In the barren sky, Avant Heim floated quietly in the high heavens, basking in the unchanging starlight that had endured for six thousand years.
From the ground, looking up, it seemed as though a vast slab of bedrock had been dug from the earth's crust—a floating island suspended in the air.
Upon closer inspection, one would notice that the island, which resembled a colossal rock plate, also bore fins attached to it… Hm?
Splash—!
With the abolishment of the 'Ten Covenants,' the 'Spirit Corridor' that extended across every corner of the world revived once more. The 'island' hovering twenty thousand feet above trembled as if struck by an earthquake.
ROAR—!
The long-slumbering whale let out a mighty cry, its voice tearing through the clouds like thunder, a sound so loud it left heads ringing and thoughts scattering.
A living being?!
It was hard to believe that such a quake came from a living body, yet that was exactly the case. Amid the violent tremors, its massive outline became clear—a gigantic sky whale!
It was alive—a being ranked second among Disboard's sixteen sentient races, surpassed only by the Old Deus.
If an elder who had witnessed the Great War six thousand years ago were here, they would surely exclaim—'The God of War's Messenger!'
During the Great War for supremacy over the title of the One True God, one among the Phantasma mutated into a 'Devil,' leading monstrous kin to rampage across the world.
Among them, one such being—Avant Heim—chose to submit to the late master of the Flügel, the War God Artosh, and thus became known as the God of War's Messenger.
When the war ended six thousand years ago, Artosh was stripped of his divinity by the Ex-Machina, who sacrificed nearly their entire race, and he fell.
With the signing of the 'Ten Covenants' by Tet, Avant Heim's combat power was sealed, and it entered a long slumber.
Thanks to its massive body, the surviving Flügel who had lost their master chose to build a nation upon it, naming it after the Phantasma itself—Avant Heim.
BOOM—!
Now, the crystalline leaves sprouting from Avant Heim's body shimmered a bright azure in the sunlight, swaying like a living breath, sending out pulse-like tremors that shook the air.
The vast surge of magic power stirred the atmosphere into rippling waves that stretched to the horizon, refusing to fade.
Creaaak—
The Flügel's dwelling resembled a colossal tree, with blood-red trunks and roots endlessly extending downward. Among the twisting forms of countless irregular cubes, rows upon rows of book-laden shelves emerged.
This was the legacy after the signing of the 'Ten Covenants'—the Flügel had collected knowledge, that is, books, from every race across the world.
Driven by their innate thirst for knowledge, as well as the need to distract themselves and suppress their instinctive lust for battle—
One could say that the pursuit of knowledge had become their motivation to continue living after the war.
After six thousand years of accumulation, Avant Heim had become the largest library in all of Disboard.
It stored the wisdom of all sixteen sentient races, and even that of the 'unknown.'
To this day, much of the ancient knowledge that the Flügel held had already been lost or forgotten in its original homelands.
Undoubtedly, this was the fundamental reason Avant Heim had not yet suffered a catastrophic strike from the Luna Wolves Legion.
"What's happening?"
"The seal is gone?!"
"Did Tet, that useless god, finally fall?!"
"The pieces have collapsed. No doubt about it—the restrictions of the 'Ten Covenants' have vanished. So this is power…? I almost forgot how good it feels."
One by one, the Flügel emerged from their dormant personal spaces.
Without exception, a geometric halo spun above their heads.
From their waists sprouted glowing wings, far too small by aerodynamics to allow flight, yet glowing with ethereal light.
The air was filled with the ancient scent of books, emanating from these youthful, beautiful Flügel girls. But beneath their appearance lay a sharp contrast—an aura of destruction, mixed with the weariness and pain of unanswered questions, seeping from their beings.
"Is this reincarnation? The authority of the One True God has fallen, and now a new round of conquest is about to begin?"
"If even that kind of being could gain final victory, why did we lose? Even our great master perished—what right did he have to remain?"
Throwing aside their books, the Flügel girls were filled with sighs and doubts.
But soon—
"Sisters, it is time for our wings to cover the sky once again!"
