Rowan lowered his raised paw and turned back to Fairy Tail, his expression suddenly serious.
"Everyone, you can see the situation for yourselves," he said calmly.
"If we retreat right now, they'll think we're weak. And once they do, a war against the eastern continent becomes inevitable."
The guild quieted.
"So this time, our goal isn't to win," Rowan continued.
"It's to take down as many of them as we can before we withdraw. The more losses they suffer here, the more cautious they'll be afterward. That buys us time."
He lifted his paw again.
"This one's on all of you. Fairy Tail… victory."
He wasn't just lying to the enemy.
He was lying to his own people too.
If everyone believed he had everything under control, no one would truly push themselves. Desperation was a forge. He needed them inside the fire, not watching it from behind his back.
Fortunately, most of Fairy Tail ran on blood, guts, and adrenaline. Logic never stood a chance against that combo.
"Victory!"
Natsu, Erza, Gajeel, Laxus, and the rest raised their hands in unison, roaring it back.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just raw, suicidal enthusiasm.
Rowan flicked his paw forward.
"Charge."
Fairy Tail surged toward the Desert King like a collapsing wave.
"Armor of the Heavenly Wheel!"
"Fire Dragon's Roar!"
"Sky Dragon's Roar!"
"Lightning Dragon's Roar!"
"Seven-Star Sword!"
"Heavenly Body Magic!"
A storm of magic detonated around the Desert King, burying him in fire, lightning, blades, and light.
The Desert King roared.
A massive sandstorm erupted outward, grinding against the incoming attacks and barely holding the line.
But his expression had already changed.
These weren't the weak eastern mages he'd expected.
Their spells were heavier. Sharper. Meaner.
"…I underestimated them," he growled, forcing more magic into the storm.
He refused to call for help.
He'd said he'd handle them alone.
His pride wouldn't let him take it back.
—
Rowan stood off to the side, ears twitching.
"…Huh."
He was genuinely surprised.
They were stronger than he remembered.
Of course they were.
His mental image of them was still stuck back at the guild civil war. Since then, they'd fought the Oración Seis, Edolas, and the Tenrou Island disaster.
Of course they'd grown.
Anna stood beside him, arms folded.
"They still won't win in the end," she said quietly.
"Especially not with those two watching."
Her gaze flicked toward August and the red-haired woman standing near him.
The pressure rolling off them was monstrous.
Mavis floated closer to Rowan.
"If this goes bad, I can merge with you and take control of your magic," she whispered.
"I'll form Fairy Sphere around everyone. You teleport us out."
Rowan waved it off lightly.
"Not yet. Let it cook."
His eyes sparkled with interest as he watched Natsu and Erza combo a rotating fire-and-blade strike straight into the sandstorm's core.
They were inventing spells mid-fight.
That alone made this worth it.
—
Less than five minutes later, the sandstorm collapsed.
The Desert King flew backward like a wrecked truck, smashed into the mirrored ground, and didn't get back up.
"We won!" someone shouted.
Rowan vanished.
He reappeared midair, caught the unconscious Desert King by the collar, and gently set him down.
Then his eyes briefly glowed.
He skimmed the man's memories.
Magic structures.
Techniques.
Unique spell frameworks.
Jackpot.
This was the real reason he'd come to the western continent.
Not diplomacy.
Not politics.
Not even Zeref.
Magic.
Forbidden magic.
Imperial magic.
Zeref's kind of magic.
Every world he visited fed the others. Power gained here rippled outward, strengthening every other version of him.
If this branch grew strong enough…
Even Acnologia would become trivial.
Rowan straightened and looked back at Fairy Tail.
They were panting. Smiling. Bleeding.
And glowing.
"Alright," he murmured.
"Next volunteer."