Alice in the Land of Steam

However, contrary to Leticia's expectations, neither of the two opposing sides, Ovira nor Perec, felt tense. On the contrary, in a secluded place, they both breathed a sigh of relief. Ovira relaxed because, as she had anticipated, she had indeed used the power of the fairy sword Hydras to suppress the evil god and dragon power within Nibelungen. Her theory of using the power of the Arcane King to analyze the Holy Grail and avoid its negative effects had been proven feasible. Therefore, her other plan, which she had prepared long ago, seemed to be seeing the light of day. Perec's reason for relaxing was simpler: she was just thinking, "It's finally about to begin."

The battle that will determine the fate of the world is finally about to begin, though its outcome was already predetermined, the process has been incredibly long. All the previous arrangements—the conquest of the Mikkelsen Corridor, the encirclement of the Feather Mine with the Imperial army, the efforts to divert the enemy's most threatening combat unit, the Victorious Kings, and even allowing the Sky to engage in fierce combat with Cheryl—were merely the prelude.

At this moment, what came to Pereira's mind was not a prediction of the battle, but a jumble of random thoughts.

Will Sister Caraboss be pleased with what I've done?

When the battle comes to an end, will Tentis, far across the ocean, be satisfied?

Will my sisters, especially Fafrona, the most stubborn, headstrong, yet also the most vulnerable, feel sorrow for me?

However, a more direct, more fatal, and even more persistent problem that had plagued the witch since her inception, a problem that had tormented her and made her feel utterly ashamed, was...

If you could do it all over again, on that battlefield where pitiful souls still wander, gazing at your teacher Metatron's cold face, would you make a different choice?
There are no "what ifs" in this world; it's just that living beings are too weak in nature and too full of emotions, so they can't help but indulge in fantasy.

"How... pathetic," the witch murmured to herself.

However, the Skywarp misinterpreted these words as a signal to go to war. Or rather, a word in Pereke's words deeply stung its sensitive, beastly heart, making it eager to prove itself. Although no one knew, not even Pereke herself, who she was referring to as "pathetic."

The engine was overloaded, the magic furnace boiled and hissed, converting all the excess magic power into power. The thirty-meter-tall mecha pushed the thruster output to its theoretical limit in a fraction of a second. The dark purple tail flame tore through the rain curtain, and the mecha transformed into a shooting star rising in reverse amidst the groans of overload, crashing straight into the pale skeleton under the dragon's jaw.

The dragon's reaction was so calm that it merely raised its left forepaw.

The sky suddenly darkened.

In Pereira's perception, the world was compressed into two overlapping images: on one side was the instant the Taikong's claws made contact with the dragon's claws, the burst of energy turbulence evaporating all the rain within a radius of several kilometers, the earth churning like waves of rocks in a pure white burst of light; on the other side was an eerie stillness where time was infinitely stretched, she could see how every piece of metal fragment that flew out from between the dragon's claw bones spun and melted in the light, then condensed into teardrop-shaped dark red crystals, which appeared so sacred and dazzling through the refraction of vacuum and dim light, as if this collision was not meant to destroy or annihilate anything, but to give birth to some cruel work that could be called art.

The Taikong was slammed straight into the earth from mid-air. The impact point instantly unleashed a massive, murky ring of earth and rock, followed by a second and a third, spreading for hundreds of miles. It instantly obliterated three rocky mountains, filled five rift valleys, and pulverized eleven industrial sites left by humans on this land. It was a terrifying disaster unleashed as the force transmitted through the earth's strata, as if a slumbering beast deep within the earth had been awakened, arching its back against the crust. Before the smoke and dust could rise, they were firmly imprisoned within the crater by an invisible force field, like a piece of smoldering coal on an anvil being hammered.

Ovira stood at the heart of the dragon's chest, the Nibelungen's central nervous system connecting her to every pulse of this mythical body. She could see the devastation the Titan had suffered after the attack, but that was only the surface; the Mystic Kingship provided her with more precise data: forty-two percent of its outer armor was shattered, the main thrusters had temporarily shut down due to overheating, its left arm joint was jammed, and its right leg was structurally fractured. The data flowed through her consciousness like a cold stream, along with the Titan's momentary, rapid breathing—was it fear?
It's trembling.