"This is the second time! Our chance at redemption! Once more, we shall wage war! Claim the 'Suniaster' and let our master reign over Disboard again!"
"Those piles of scrap metal must not think their temporary victory will last forever!"
"Slaughter them! Mount their heads upon the One Throne of our Lord!"
"And those forest-dwelling grasshoppers too…!"
Their eyes grew increasingly blood-red, their lips increasingly bloodthirsty… There was a reason the Flügel were called 'god-slaying weapons.'
Born a race of war, though thousands of years had cultivated their interest in knowledge, the truth in their bones remained that of battle maniacs.
Now that the restrictions of the 'Ten Covenants' had vanished, the rebound of their immense combat power—suppressed for six millennia by their overwhelming magical adaptability—was terrifying.
"Sisters, restrain yourselves for now."
A woman appeared, with symmetrically glowing wings woven from light itself extending from her waist, emerald hair, a single horn upon her head, and mismatched blue-gold eyes.
The halo above her head was far more complex than that of other Flügel, composed of numerous intricate magic circles and geometric patterns.
Azril—the First Number, the very first Flügel created, Speaker of the Eighteen-Winged Council, leader of the Flügel, the "Proxy of All Wings," and full representative of the Phantasma Avant Heim.
Her usual angelic smile was replaced entirely by cold severity.
"Recall all Flügel. The failure of the Covenants marks a change of the millennium. We must seize this opportunity with everything we have!"
"For that, we will pay any price!"
Her words, brimming with killing intent, revealed an utterly merciless resolve.
This time, the elder sister was serious.
Though Azril was often regarded among her kin as incompetent, even ridiculed as 'that thing,' and even endured the disrespect of juniors—when she grew serious, no one dared cause trouble.
"Where is Jibril?"
Watching her countless kin gather as they awakened and filled the Eighteen-Winged Council, Azril's brow suddenly furrowed.
"As the Exceptional Unit, the final individual created by our Lord… how could she still be sulking outside at a time like this?! Recall her at once! That is an order!"
"Uh… elder sister, Jibril left home more than ten years ago because she opposed the 'Book Sharing Act.' Currently, her location is in some small human kingdom, called Elkia… Wait?!!"
A Flügel girl suddenly cried out in shock.
"Jibril's presence… has disappeared?!"
As a race designed for group hunting, the Flügel often acted in teams of several to dozens. Among them, a faint sense of each other's presence could never be severed unless one had died.
This was provocation!
Azril's expression twisted hideously. Instinctively, the only conclusion she could reach was that another higher race had struck.
"Good. Very good! Prepare for war—!"
"Your Majesty, this is it. The homeland of the Flügel—Avant Heim, the treasure trove that holds all of Disboard's knowledge!"
A sycophantic yet familiar voice rang out—crack!—
The barrier of reality tore apart. Under collapsing space-time, threads of light stretched like veins.
A violet-red radiance shone too brightly, too fiercely, staining everything around as though drenched in blood.
Those scarlet, rhombus-shaped eyes blazed, the surrounding void and spatial fissures alike reflected their hue, and so too did their fate…
The aura of despair it radiated was unforgettable—etched forever in Azril's mind.
All thoughts of war, slaughter, or hunting were abandoned.
Hummmm—!
The dim void was brushed by a glowing halo. Amid drifting particle fragments, Jibril and two human women stood respectfully behind an embodied form of "despair," seemingly in conversation.
Crack!
That multifaceted crystal shimmered with starlight brilliance like the Milky Way. Even at first sight, its meaning was unmistakable in their minds—'the Suniaster.'
The holy relic for which they were willing to pay any price now lay just within reach, yet utterly unattainable.
It was clasped in slender, delicate fingers… treated like a piece of candy for afternoon tea, bitten into, chewed…
"You…"
Azril wanted to say more.
But before she could—thump, thump-thump!—she had already collapsed to her knees instinctively, her forehead pressed to the ground, offering a worship named loyalty.
...
Invisible corridors etched strange marks above the Flügel's heads.
