With the successive departures of the three Godslayers, the ancient manor grew quiet.
A long, narrow crack split the hundred-acre estate down the middle. On the banquet hall tables, the silverware had not yet been cleared away. The scorch marks from the lightning and the traces left by the Silver Arm crisscrossed the scene, creating a rather desolate sight now that the crowds had left.
All the guests were eager to witness the battle between the two Kings of Magicians. Some, like the witch Lucretia, used a scrying pool to reflect the scene. Others dispatched familiars to the battlefield. There were even those who directly requisitioned satellites—this was the Nicholas family, always known for their wealth and extravagance.
But as the Saint's first follower, seen by outsiders as the first knight under the king, Erica remained at the manor. Sunlight could not penetrate the cracks in the estate. The wreckage of a crystal chandelier refracted the internal silence. A silver fork was stuck in a crack in the scorched marble, like a rest note marking the end of this grand feast.
"Uncle." Erica looked at the man in red armor walking towards her, finally snapping back to reality.
Paolo Blandelli. His figure could be compared to the statue of David. Though a man approaching the age of forty, he was as young and vibrant as a youth, with a sculpted, handsome face full of intellect and refinement. And his perfectly trained body was like steel—befitting his title as the highest-ranking knight.
The strongest knight in Italy was the King of Swords—Salvatore Doni. But the highest-ranking knight was Paolo Blandelli.
But this pride of the Blandelli family, the man who doted on Erica the most, walked up to his niece and, without warning, raised his hand. The clear print of a slap marked her face.
Erica looked up, stunned, the handprint still on her cheek.
"I originally thought you were just foolish, but I never imagined you were actually stupid." Paolo Blandelli looked down his nose at her. "Because Princess Alice is your close friend, you failed to stand up for your king the moment he was questioned. Instead, you allowed the Hime-Miko from a remote island nation of the Far East to speak for the king you swore loyalty to. Do you know what that represents?"
"I know," Erica said, lowering her head.
Paolo Blandelli looked at his niece, whom he had raised with his own hands. He had understood since Erica was young that his niece harbored a great ambition in her heart: to emulate her ancestors and become a woman who slays gods. And after she had confirmed on Sardinia that she lacked the talent, this ambition had not been extinguished.
It had simply shifted from becoming a Godslayer herself to another direction.
What she would do in the future, Paolo could only watch from afar. But when she made a mistake, he would correct it in time.
Paolo looked at the distant guests, and at the Hime-Miko in men's clothing and her subordinate. "As the heir to the Blandelli family, you must understand that there is a fundamental difference between being foolish and being stupid. Now, the island nation of the Far East may be your competitor. Prepare yourself." With that, Paolo turned and strode towards the banquet guests.
West of Italy, the island of Capraia.
Located in the Mediterranean, it is part of the Tuscan Archipelago and is administered by the Province of Livorno. Unlike the vast land of Sardinia, its area is only nineteen square kilometers, making it a perfect battlefield for a contest of myths to be reenacted.
As the King of Swords of Southern Europe, Doni would naturally not start a battle in his own main territory. Shortly after he landed, that long-unfelt, deep and rousing tension that made his nerves taut washed over him once more.
He didn't even need to search for him. The figure who had already arrived on the battlefield was standing there.
Though he was an Asian youth with black hair and brown eyes, under the sun he seemed to shine with a golden light, like a sun that had fallen to earth. Even from a distance of several kilometers, his brown eyes, brimming with fighting spirit, made the corners of the King of Swords' mouth turn up in an unconscious smile.
The Seventh Godslayer, the Saint, Seiya—
"What a wonderful moment. The stronger the enemy, the more excited I become as a warrior. This feeling, you who are of the same kind as me must surely understand." The King of Swords, Doni, strode up to Seiya. "Come, how about we drink some fine wine before we fight?"
Seiya raised an eyebrow, looking at Doni holding a bottle of chilled wine and two silver goblets. He remembered Erica's warning, and the memory of that Authority with its complex procedures, which could nevertheless perform miraculous feats at critical moments.
But he still smiled and accepted the goblet. He watched as Doni filled it with wine as red as blood. They clinked their goblets together as if bumping fists, and then drained the fine wine in one gulp.
"How does it taste?" Doni's face was radiant, his innocent smile completely unlike that of an opponent about to engage in battle.
"Not bad. This wine has a heavy body, but its acidity is average. The tannins are average to high and very mature. If I were you, I would have chosen a wine from Château d'Yquem. It would suit the current atmosphere better." At this moment, Seiya was like the war god back at the casino, looking down and evaluating the object before him.
"Is that so? To be honest, it's all the same to me," the King of Swords now said, echoing Seiya's earlier words.
The goblets shattered. The two of them strode off in opposite directions. They did not agree on a distance. After just a few dozen steps, the King of Swords, Doni, let go of the long black case he was carrying in his other hand. The moment the black case hit the ground, a giant sword glowing with a purple light was in his hand.
"Let it be sworn here. I will not allow anything to exist that I cannot cut. And this sword is an invincible blade that can sever and slice all things on earth!"
The loud chanting of the incantation swept the immense magical power upwards like a storm. In that instant, his hands transformed into hands of silver metal, and then an enormous amount of magical power was wound around his weapon.
At the same time, the pendant on Seiya's neck flew up, and an azure-silver current swirled around him.
Without any words, the swirling azure wind instantly enveloped Seiya's entire body. His Cloth, with a sonorous clang of metal, completed its armament. The moment his Cosmo resonated with it, it was like a child returning to the womb, like a pilot returning to their Evangelion. Power surged forth continuously.
Thus, the Pegasus Saint, Seiya, slowly raised his head. An azure wind swirled around him, and the distorted heat haze could not conceal the sharp light that burst from his eyes. But an even sharper sword was already closing in.
The Silver Arm shone, its golden light dazzling. Slashes spanning hundreds of meters collided with each other, and the shattering magical power splashed onto both of them. They looked at each other, and their gazes seemed to strike sparks in the middle of this battlefield.
_____
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