A cool, unhurried voice drifted across the ruined battlefield.
"Ara? Surely this isn't the end already. I believe I warned you—once you invade Eterna, mercy is no longer an option."
Lieutenant General Gaster spun around.
Reflected in his trembling eyes was a pale, beautiful face framed by pure white hair and crimson eyes—a smile so gentle it felt unreal.
Testarossa.
"I may not look the part," she continued pleasantly, "but I am a woman of my word. When I was summoned into this world before, I fulfilled every wish given to me. You may rest easy knowing that I am… consistent."
Fear seized Gaster's heart.
Not the fear of injury.
Not the fear of death.
This was primal fear—the kind that stripped meaning from instincts themselves, shaking the foundation of existence.
"You—witch!" Gaster shouted hoarsely.
"Ara?" Testarossa replied, tilting her head. "Did you forget already? What an impolite gentleman."
She smiled at him the way a mother might smile at a frightened child.
Gaster could never forget her.
Even if decades passed, even if his memories decayed, that white hair and those scarlet eyes would remain etched into his soul.
Beautiful.
And utterly horrifying.
Her beauty inspired revulsion so deep it made his skin crawl.
Gaster forced himself to move, to shout orders—but no one responded.
"I'm not sure what you intended," Testarossa whispered softly—right next to his ear.
"But your subordinates are sleeping. They must have been exhausted. After all… they don't seem capable of waking up anymore."
They had been facing each other.
And yet—
She was behind him.
Gaster froze.
He had never taken his eyes off her.
His Unique Skill, Musician, allowed him to detect the faintest sound—heartbeats, blood flow, even muscle tension.
Yet Testarossa had moved without producing any sound at all.
Then realization struck.
He could hear nothing else either.
No breathing.
No heartbeats.
They were all dead.
"Y-you… did you kill my men?" Gaster stammered, staggering back.
Testarossa answered calmly.
"Ara? I was a little hungry, so I ate some."
"…Ate what?"
She smiled sweetly.
"A little bit of the soul."
Rage flooded Gaster, overwhelming his fear.
"Die, demon! Mind Requiem!"
He unleashed his ultimate technique—an inescapable wave of lethal sound that shattered minds and destroyed spiritual entities. A trump card effective even against demons and spirits.
Testarossa listened.
Then sighed happily.
"Aah… what a lovely sound. How unfortunate it came from a human. I truly regret having to kill such a talented musician."
She looked… sad.
Gaster understood instantly.
It hadn't worked.
Despair swallowed him.
She wasn't simply stronger than the monstrous wolf rampaging across the battlefield.
She existed on a completely different plane.
Are there more like her in this country?
If so… we misjudged everything from the start…
Gaster finally grasped the truth.
The Empire had never stood a chance.
Still, he screamed.
"Wait! I want to negotiate!"
"Ara, go on. I'm listening."
"I-I'm a high-ranking officer! I have confidential military intelligence!"
He abandoned pride, dignity—everything.
And yet, his ears picked up something.
Footsteps.
Silent ones.
Only he could hear them.
Imperial Intelligence Agency.
Gaster's heart leapt.
Tatsuya Kondou… he wouldn't leave this battlefield unobserved.
Hope returned.
If they were agents, then—
"This presence… an archdemon!"
Three figures rushed forward, placing themselves between Gaster and Testarossa.
Relief washed over him.
Archdemons were Calamity-class, but Champion-class fighters could battle them.
"Oho?" Testarossa hummed. "And who might you be?"
"I'm from the Intelligence Agency—"
"Enough," said the man in the center. "Now's not the time."
He stared at Testarossa grimly.
"She's incarnated… no wonder her presence feels weak."
"Gaster-dono," the leader said, "join us. We'll eliminate this demon."
"…Of course."
They moved instantly.
Chains of holy silver, woven with monster hair, shot out and bound Testarossa from three directions.
Imperial Sealing Formation.
A legendary trinity technique capable of restraining even archdemons.
Gaster recognized them now.
Imperial Guardians.
—Number 11, Davis
—Number 38, Walt
—Number 64, Gordon
And Davis—
A Sage-class monster slayer who once sealed the White Primordial.
Relief flooded Gaster.
She's finished.
But Testarossa laughed.
"Oh my… this is nostalgic. You're the ones who defeated me before, aren't you?"
The three froze.
