"—The moon is quite large tonight, isn't it?"
"Indeed. Even a mere rock adrift in the void shines with such brilliance when it graces my garden. The sheer competence of this planet—this garden of mine—is truly terrifying."
"—I've heard stories that a rabbit lives on the moon. Do you think it's true? I'd love to meet them someday!"
"Hmph. Whether that is true or not is a matter one cannot know without treading upon its surface... but at the very least, 'something that could amuse me' certainly existed there. A certain someone, living a life well worth the spectacle."
"—Ah, you've mentioned them before. The person recognized by the King. I hope I can talk with them one day!"
"Heh. If you run across the sea of stars, a future where you cross paths may well exist. I suspect the 'Me' on that side is quite the doting caretaker as well."
(One day, we'll plant a flag on that moon. Right, Ea?)
"—Yeah! Gil, Fou... the moon really is beautiful..."
"Hmph. —Indeed, it is."
(If only we weren't in this mess...)
The Marseille Strategy
「「「...」」」
On the coastline of Marseille, a trio sat in silence, gathered around a crackling campfire.
There was the holy maiden who quelled the dragon with a cross, Saint Martha.
Saint George, whose martyred soul made his name known across the world.
And finally, our "Legend of the Samurai," Sasaki Kojiro.
Every one of them was a figure of legend regarding dragons; a gathering of experts with a particular specialty in dragon-slaying. And what, exactly, were these illustrious heroes doing around a campfire?
"Hey... don't you think they're ready by now?" Martha asked.
"Shall we start with you, Saint Martha?" George suggested.
"Oh, starting with me? How embarrassing. But, if it is a proposal from Saint George..."
She deftly pulled a toasted yaki-dango from the fire, brought it to her lips, and took a slow, deliberate bite.
"Ah... this crispy texture! It's seriously, like, totally delici—Ahem!"
Faced with the sheer bliss of the dumpling, Martha's true personality nearly leaked out. She caught herself just in time, pivoting back into her "Holy Maiden" persona.
"Now, if you'll excuse me..." George took a bite. "Hm! HO-HO! It's hot! Scalding, yet so sweet! It seems simple, yet one never tires of the taste. A smooth surface, yet packed with depth... Simple, yet profound. How can I even begin to describe this emotion...?"
George had effectively transformed into a food critic, savoring the unknown texture of the Marseille Dango Party. And then, for some reason, the Samurai chimed in.
"Indeed, indeed. Easy to eat in a single bite, yet far from unsatisfying. This dango is undoubtedly the work of a master. This Sasaki is truly impressed. Truly, talent exists in every era."
"..."
"Is something the matter, Lady Martha? Do I have something on my face?"
"No, not at all," Martha replied coldly. "I was just wondering what that honey-like sauce was. Not that I want any. And for the record, I don't trust you. You've been loitering around us for days now—isn't it about time you confessed your true objective?"
Kojiro parried her interrogation with a nonchalant grace, continuing to chew.
"My objective is as I stated at the start. I wish to test my blade against yours, Lady Martha. That is all."
"And as I told you, I refuse. I am one who preaches the futility of conflict. Why should I seek out a fight? It doesn't suit my nature."
"Is that so~? Are you suuuuure about that~?"
Kojiro's voice took on a dubious, teasing rasp, like he was chewing on ten bitter insects at once. Naturally, this poked right at Martha's real temperament.
"I'm sure! You! Are you making fun of me?! What's with the 'this Sasaki' and the 'de gozaru' talk?! You're doing that on purpose, aren't you!?"
"Hahaha, you saw through me? When one is expected to have a certain dignity, one must take care. As you see, I am a wanderer; I flip between my 'true self' and my 'martial self.' But I'm not the only one, am I? You're wearing a mask too, Lady Martha. And quite a large 'cat' you've got there. Was it Tarasque? A literal 'stray cat' of a dragon."
"Hah?! You were after my Tarasque this whole time?! Not me?! Don't you dare look down on Tarasque's Great Iron Shell! That thing even held up against my iron fists!"
"Oho, iron fists? Now that is interesting. I thought your weapon was a staff?"
"—! O-Oh-ho-ho-ho! Surely you misheard? As a Saint, there is no way I would ever raise my fists!"
"What are you saying?" George interjected. "I heard it from Lady Jeanne. She said France was saved by your fists and your revelations..."
"What kind of legends are people spreading?! Hey! Seriously, what are you telling everyone?! That was nothing more than a handicap match!"
The trio continued their rowdy bickering. They looked like they were having a grand old time—but the observers didn't share the sentiment.
"What 'Saint'?! What 'Holy Maiden'...?!"
Jeanne Alter hissed, her eyes brimming with murderous intent and boiling rage. Her pride as a creator and her deep-seated animosity toward "Saints" fueled her movements.
"Indeed. Some mongrel once prattled on about how a fake could never equal the real thing... it seems he wasn't entirely off the mark."
"—Toasted dango! They have those, too!?"
Ea's eyes sparkled at the savory aroma. The sauce, the steam... she was intensely curious.
(Let's try making some later! I bet they're delicious!)
"—Right! Well then, let's go carry out justice!"
Ea urged them forward with an upbeat, excited skip. I couldn't help but chuckle as I patted Jeanne and Rikka on the back.
"Righteousness is on our side. Come, let us nail these Saints to the cross of condemnation!"
"Yeah! Let's go file a complaint with God!"
The group leaped out in front of the Dragon Slayers!
"You corrupt Saints fallen to greed! It's time for a lecture and a reality check! Choose now: listen to Rikka, or die!"
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