Ultima lost interest in Farage the moment she departed the flagship.
As she ascended into the sky, she glanced back at the swelling black fireball and nodded in satisfaction. The destruction unfolded exactly as intended—no more, no less. For a brief moment, she considered whether she should have increased the output, but dismissed the thought immediately.
If she had, the Hiryuu units on the ground would have been caught in the blast radius.
That would have been… troublesome.
She remembered Atem-sama's command—do your best—and concluded that this had been the optimal result. Absolute annihilation of the enemy's trump card, with zero allied casualties.
A tragedy had unfolded in the sky, yet not a single Hiryuu had been harmed.
…Well, some had failed to meet their performance quotas and would face consequences later, but that was none of Ultima's concern.
What did concern her was Gabil.
"Gabil-san," Ultima muttered as she flew toward him, irritation creeping into her voice. "What, exactly, were you doing earlier…?"
For some absurd reason, he had been mistaken for Veldora while trapped under the magic canceler's effects. That misunderstanding itself didn't matter—but the timing did. Ultima had wanted the unit to evacuate immediately, not linger in the danger zone.
With some effort, she reached Gabil.
"Hold on," she said sharply. "Explain yourself. What were you doing back there?"
"Oh! Ultima-dono!" Gabil replied cheerfully. "Actually, I gained a brand-new sensation."
Ultima stared at him.
This lizard…
Evacuation came first. She forcibly dragged Gabil away before the residual energy of the Nuclear Flame could spread. He might survive it—but might wasn't good enough.
Once the Hiryuu regrouped on the ground, Ultima crossed her arms.
"So," she said coldly, "what the hell was that?"
This wasn't just personal irritation. As a military attaché and inspector, Ultima was responsible for monitoring Gabil's conduct. If he failed, that failure reflected on her. And if Atem was displeased—
No. She did not want to imagine that.
Gabil, however, looked pleased with himself.
"Gwahahaha! While I was being blasted by those special rays, I realized they were targeting magicules specifically. So I thought—why not test how much I could endure?"
Ultima's eye twitched.
Atem-sama is definitely going to scold this idiot…
She clenched her fists and forced herself to listen.
"And this 'new sensation'?"
"Oh, that! Listen up, everyone," Gabil said proudly. "Midley-dono once said that the more familiar we become with Dragon Body, the longer we can maintain it. And I stayed transformed far longer than usual, didn't I?"
The Hiryuu exchanged looks of shock.
Their transformations usually lasted mere minutes. All of them had already reverted.
"So it wasn't just Gabil-sama's talent…"
"Does that mean we can do it too?"
Excited chatter broke out.
Ultima's expression went flat.
She silently wished unimaginable suffering upon these lizards.
Ordinarily, she would have educated them immediately—but they weren't technically her subordinates. If she went too far and angered Atem, the punishment would be… unpleasant. Exile, at worst.
She swallowed her frustration.
Then Gabil turned to her, grinning.
"It's all thanks to Ultima-dono! You believed in me and bought me time. I saw through it immediately."
"…Huh?"
"There's no need to hide it. This Gabil can tell! Thank you for giving us a chance to grow!"
Ultima blinked.
This was a complete misunderstanding—but correcting him would only waste time.
She exhaled slowly and adjusted his evaluation upward… slightly.
"Enough," she snapped. "Explain properly. What did you discover?"
The battlefield situation had stabilized. Three fronts were active:
—The rear, under Hakurou
—The center, where Gobta and Ranga rampaged
—And the enemy command zone, where Testarossa advanced
With the air force eradicated, Gabil's unit needed to redeploy.
"I'll report this to Atem-sama later," Ultima said.
"But explain it simply. If this truly increases strength, they need to hear it."
Gabil's expression finally turned serious.
"Dragon Body is an Intrinsic Skill fueled by explosive magicule output. Those magicules absorb surrounding matter, reinforcing the body. The larger the mass, the stronger the defense and regeneration."
Magic became unusable—but Skills like Breath remained intact.
"And the enemy's attack disrupted the magicules," Gabil continued. "Instead of weakening me… it made the rampage clearer. Stronger."
"…Stronger than now?" Ultima asked sharply.
Even she was surprised.
Gabil already possessed magicule reserves comparable to a pseudo-awakened Demon Lord. If this scaled further—
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I couldn't control it. I froze in place. So I focused inward—on feeling the magicules."
He paused.
"Midley-dono called it a state of selflessness. Listening to the inner universe."
"Get to the point," Ultima snapped, echoed by the Hiryuu.
"In short," Gabil said quickly, "I sent a thought into the rampaging magicules. That's how you control them."
Skepticism spread.
Ultima, however, fell silent.
For her, controlling magicules was as natural as breathing. But for dragonewts… this was revolutionary.
If I train them properly… she mused. They could become far stronger.
That would benefit Atem.
And earning his praise was… desirable.
"I understand," Ultima said at last. "But this discussion ends here. We're moving to support Gobta's corps."