"…Blanc?"
"You're lying!"
"So soon after sealing her?!"
"Tee-hee~" Testarossa giggled.
"What wonderful expressions. Fear. Doubt. Confidence without foundation. You men truly adore futile effort."
"Shut up!"
"We sealed you once!"
"This time we'll erase you completely!"
Testarossa smiled serenely.
"Ara~ how amusing. Do you truly believe the same trick works twice on me?"
Davis snapped sharply.
"Gaster-dono! Withdraw your troops immediately!"
But Gaster was already too late.
As he tried to activate Musician to issue a retreat order—
He realized the truth.
The moment he encountered Testarossa—
All hope had already been dead.
Davis, Walt, and Gordon were once unsung champions—men who had slain a demon lord and lived to erase their own names from history.
That event would later be called the Lakeshore Dyed Scarlet Incident.
Back then, the White Primordial, Blanc, ruler of the eastern demon factions, had manifested and was on the verge of full incarnation. From that day forward, the world changed.
Demon countermeasure bureaus were established in every major city.
Demon summoning was outlawed without exception.
If an archdemon incarnated, it meant catastrophe—an army-level threat.
If the demon was a primordial, it meant extinction.
Primordials were not measured by magicule quantity. Their existence itself bent reality. They were beings who stood above the hierarchy of demonkind, rulers on a plane that archdemons could never reach.
Davis had believed—truly believed—that their victory over Blanc had been fate itself.
Luck, yes—but also proof.
Because Davis was Number 11.
Among the Imperial Guardians, that number carried weight.
The so-called heroes of the surface world—champion kings, majin guardians, holy knights—none of them could rival those who had survived the Empire's shadow wars for over a thousand years.
Even legends such as King Gazel of Dwargon or ancient majin lords would hesitate before the Imperial Guardians.
And Davis stood just beneath the Single Digits, the monsters among monsters.
With the armor His Majesty granted us… there is no demon that can defeat me.
That belief hardened his resolve.
After ordering Gaster to retreat, Davis roared to his companions.
"Begin unsealing! Blanc may have gained a body, but her magicules won't be stable yet. We end this here!"
"Roger!"
"Let's do it!"
The pendants around their necks shone.
Light erupted—flooding over them like a golden torrent.
When it faded, three warriors stood clad in uniform golden plate armor, ancient and absolute. Legendary-grade equipment bestowed only upon the Empire's chosen. Their weapons differed, but the armor itself was identical—an inheritance from a forgotten age.
Now, Davis and his team could fight at full power.
"You're unfortunate, Blanc," Davis declared.
"You incarnated too early. Meeting us again will be your end!"
He tightened his grip on the sealing chains—
—and froze.
Testarossa was not resisting.
She was already free.
A calm, chilling voice sounded behind him.
"Did you truly think I would allow that?"
Davis turned.
Testarossa stood beside Gaster, her hand resting gently on his neck.
A dull sound echoed.
Gaster collapsed—lifeless.
"…Impossible."
Davis stared in disbelief.
Gaster was arrogant, yes—but he was not weak. A lieutenant general worthy of Imperial Knighthood. Not someone who could be erased in an instant.
And then Davis looked at his hands.
The holy silver chains, interwoven with monster hair—legendary restraints—
They had shattered.
Reduced to scraps.
Agitation spread across Davis, Walt, and Gordon alike.
They hadn't even seen her break them.
Only suffering remained.
"I apologize for the delay," Testarossa said
sweetly.
"This man tried to flee. I punished him, as required by Atem-sama's decree. I had no choice."
She smiled—enchanting, serene.
"Oh, and please stop calling me Blanc."
"…What?"
"I have a name now. Testarossa. Please use it."
Despair crashed over them.
"A name…?"
"You're saying someone named a primordial?!"
"Incarnated… and named…"
That alone confirmed it.
The war was lost.
"We must retreat," Davis said sharply. "Report this to His Majesty!"
"I'll hold her back!"
"I'll cast Warp Portal—"
Their trinity formation shifted instantly. Gordon began chanting.
Then Testarossa laughed.
Softly. Beautifully.
"What's so funny?!" Walt shouted, charging with his spear.
She vanished.
"Where did she—?!"
"I'm here."
Her breath brushed Walt's ear.
Cold fingers closed around his neck.
His mind filled with Gaster's dying expression.