“As expected…” Pere heard the beast’s whisper in the cockpit, hoarse and deep, almost tearing the empty world apart: “You can see it, right?”

You can see my weaknesses, my fighting style, my instincts and intuitions, and even data that neither I nor the humans who created me know. You can see it all, right?
Ovira didn't answer. She could indeed see that the Mystic Kingship had bestowed upon her not only a treasure trove of knowledge, but also the perspective of an omniscient being and eyes that could see through patterns. Every minor adjustment of the Titan's joints, the direction of every flow of magic, even the subtle contraction of its optical signal lights before launching an attack—all were transformed into analytical data, presented so clearly to the girl. Everything that exists leaves a trace, and those who see all the traces also see the course of the battlefield.

The Titan struggled to its feet from the crater, its broken right leg giving it a particularly bizarre stance, more like a wild beast crouching. Its right arm, jammed by the recoil during the violent impact, hung limply at its side, making it appear utterly incapable of fighting. Yet even it wouldn't allow that to happen. How could a creation mimicking a machine god fall because of a mere fatal wound? All it needed was to summon the reversal of time, to reset the state of reality…

Then, the purple energy spread like blood vessels, the damaged structures reconnected like flesh and bone, and even the scattered fragments of armor suddenly froze in mid-air, then began to tremble, precisely reversing frame by frame along their trajectory. Every twisted piece of metal returned to its original shape, re-embedding itself into the broken seams of the machine. The wounds were healed, the signals were reset, the structure was restored, as if an invisible giant hand was controlling everything from behind, making the power of spacetime a plaything in its palm, easily overturned. The brand-new Taikong arrogantly raised its head and charged at the dragon once more. Its speed had increased visibly, indicating that it not only inherited the ability of the steam engine god Alexander to repair itself by reversing spacetime, but also acquired the same property: each repair made its existence more perfect. From this perspective alone, it is indeed a formidable enemy. No wonder its destructive power is not as great as the Earth Witch or the Scarlet Night Gate, and its suppressive power is not as great as the Astral Apostle or the Alien Philosopher, yet it is still regarded as the ultimate secret weapon by the Witch Society and has been preserved to this day.

Only Ovira understood everything and knew that this was not the case. In the end, it was just a replica; how could it possibly match the performance of the original? Therefore, the time reversal of the steam machine god Alexander was flawless, leaving no defects; while the self-repair of the Taikong was more like a rewrite, subverting and reconstructing a fixed program. Each repair would leave subtle traces, and the accumulation of these traces would eventually cause the program to deviate from its original logic and head down an unpredictable path.

The Thai Sky is speeding down this wrong path, not caring that it has become a monster, or rather, it already is.

Despite the absence of any sense of honor or pride in the challenger, the dragon accepted the challenge and responded to this duel destined to be recorded in history. Its offensive was like a magnificent symphony, grand and sweeping, each strike imbued with the power of heaven and earth. Its wings spread wide, and countless beams of flame, a tapestry of dim and shimmering light, swept across the land like clouds hanging from the sky. Wherever it passed, torrential rain evaporated into cracked glass, and rock melted into fissures of flowing iron, instantly covering the heavens and earth and blocking every possible route of attack for the Taikong.

The beast's decision was to charge recklessly.

Why flee? Why fear? Why show weakness? If one must temporarily retreat from a powerful foe, it would be too pathetic for a machine born solely for battle. The logic that is self-evident to mortals cannot be understood by a beast; it only knows that it must encounter that dragon, stubbornly wanting to tear something from it, whether it be flesh and blood or emotions.

So it rushed in.

The dim beams of flame and shimmering streaks of light sliced ​​through its armor like a thousand sharp blades, the explosions as dense as a torrential downpour. The sturdy magic-guided armor vaporized upon contact, its intricate internal structure riddled with holes under the intense heat, hissing and crackling like a storm. Half of the Skywarp's visual sensor was burned through, the remaining image filled with flickering noise and blinding light spots, but it could still see, for how else could it bite through the enemy's throat if it didn't try to see?

