Chapter 221: The Moon Princess Descends Here
The Sea of Stars was the Earth's core. It was the manifestation of the planet's origin, like the roots of a tree where every different Earth branched outward as an extended trunk.
That truth did not mean that everything within the Sea of Stars was itself an origin.
In reality, the Sea of Stars connected every Earth. Yet within that vastness, the layers closest to each individual world were still distinct, still local, still bound to the texture of that one timeline.
Fairy Paradise was exactly that.
It existed within the Sea of Stars, but it still belonged to the Paradise of this world.
Fairies were, by essence, a phantasmal species formed from the condensation of life's fantasies. Paradise was the same. Human dreams, human longing, human wishes that could never be fulfilled, those were the foundation that built it.
Fairies could not plunge into the deeper great sea that the gods touched when they entered the Sea of Stars. They were not beings of Authority. They still needed fantasy as their ground.
And if fantasy deviated, then Paradise itself would shake.
The turbulence spreading through Paradise now came from a single cause.
Rowe of this world had, inexplicably, become a King of the Fairies.
A portion of humanity's fantasies had been diverted to him.
So Paradise, in order to preserve itself, reacted as if by instinct. It began to derive a kind of fairy that carried responsibility. Not the usual nothingness condensed from scattered wishes, but a corrective existence born to repair the drift.
Morgan le Fay.
Or rather, Vivian.
Morgan le Fay was the name of the identity Paradise prepared for her to wear in the present world.
Vivian was the fairy's name.
A voice, cold and absolute, pressed itself into the newborn clarity of her mind.
"What you must do is go to the present world and end the traces left by that King of the Fairies."
"What you must do is end the activities of present world fairies, and end mystery."
"Gather fantasies from outside back into Paradise."
Under a wilderness wind, beneath boundless rosy light, a young and beautiful figure slowly opened emerald blue eyes.
And the story turned.
…
"What kind of monster is this?"
"It is not a phantasmal species like a magical beast or a fairy. It is not some ancient remnant either."
"Form up. Form up!"
"Do not panic…"
Voices echoed across the wilderness.
Roman soldiers held spears, javelins, swords, and shields. They forced themselves into formation, pushing forward step by step, as if discipline alone could nail the world in place.
Yet facing the surge of enemies, a heavy solemnity settled over many faces.
These men had crossed from Europa into West Asia like a drawn blade. Romans, and young warriors taken from Germanic and Celtic tribes alike. They had slain gods. They had fought phantasmal subspecies conjured by barbarian shamans.
They had won too many times.
Victory had become habit.
But this did not feel like war.
Sand dunes rolled beneath a harsh sky. The wilderness wind carried grit like a curse. From the soil, figures rose one after another. Pale hands clawed upward. Skeletons dragged themselves free. Broken flesh clung to bone. Eyes that should have been empty gleamed with a chill, unnatural light.
The enemies were not especially strong.
They were simply wrong.
They were people.
They were dead people, corpses buried in this land, the remains of warriors of the same species as the men now holding Roman shields.
They had been dead for ages, yet some unseen force pulled them out of the earth to assault the living.
Layer after layer.
One wave after another.
Endless.
"You who desecrate the dead and toy with death, your sin cannot be atoned for even by ten thousand deaths!"
Boudica's fury was naked. The words cut like a verdict, not a speech.
Barghest's colossal pale machina god body stood beneath the sunlight like a moving fortress. Her hounds howled, warning of death. Engines burned at her ankle joints, venting force. Each impact she delivered shattered the ground, leaving craters like open mouths.
It did not matter.
It was useless.
The dead kept rising.
From ancient times to the present, how many had died on this land?
Countless.
So many that the idea of counting became absurd.
With one glance, you could see bodies from eras that should not have shared the same horizon. Primitive people. Stone Age people. Men who once lived on raw meat and blood. Soldiers whose armor had turned to dust, yet their bones still marched.
