Edolas Royal Research Institute.
Faust, who had long been obsessed with stealing research from the future, was deep in thought when he suddenly raised his head. Through the fluctuations of time and space, it was as if he had glimpsed something.
"The future has shifted again… This time, within a month, a new form of life will be born. Everything depends on whether you can win or not."
In Faust's eyes, the originally tangled, chaotic threads of time suddenly began to align, converging into two massive rivers.
One river represented Pip's failure—the process of world-wide magic conversion would come to a halt, and relying on Pip's legacy, Edolas would usher in a brand-new era of civilization.
The other river represented Pip's success—from then on, every single movement of the world's magical particles would be subject to his will. He would never be forgotten, and countless wondrous new forms of life would reproduce endlessly upon Pip's renewed body.
Beneath these two great rivers, smaller threads branched endlessly—one into ten, ten into a hundred…
Every step forward in predicting the future multiplied the number of possible outcomes exponentially. And yet, all futures were still anchored to the present moment.
"I am but an old man with little time left to live," Faust sighed, continuing to drift across the sea of futures.
The Holy Nation of Eternity.
Within the core zone of the magical pulse array Pip had constructed…
Statues radiating outward stood solemn and lifelike, infused with divine presence. Passersby often thought the gods themselves had descended into the stone, prompting them to bow and worship fervently.
Beneath one of the statues, atop a newly built altar, Knightwalker had already transformed.
In her final memory, she recalled being forced onto the altar by Irene.
But when she awoke again, she found her mind empty.
Anger, hatred, regret…
All gone.
There was nothing left but calm—and only when Irene approached did the faintest spark ignite in her heart, the purest emotion of all life at its beginning:
Curiosity.
"Mother… what have I become?"
"A new lifeform—unparalleled, magnificent! Erza, my daughter, you will be God's chosen child!" Irene's joy nearly made her leap into the air as she saw Knightwalker awaken.
Within Knightwalker's body, magical particles flowed in precise, geometric patterns, creating a beauty of symmetry—mystery and law intertwined.
To onlookers, she resembled a human-shaped nebula—a cosmic star-chart rotating faintly within her mind, starlight flowing across her body, while the depths of her form radiated an indescribable sense of awe.
Irene's eyes shimmered with tears.
How long had it been since she last felt this kind of beauty?
Almost four hundred years. Four hundred years!
Ever since human civilization had been destroyed by that man, she had wandered in chaos, ignorant and lost for four long centuries, deprived of all such experiences.
At that moment, Irene wept tears of joy, her conviction solidifying: Only such a brilliant, extraordinary form of life could bear the glory of that divine existence—only such a being could lead this world into the future.
"Oh."
Knightwalker gave no reaction to Irene's emotions. Calmly, she raised her hand.
An overwhelming wave of danger erupted. Irene instinctively leapt back—yet still, she was too late.
With no hesitation, no stray thoughts, Knightwalker's strike left Irene no time to respond.
A brief instant of chaos overtook her.
Darkness surged like a tide, and just as suddenly receded.
When light returned, Irene saw Knightwalker toying with something in her hand.
And that object was…
"So this is the organ within you that is linked to me? Fascinating. Is this the method you used to create me? If that's the case, then perhaps I too can…"
Knightwalker put her hypothesis into practice. Her nebula-like body blazed with radiant light.
From within her form, countless black orbs and particles emerged.
They detached, expanded in the wind, and upon touching the ground, each assumed a humanoid shape.
Their forms were nearly identical to Knightwalker's—though weaker in aura, they were many in number and cheap to produce.
If that were all, this would be an excellent means of mass-producing soldiers.
But sadly, the newly born beings were utterly vacant—lifeless dolls without spirit. They did not even comprehend the concept of "orders." Only when pushed or manipulated would they act.
"Defective products."
With a wave of her hand, hundreds of magical lifeforms instantly dissolved, returning into Knightwalker's body.
"Yes… yes! This is it! Only such power can bring this world a future!" Irene cried out, unbothered by the attack. She gazed at Knightwalker in pure obsession.
If only, back then, she had possessed such power…
Perhaps… perhaps the outcome might have been different.
"No. I still would have lost."
Her burning heart was doused in cold water. Irene remembered that man—that overwhelming, invincible force, that genius beyond all comparison.
Even with this power, she would have lost.
If he had been just a little more insane, a little more reckless, he could have annihilated her—along with this entire world.
"Only You… Only You can bring salvation to this world!"
Tearing her eyes away from Knightwalker, Irene looked toward Pip's statue.
Only Pip could sustain the Age of Magic. Only he could bring light to the entire world.
If only Pip had been born in her era… that terrifying man might finally have met his match.
But now—now, it wasn't too late.
Grinning madly, Irene was lost in reverie—so lost that she hardly noticed when Erza placed her back upon the altar. Or perhaps… she simply didn't care.
"I require companions to help me think. So, you shall become my kind."
As time passed, Knightwalker's distinctly human features faded away. Her face lost its five senses, transforming into something eerily reminiscent of the faceless statues.
Looking down at Irene, smiling in blissful expectation upon the altar, Knightwalker spoke with chilling neutrality:
"A pleasure."
Clang!
"Wait, wait—no one said I'd be turned into that!"
A priest, dressed in ceremonial robes, had wandered close. Terrified by what he saw, his wand slipped from trembling hands. Desperate, he waved frantically to keep Knightwalker at bay.
The stench of fear filled the air.
"Mmm. No one said."
Knightwalker tilted her head.
The priest exploded from within, dying instantly, leaving not even a trace.
Panic swept through the crowd.
Some froze in place, lost, glancing about in hopes of escape. Others grew restless, seeking a spark to ignite rebellion.
Knightwalker remained unmoved.
She cared nothing for how many fled. Those who rejected transformation had no value—therefore, they would be erased. Whether this meant erasing the majority did not matter.
The crisis was only quelled when Irene herself spoke:
"Do not doubt. Do not fear. We shall all return to God and become His 'angels.'"
"No famine, no fear, no violence. Everyone will wield this power and become angels of God. Do you wish to abandon your faith?"
Perhaps her words truly struck a chord. Perhaps she wove magic into them.
Either way, the panic stilled. People lowered their heads in thought. Some stared directly at Irene upon the altar—longing to join her.
Seeing this, Knightwalker crafted a new spell in mere seconds, drawing upon the dense magic of the air.
Light flooded the world.
One by one, grand altars rose from the ground.
Identical to Irene's altar in every way but lacking Pip's statue—larger, more efficient, more terrifying.
The crowd went wild.
Some rushed up in frenzy, while others were dragged forward by the press of the mob, caught between terror and indecision.
Brighter and brighter light blazed forth.
The world's magical pulse frequency surged like a tidal wave.
The ten-thousandth magical pulse… arrived in an instant.