The back thrusters were already overloaded and beyond repair, but the Taikong used its newly repaired right leg to slam into the ground, propelling the entire mech like a cannonball straight towards the dragon's neck, carrying immense kinetic energy capable of shattering mountains and sinking the earth. However, the dragon merely tilted its head slightly, narrowly avoiding the onslaught. This exquisite, unparalleled difference stemmed from Ovira's skillful control; she was conserving the Holy Grail's magic as much as possible, minimizing the impact of the most lethal attack. Otherwise, this dragon illusion, perhaps comparable to the legendary infinite dragon god Bahamut, would have drained the Holy Grail's power in an instant if it had gone all out. Although the magic of the young queen was nearly inexhaustible, Princess Bemang had a more crucial purpose in her plan.

The dragon claw rose again, attempting to swat the Taikong away like a fly, but at the moment of contact, the latter changed its flight angle with an inexplicable movement. When the pale, bony claw collided with the dark purple fuselage once more, the Taikong's left arm shattered into pieces upon impact, as if erased from the scene, severed entirely. But its body, propelled by this immense force, plummeted towards the dragon's head along the previously adjusted angle, and upon landing, its right claw pierced deeply into the majestic dragon horn that reached towards the heavens.

Dragon horns are not part of the body, and the dragon's illusion is not a physical entity. Therefore, the actions of the Skyship caused it no real pain. But for a supreme dragon, could there be a more blasphemous act? At this moment, the sense of honor and pride belonging to both dragons surged simultaneously, causing them to break free from the control of the Holy Grail for a short time. Instinctively, they raised their heads and let out a proud and furious roar. The sound waves transformed into giant waves, sweeping through the clouds like surging tides. The dragon's rage was like the might of the heavens, causing millions of beasts to prostrate themselves and tens of millions of birds to perish.

Only the Taikong remained unmoved, for its very existence was meant to blaspheme living beings. Even though the dragon was once hailed as the most perfect creation among all living beings on Mirror Star, how could it be made to submit? Its foot joints tensed abruptly, its mechanical structure accelerated, its magic furnace overloaded and boiled with scorching power, its blood vessels pumped and burned with an inextinguishable desire, and its right claw exerted force, pouring all its weight, all its magic, all its obsession and cruelty into this savage and suffocating tearing.

click-

It was not metal, not rock, but some ancient and more resilient substance groaning. Ovira felt a slight dizziness, as if the pulse of the entire Nibelungen had been disrupted. Through the dragon's heart, she clearly saw a golden horn slowly falling to the ground, as if in slow motion, and the torrential rain began to fall again, like the blood that heaven and earth were flowing for it.

The Taikong was violently flung away in the storm stirred up by the dragon's excruciating pain. This impact was even more ferocious than the first; like a meteorite, it pierced through three layers of rock, finally embedding itself deep underground in an ancient, abandoned mine tunnel, smashing radial cracks into the underground rock layers that had been painstakingly excavated by miners and laborers. If anyone in the Feather Mine were still watching this scene, perhaps they could glimpse traces left by their ancestors in the splashed and scattered ore.

The mechanical beast struggled to its feet from the wreckage, nearly reduced to scrap metal, yet still unable to suppress its inner fervor, letting out a long, satisfied, and greedy howl. Amidst the chilling howl, the reversal of time surged once more, bringing the miracle of resurrection. But this time, the repairs were unusually slow, and unpredictable mutations occurred: the new armor was no longer the neat steel blue and lead gray, but instead bore dark red, rust-like markings; twisted barbs sprouted at the joints, and the thrusters on its back tore into asymmetrical fang-like shapes; and deep within the machine, unseen by the naked eye, on the core of the magical reactor, veins of a deep purple were emerging, rhythmically pulsating in response to the heartbeat of a living being.

Battle, rebirth, and then... evolution. (End of Chapter)