She turned, signaling the end of the break.
Relief spread through Gabil's unit.
"Right! Let's go help the others!" Gabil agreed enthusiastically.
He completely misunderstood her mercy—but Ultima allowed it.
"If you fail your quotas," she added sweetly, "we'll have re-education later."
"I'll help with that!" Gabil laughed.
Ultima smiled.
A very dangerous smile.
Unaware of her true intentions, Gabil and the Hiryuu returned to the battlefield—
marching straight toward their next trial, under the unblinking gaze of Atem, King of Eterna.
"This is absurd… I've never seen anything this ridiculous in my life!"
Far from the front lines, inside the troop headquarters, Lieutenant General Gaster screamed in disbelief.
What unfolded before his eyes defied every doctrine of warfare he had ever known.
His pride—the Magic Tank Division—was being played with.
A single, man-shaped wolf monster rampaged through his formation, tearing apart tanks as if they were children's toys. Steel burned, cannons shattered, and armored vehicles were crushed under brute force that mocked modern warfare itself.
It was a nightmare made real.
There was no denying it anymore.
More tanks had already been destroyed than remained operational.
Gaster realized it.
Defeat was inevitable.
But the problem was timing.
The collapse was happening far faster than he had anticipated. He had hesitated for too long—and now the window to retreat had already closed.
Worse still, he hadn't even been able to report the situation to Calgurio, the corps commander of the Armored Corps and supreme commander of this operation.
I need to report immediately… request permission to withdraw…
Gaster tried to cling to logic.
But he knew the truth.
Even if he reported it, the request would be denied.
Calgurio's main force, the Augmented Legion, was already fully deployed—positioned directly in front of Atem's capital, Eterna. That legion numbered seven hundred thousand, each soldier heavily modified, enhanced, and molded into the Empire's ultimate pride.
If Gaster withdrew now, the main army would be exposed.
The psychological damage alone would be
catastrophic. The rear guard retreating meant one thing to soldiers at the front:
The battle was already lost.
Worse still, the Dwarven Kingdom's army had begun moving. If Gaster pulled back, the Augmented Legion would be caught in a pincer between the dwarves and Atem's forces.
That meant one thing.
The supply line would be severed.
Even the Augmented Legion—monsters masquerading as humans—could only operate without rest or supplies for about a week. That was the absolute limit.
My mission is to conquer the Dwarven Kingdom…
If we withdraw now, we abandon Calgurio and the main army…
Even if victory was impossible, they had to maintain a deadlock.
That was the theory.
Reality, however, was merciless.
Gaster looked again at the battlefield projection.
His forces were collapsing.
The rear had descended into chaos. Orders conflicted. Friendly fire had already begun. Units were firing blindly, panicking, killing their own.
At this rate, annihilation was only a matter of time.
"Lieutenant General Gaster!" an officer shouted.
"If this continues, we will be wiped out either
way!"
"Please! We must withdraw—issue the order!"
Gaster didn't need their advice.
He knew.
But saying it aloud meant accepting responsibility.
And responsibility meant death.
Gaster had always been praised—his reputation spotless, his record flawless. He had never once faced true defeat. Never been cornered like this.
If I withdraw… His Majesty will execute me.
No trial. No mercy.
He had dreamed of becoming a Champion of the Empire, a name carved into history.
This battle would erase that future.
At that moment, Gaster's true nature surfaced.
He wasn't thinking of his soldiers.
He wasn't thinking of the Empire.
He was thinking only of himself.
I need a reason.
Someone else to blame.
If the Empire falls here, it cannot be my fault…
The prestige of the Empire was collapsing—and Gaster cared only that his name not be attached to the failure.
"Damn it!" he shouted, slamming his fist down.
"I'm destined to become a champion! And yet you useless, incompetent fools keep dragging me down!"
His words exposed him completely.
At that moment—
BOOM.
A massive explosion shook the headquarters.
"What was that?!"
"Enemy magic attack!"
"M-magic?! Don't tell me it was nuclear—?!"
"It's still unidentified," an officer stammered, "but judging by the scale, it almost certainly is. However—"
"Say it!" Gaster snapped.
"Yes sir! The enemy's magic attack completely overwhelmed our legion-grade counter-magic defenses!"
"…What?"
The color drained from Gaster's face.
"And the damage report?!"
"The explosion occurred in the sky! We've lost all contact with our allied airships!"
Silence.
"…You mean…" Gaster whispered, "…the Air Assault Division?"
"Yes sir. All signals have vanished."
One by one, reality collapsed.
The Empire's trump card—airships equipped with magic cancelers, weapons designed to suppress even dragons—had been annihilated by magic.
Impossible.
And yet undeniable.
Not one ship.
All of them.
"Withdraw…" Gaster muttered.
"No—this is… yes. A tactical repositioning. That's what it is."
He issued the command, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.
But it was far too late.
The battlefield had already passed the point where retreat was possible.
And somewhere far beyond Gaster's crumbling headquarters—