'How amusing…'
'So it seems… the third-ranked Elves among the sixteen races are in truth the common essence of all intelligent life in this world, regardless of their consciousness.'
'The only difference is the concentration. All conscious beings in Disboard have spirits flowing within them.'
'Just as the Flügel's bodies are entirely composed of spirits, most concentrated in their wings.'
Selene smiled. Her experiment was a success. The elves were the foundation of this world's structure.
These azure spirit particles were weak individually, yet indispensable.
The Spirit Corridors.
The source of all magic in this world, essentially channels of magic itself. Spirit Corridors were composed entirely of spirit particles, though not all spirits belonged to them.
Through these corridors formed by the aggregation of spirit particles, lower-ranked races could control the flow of spirits and thoughts, thereby manifesting abilities according to their traits.
The revival and reconnection of the Spirit Corridors would undoubtedly cause the Luna Wolves Legion's offensive to meet fiercer resistance and retaliation.
Selene had indeed set a trap for Horus.
It was as though a simple difficulty level had been raised to hard by her reopening of the Corridors.
But none of this hindered her true objective.
The Suniaster was in her hand.
She had never intended to close or destroy the Spirit Corridors—why ruin such a fine tool, when she could add her own ingredients to it?
Without hesitation, Selene connected the Honkai Dimension with the Spirit Corridors of Disboard.
In her vision, the azure spirit particles that filled the air and blanketed the earth began visibly to turn murky, heavy.
Particles of Honkai energy, extensions of Selene's will, boiled forth, corroding this new land.
"Go on, use them."
Selene lightly rubbed her fingers together. The mottled void of the Corridors revealed countless twisted lines, intersecting and entangling, then scattering forth to their ends—
The manifestations of intelligent races across Disboard casting their spells.
Once they used the corrupted Spirit Corridors, even without the Suniaster, the world's survival would rest upon Selene's will alone.
Would subduing these races require persuasion?
Answer: No.
She didn't care whether their obedience was sincere. She would force it.
Selene had no patience for games, to challenge and defeat each one, then suffer through endless disputes. Efficiency was better: with the Suniaster's authority, one simple step achieved it all.
No need for them to suffer. No burden for her.
Selene narrowed her eyes.
Crunch!
She bit into the Suniaster again, leaving a neat imprint of teeth. Her cheeks shifted slightly as she chewed, then turned her gaze upon the girls before her, dressed in sleeveless tops, adorned with ribbons, pendants, peculiar panties, and mismatched socks.
The Flügel, and the knowledge they had amassed over six thousand years, were Selene's most prized fruits.
Besides them, only the Ex-Machina, Dragonia, Gigants, and Dwarves earned her notice.
The Ex-Machina—beings capable of endless learning and self-reinforcement, fellow god-slayers of the Great War. Selene was deeply curious about their structure and construction, intent on studying them.
The Dragonia and Gigants—top-ranked, powerful races. No other reason. Her collector's obsession stirred—she wanted a batch for her own "menagerie."
The Dwarves—masters of manufacturing, technologically ahead of Disboard. Selene intended to seize their research, sort their entire race, and implant Mental Seals upon the compliant before handing them to the Empire's Foundry Division and Science Bureau.
Surely, they would be delighted.
As for the rest? Not worth her eye. She would leave them to their fate, without undue interference.
"Azril, tally the surviving Flügel. Categorize the six millennia of accumulated knowledge and present it to me as a full archive."
"Yes!"
Naturally, Azril obeyed.
Identity shifted swiftly.
The Flügel were indeed loyal and spirited toward their master. But before Selene… not even suicide in loyalty was possible.
Their will, their thoughts, their very structure—reshaped instantly into Selene's form.
To be chosen by me, to ascend in one step, is your fortune.
"Bring me the preserved heads—or rather, remains—of the Ex-Machina as well."
Issuing orders as she strode toward the inner hall, Selene suddenly remembered something. "By the way, where is Alyssa?"
"By the timing, she should have arrived already…"
—
—
40 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon:
Patreon.com/DaoOfHeaven