"This feeling of boundless power is amazing."
For the first time she didn't feel hungry or drained; the sense of fullness was wonderful.
"Pleased to meet you, Rhongomyniad."
She lightly stroked the holy lance bound by thirteen seals. From it she sensed joy and a clinging affection, almost like a cute little girl acting coquettish. The thought made her chuckle—how fanciful.
"Fighting in this outfit is going to be awkward… but with this level of mana, is the dress meant solely to unleash Rhongomyniad?"
With her free right hand she touched the earring that had appeared with the gown; after two steps she already felt the garment restricting her movements. The moment that thought surfaced, slits opened on both sides of the skirt, rising clear to the thigh and ballooning like a bubble dress.
"Are you trying to make me hand out fanservice?"
She glanced at the creamy-white stockings clinging to her fair, shapely thighs and deadpanned a complaint—especially since the slits nearly exposed her panties. Too lewd for battle; no, no.
"Retract."
Having figured out how the garb worked, she dismissed it, leaving only Rhongomyniad in hand. She slid back into the spring and studied the lance—few knights could still wield such a long spear, yet this was now her lifeline; she had to Master it.
Bang!
She thrust the weapon into the pool. The marble bottom shattered, and with a slight infusion of mana the lance gathered light. A golden beam lanced from its tip, drilling straight through the ground and vaporizing every last drop of her hot-spring water.
"Incredible."
Facing the crater—five or six meters wide and over thirty deep—she beamed at Rhongomyniad. A sliver of mana had produced such devastation, and that with thirteen seals still in place. Her "lance-bucket" was finally in hand. The only thing that could now threaten her was Mordred's "daddy-stabbing" sword, but the rebellious kid wasn't here, so that tailor-made Noble Phantasm didn't exist. She could run wild without worry.
"Well then, bath time's over."
She dismissed Rhongomyniad; her golden irises reverted to their usual jade-green. With a burst of mana she dried her damp skin, wrapped herself in a towel, and strolled out of the bathroom. Let tomorrow's repair crew worry about the mess—she'd just pay the bill.
Unbeknownst to Artoria, the beam had bored only thirty-plus meters physically, yet its energy had reached Earth's core. There lay an enormous green cocoon; the blast grazed it, leaving a thin crack. Inside, a woman—no, a goddess—so beautiful the world itself might pale, opened long-sealed eyes and smiled at the fissure. She was Gaia, imprisoned by the Celestials at the planet's heart.
"I don't know why, but I can get out sooner now."
Her lovely eyes shone with longing for freedom—and with hatred. Just wait, Celestials; provoking a woman carries a price you'll soon pay.
Of the events unfolding at the core Artoria knew nothing, never imagining her casual experiment would rouse a deity and bring heaps of trouble raining down on her.
"Stop—stop! What's wrong with you, excalibur?"
Things here were uneventful, but in the legendary Gensokyo, Merlin was frantic. The holy sword had suddenly gone berserk for no reason, and now the whole realm was shaking under its pressure. The lake nymphs were forced out of the water and glared at him angrily, thinking he had offended the blade; weaker sprites were knocked unconscious. Nothing like this had happened since the land of fantasy was founded.
'Damn Rhongomyniad, finding Master before me—I'm furious!'
The holy sword, like a child, sensed Rhongomyniad's aura and could no longer suppress its longing for its Master. Its consciousness set the blade humming, releasing an overwhelming pressure.
'I'll soon find a suitable person and take you to King Arthur. Don't worry—really. By my name as High Mage Merlin, I swear I'll take you to Arthur.'
In his haste Merlin tore out a few hairs from his beard. After so long with the sword he could read its mood: it missed its Master—plus a lot of jealousy. He didn't know why it was so angry, but he'd just spotted a hot-blooded youth and quickly swore the oath.
'…Really?'
Sure enough, the sulking sword stopped its pressure. The moment it did, its consciousness asked Merlin a question, like a little girl who'd been crying because she couldn't buy candy and now learns the adult will take her to another shop that has some.
'Do you think I'd lie?'
'Fine. I'll trust you one more time, you old coot.'
'…'
Merlin nearly coughed blood. How had he become an old coot? He was immortal—how could he be old? A bit scruffy, maybe, but old?
'Do I look old?'
Seeing the nymphs still silent, Merlin turned, pointed at his face, and asked.
'Hah!'
The nymphs gave him a look of disgust and dove back into their lake without a backward glance.
'Sigh…'
Merlin was hurt, but he'd go out another day and take a look at the modern world. Nymphs were spirits after all; their aesthetics differed from humans—they prized beauty. He'd asked the wrong people. Just hope this trip wouldn't get him caught by the Ancient One; that would be troublesome. He wasn't afraid of her, but being stalked and having to watch for revenge was a nightmare. Truly, the old Chinese saying held: 'Never cross a woman.' With that, Merlin began setting up the teleportation circle to keep his promise to the holy sword.
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