"I truly despise incompetence."
Snap.
Walt collapsed, terror frozen on his face.
Number 38—dead.
Davis felt despair for the first time in centuries.
"Hurry, Gordon! She killed Walt!"
Fear bled into his voice.
The magic circle activated—
—and failed.
"…Why?!"
Testarossa sighed.
"Because I'm using a magic canceler, of course."
"…You replicated it… with magic?"
She looked disappointed.
Testarossa had shared intelligence through Telepathy Net with Ultima and Carrera. The Empire's technology had already been analyzed.
For her, imitation was trivial.
For them, it was incomprehensible.
"What are you?!" Davis shouted.
"Even a primordial shouldn't possess this power!"
Gordon's voice cracked.
"You weren't this strong before… don't tell me—you evolved?!"
They finally understood.
Named. Incarnated.
Testarossa had become something beyond an archdemon.
"Ara, you're correct," she said pleasantly.
"By receiving a name from Atem, King of Games, I have ascended. I am now a Demon Peer."
Their world collapsed.
"…Demon Peer…"
"…Like Guy Crimson…"
Yes.
They finally grasped it.
This being had not returned to play.
She had chosen this world.
"You should have left after losing the princess's body," Davis muttered weakly.
"That is incorrect. My contract had already ended. I left by choice."
She smiled gently.
"Did you truly believe you could defeat me?"
Silence.
"At the time, you interrupted my meal."
"…Meal?"
"That lake dyed scarlet with blood did not satisfy me. Nearly ten thousand souls… and still, you stopped me before my main dish."
Rage flared in Davis.
"You monster!"
He forced his body to move—
—and then froze.
A new voice echoed overhead.
"Testarossa, why are you taking so long?"
A girl descended—dark purple hair tied in a ponytail.
Ultima.
"Sorry," Testarossa replied lightly. "Old acquaintances."
"Atem-sama told us to go all out. You should hurry, or he'll be displeased."
"That would be troublesome."
Davis's mind shattered.
Two Demon Peers.
Under the command of Atem.
The title of Number 11 meant nothing here.
Fear crushed his will.
Gordon was already sobbing.
Testarossa raised her hand.
"Since you are old acquaintances, I will show you a fitting spell."
Darkness condensed.
A black flame, fist-sized.
Abyss Core.
She crushed it in her palm.
"Death Streak."
Davis never finished understanding.
The black light erupted.
It pierced all matter, rewriting existence itself.
A forbidden nuclear magic that erased flesh, spirit, and information alike.
Within a 500-meter radius, all life ended.
Thus, Number 11 Davis and Number 64 Gordon perished—first sacrifices to Death Streak.
Afterward, Testarossa and Ultima calmly surveyed the ruins.
"No survivors," Ultima said cheerfully. "Good job!"
"Naturally," Testarossa replied. "I spared the machines for study."
They collected souls without emotion.
Atem's will had been carried out.
No mercy.
No hesitation.
And so—
Testarossa's battle ended.
Two elite divisions of the Imperial Armored Corps had been committed to this operation.
The Magic Tank Division
and the Air Assault Division.
Both were annihilated.
With the death of Lieutenant General Gaster, the Operations Center fell silent. Orders ceased. Communications collapsed. The remaining generals, unable to grasp what was happening, began issuing conflicting commands—or none at all.
What followed was not a battle.
It was extermination.
The Magic Tank Division, two hundred thousand strong, was erased.
The Air Assault Division, four hundred thousand strong, vanished from the sky without a trace.
Without a supreme commander, the Imperial Army had no authority capable of requesting surrender or negotiating a ceasefire. Every general who attempted to regroup or resist was cut down where they stood.
Not a single high-ranking Imperial officer survived that battlefield.
This was the moment when Eterna's victory was sealed.
The land belonged to Atem, the King of Games, whose will ruled Eterna with absolute authority. His generals had carried out their roles without hesitation, without mercy, and without error.
Yet—
The war was not over.
Because General Calgurio, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Armored Corps, had not yet received word of the disaster.
At that very moment, the Empire's main force—
The Augmented Legion—
was still advancing.
Seven hundred thousand modified soldiers.
The pride of the Empire.
A force designed for total conquest.
They were marching straight toward Eterna's capital, where Atem awaited.
Unaware.
Uninformed.
And already doomed.