Looking at Hermes, who had just crashed into the ground and had not yet risen, Aslan curled the corners of his mouth. It was rare for a god to be brought so low. Better, then, to let him taste the suffering of all living beings on the earth and never return to the sky.
"Come, my supreme masterpiece! In the name of justice, let this god of a bygone age know that his nemesis has arrived! In the name of justice, surpass the gods of old and swear upon the power of humanity!"
The scarlet mecha radiated a fierce surge of magic. As a man-made god, forged in humanity's image, it bore the name of Justice and stood as the natural enemy of the divine. It was the most fitting existence to become their bane—correcting the mistakes of the gods, bringing liberation to the West, and stepping upon their wreckage to perfect itself step by step, growing ever stronger.
Aslan lightly leapt into the crimson giant. The cockpit opened to his touch, and as his palm brushed the frame, it admitted him with ease. The instant his magical energy connected with the Supreme Masterpiece, it was as if a soul had been injected into the machine. Its presence swelled until the mecha itself seemed alive.
Seeing this overwhelming aura, Hermes let out a disbelieving cry.
"Impossible! This is impossible! That aura… it cannot be mistaken! It is the very same as that of the Mecha God of Fire and Forge! No… Brother, you would never betray us! Who are you? What stain dares pollute our Mecha Gods?!"
To Hermes, the presence radiating from Justice was indistinguishable from that of the Twelve Main Gods. That suffocating aura, combined with the unmistakable essence of the God of Fire and Forge, made him doubt for a fleeting moment. Could it be that his brother had truly created a new Mecha God? Was this being before him some hidden child of their lineage?
But no—the thought evaporated. His brother would never betray them. Which meant this existence must be an abomination. A false god. An impostor.
And worst of all—this mecha, this red abomination—had sided with the humans. It had even allowed one to enter its body!
That alone was unforgivable. Its very existence was a mistake. Still standing here was its sin. This red mockery of divinity must be erased!
Hermes's body twisted unnaturally as two massive, battered mechanical arms extended from his hull. Their scorched plating and patchwork repairs revealed damage long left unattended. With their aid, Hermes forcibly turned his massive frame. At the same time, the dormant thruster wings unfolded. What had once been gleaming emblems of flight were now charred and broken, revealing scars of ancient battle.
All across his body, weapon ports opened. Some remained functional, others sparked with broken circuits. The entire frame of Hermes looked unstable, a warship dragged from the wreckage of some forgotten war rather than a glorious god of legend.
In this form, Hermes no longer resembled a pristine interstellar transport, but a battered vessel barely stitched together—a machine that bore the marks of its defeats as clearly as its victories. If humans saw this pitiful state, doubt would inevitably take root in their hearts. They would whisper that gods could be damaged, that gods could be broken.
Not far away, Estee Lauder's lips parted slightly. She stared first at Justice—the embodiment of her lifelong dream of forging given form—and then at Hermes, laid bare in his tattered state. For the first time, the fear in her chest eased.
After all, who would not feel a measure of relief to see a once high and mighty god revealed as shabby and scarred?
Yet alongside her relief came awe. The Supreme Masterpiece stood equal to a god, at least in sheer momentum. This blacksmith from another world had reached the realm of gods with his own hands. Could she not, one day, do the same?
Estee Lauder looked down at her hands, capable of absorbing every fragment of Professor Aslan's knowledge without effort. Her eyes shone with a flicker of hope. If Aslan truly defeated Hermes, she would beg him for a share of the god's remains. With them, she too could one day forge an artificial god with her own hands.
She stroked her chin in thought, then activated her magic outfit. One by one, small mechas appeared before her, their chests glowing with cheering elemental spirits. The spirits had not yet recovered from the shock of realizing the mechas they rode in had been upgraded.
Estee Lauder knew well her little machines could not stand against Hermes's main body, but she could still gather the fragments that fell during the clash between Aslan and the god. If Aslan were defeated, she would unleash smoke bombs and flash bombs to cover a retreat.
Materials were precious in her world—how could she waste even the shards of a god?
As she often said herself: frugality is a virtue. Everyone should practice it.
In fact, she still had parts of Perseus's body stored in her small warehouse—though only the mechanical parts. She had no interest in keeping the human remains.
Men held no fascination for her. There were plenty of living ones scattered across the continent—why would she bother hoarding a burned-out husk? And besides, no man could compare to the joy of forging iron. Men would only slow down her smithing.
Of course, she made one exception. Professor Aslan. Any man who could aid her in blacksmithing deserved a place by the forge. For now.
-End Chapter-
Visit the Patreon!!
Read 30 chapters ahead, more on the way!
[email protected]/TrashProspector