again."
The others fell into thought at his words.
"So…"
"So, the place where she's building that altar must be Papai's core. Irene is racing against us for time!" Zeref's expression hardened as he put down the report.
Truth be told, this was good news—but not entirely. Irene's actions would drastically shorten the time they had left to prepare.
"Racing against time?" Makarov asked, puzzled.
"For true gods, faith means nothing," Zeref explained, his tone steady. "They do not need belief to sustain their existence.
Respect, fear, curses…
None of it matters to a true god.
Just like a wise king who issues decrees knowing that some will curse him for it—yet he does not care, as long as the decree benefits the greater whole—
Gods are even more extreme. They have no realm where they must consider such a 'policy.' To them, nothing matters."
He paused, then said gravely:
"To catch the eye of a god, one must demonstrate value. Prayers are meaningless. Faith is meaningless. Only value is eternal."
"I see!" A sudden light flashed in Mystogan's mind. He slammed the table with his palm. "She's trying to accelerate Papai's assimilation of the world—to show her value."
"Exactly." Zeref nodded.
The others' expressions darkened. The disaster Papai had already caused was unimaginable. If Irene really succeeded in accelerating the process… the future would be catastrophic beyond comprehension.
Just the thought of it was chilling.
"We must defeat her. And… defeat Papai as well." Natsu exhaled deeply, but his words were firm and unwavering.
"That was always our goal." Mystogan continued: "From here on, we must alter our plan. The front lines are no longer the most important battleground.
Now that we know the target, we must form an elite strike force, infiltrate the enemy's heart, and destroy their headquarters directly."
"A fine proposal," Zeref agreed.
"I'm in." Natsu raised his hand first.
"To avoid detection, I suggest we limit the team to ten members, all of whom must be capable of fighting independently at the highest level," Mystogan said. He nodded, granting Natsu the first slot.
"I'll go too. I want to see the version of me in this world." Erza raised her hand.
Through this world's Knightwalker, she had faintly sensed something about her own past.
But she still didn't know where her four-hundred-year-old mother was—whether alive or dead.
No one objected.
After that, Makarov, Gildarts, Mirajane, Gray, Zeref, Lili, and Gajeel also volunteered.
Wendy wanted to go, but she was too young—her strength not yet enough.
"That leaves one final slot." With nine chosen, Zeref turned his gaze toward Doriate, who had been silent all this time, fading into the background.
"…I'll go." Forced by Zeref's eyes, Doriate stiffly raised his hand.
Thanks to Zeref's help, Doriate had regained his memories from four hundred years ago. His strength had surged—nearly equal to Natsu's. But his shy, withdrawn personality still lingered.
He only showed confidence in his own specialties. Otherwise, he tended to underestimate himself and hide behind others.
"Good. Then it's decided." Mystogan glanced at the embarrassed Doriate but didn't press further. The strike team was set.
"Within one day, the Royal General Staff will draft a battle plan tailored to each member's fighting style. You will all be equipped with Magitech Power Armor, external magic sources, and corresponding combat gear.
You must adapt immediately. Time is of the essence." Mystogan's words struck like hammer blows, his rising voice stirring everyone's fighting spirit.
Everyone's—except Zeref.
"No need. The kingdom's current magitech is still immature. I'll take care of this."
Without waiting for objections, he waved his hand, tearing open a rift of pure darkness. It exuded a cold, terrifying aura.
From within, nine beams of light flew out, fusing directly into their bodies.
"Before humanity's fall, four centuries ago, I sealed away certain things in this dimensional pocket—never expecting to use them again." Zeref smiled bitterly. "But with magic revived, they have a purpose once more.
What you now wield is the pinnacle of human military technology from four hundred years ago: Micro-Magical Particle Combat Suits.
They fuse with the body, regenerating by consuming the wearer's nutrients.
They grant resistance against fire, ice, lightning, and other elemental damage. They massively boost physical ability, quicken thought, accelerate healing, and increase resilience to blades, hammers, and other physical damage.
The drawback? They make you extremely hungry. Before battle, eat as much as possible. If not, you can even devour stone or sand mid-fight—the suit will break it down into sustenance."
Everyone's eyes shone with astonishment. Gildarts, especially, looked as if stars had lit up in his eyes.
As for Natsu, he had matured. A smile alone conveyed his feelings.
The others wore determined expressions as well. Yet Zeref still seemed dissatisfied. He reached deeper into the rift, rummaging. Finally, he pulled out nine more glowing orbs.
"The weapons crafted for top-tier wizards were nearly all destroyed in that great war. These are damaged and worn… but they'll last through one more battle."
He tossed them to the strike team.
Natsu received Dragon God—a suit of armor said to be forged from the body of a dragon who, before dying, gifted its flesh to humanity. Crafted with countless rare materials by master magi, it negates incoming magic entirely while amplifying its wearer's magic output anywhere from double to a hundredfold.
Makarov received Eternity—a pendant jewel that sustains its wearer in peak condition at all times, keeping body and magic at their prime regardless of circumstance.
Gray…
One by one, nine relics. Each left its wielder awestruck. The craftsmanship of humanity four centuries ago was nothing short of divine.
But after the excitement came a sobering thought: such a mighty civilization, with such weapons and power, had still been swallowed by the tides of history.