Unless the land itself was broken.
Unless its record was erased.
This assault could not be cleanly severed.
A roar split the sky.
A massive dragon's cry rolled down like thunder made flesh.
From above, a pale giant dragon woven of light lowered its claws.
The talons raked through the endless corpses, and at the same time, shattered the land beneath.
Dust and smoke exploded upward.
When it thinned, what remained was not a battlefield.
It was a wound in the world.
A vast, deep fissure, like a chasm carved into the earth.
"That is… amazing." Barghest stared upward. The white dragon's form was already gone, but the lingering glow still drifted like an aurora.
The fairy from Paradise had never seen Rowe's unseen extensions.
But the claw that descended from the sky carried an unmistakable signature.
Albion.
Melusine.
Behind the legions, Rowe sat in his chariot and swept his gaze across the battlefield. Then he looked to the girl who had descended from the sky behind him.
Melusine landed lightly, steady, then let the dragon fade. She returned to human form, and a smile appeared as if she had finally stepped into her own outline.
"Yes," she said softly. "This is how I should truly be."
"Remarkable," Einzbern breathed beside her, genuine surprise slipping through her usual composure. "She is close to primordial power, is she not?"
As Athena, Einzbern was a king within one pantheon. She could not naturally reach the planetary scale realm that covered the entire surface of the world.
However.
"As long as I complete the Third Magic in full, I can reach that height as well." The silver haired girl's voice was calm, yet the desire beneath it was sharp. "I can reach the scenery where you stand."
To achieve the Third Magic in a human body, then use soul materialization to feed back into the existence of a god, to materialize a divine spirit core, and return that vast energy to a human vessel.
Through that, Einzbern would gain an endless supply.
She would become the serpent that governed circulation, the principle that never ran dry.
In the old myths, Athena had presided over serpents. Even the famed Gorgon Sisters had once been considered under her shadow.
"Do not worry." Rowe smiled, and the encouragement was gentle without being indulgent. "That day is not far."
He looked ahead.
The land was shattered. Even if the dead still stirred beneath, the weight of a trampled world would make it difficult for them to climb out again.
Rowe lifted his sword.
The order was simple.
Advance.
Yet he understood one thing with absolute clarity.
This was only a precursor.
The Roman army had crossed the Ural Mountains. After sweeping North Asia, they marched into West Asia.
Next would be Southwest Asia. Or North Africa. Or more distant frontiers, lands even Alexander failed to bind beneath one banner.
But before any of that, a greater wall waited.
The Crimson Moon.
Brunestud had descended to the surface.
The myriad dead were merely the opening bell.
A vast army of corpses assembled to welcome the Moon Princess.
…
Later records would wrap it in poetry and fear.
They would say the Roman army crossed countless mountains and seas, reaching the border of West Asia.
They would say the battle hardened host defeated the Parthian Empire and the Kushan Empire of that era, only to fall into crisis when it was about to turn south.
They would call it a natural disaster.
They would describe a blood red moon falling from the sky, a pitch black night swallowing the world, and death rising from the ground to deliver the threat of eternal sleep.
…
That night, the army camped on the plains.
Fires scattered across the wilderness like a spilled constellation. From afar, the camp looked like a galaxy fallen onto earth.
The moon was bright.
And crimson.
The light pressed down on the heart, heavy without permission.
Patrolling soldiers moved with taut vigilance. After fighting the dead in daylight, their nerves did not loosen.
Atop a high watchtower, Boudica arrived in person.
"I feel… uneasy," she admitted, voice low.
Barghest's grin was still there, but it lacked its usual ease.
"Uneasy? Of course."
She looked toward the horizon as if she expected the sky to open.
"I feel it too. Something big is coming."
Then she turned.
"Baobhan Sith. Did His Excellency give any instructions?"
The red fairy girl tilted her head.
"No. Before nightfall, Lord Rowe only gave one order."
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