Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

"What? The Kraken of the North Sea has been slain? That shouldn't be possible… that thing should have survived for another thousand years at least…"

Holding a wind-creased handkerchief, a gentleman in a bowler hat stood in a courtyard somewhere in Monaco, gazing at the scenery before him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The courtyard had been modified—its ambiance no different from moonlight itself. This was hardly surprising; after all, Dead Apostles have an instinctive aversion to sunlight, so such renovations were only to be expected.

"Yes, that's right. When Froablo Rowain and I arrived at the Kraken's location, all that remained was a desiccated, weathered octopus carcass. It was as though it had been struck by an attack that fused molten magma and lightning."

This was Meilian Solomon, the Twenty-Second of the Dead Apostle Ancestors, sworn solely to Crimson Moon Brunestud.

After the Twenty-Seven Ancestors betrayed the True Ancestor and Crimson Moon perished, he chose seclusion. Yet, for reasons unknown, he was now plotting something alongside the Fourteenth, Van-Fem.

Decades ago, he had actually intended to join the Church's Burial Agency—but that nearly got him killed. Only after that did he enter Van-Fem's camp.

"How amusing… the Kraken, which by all accounts should not die in this era, is gone for good. Could this be what Kischur meant by an era where certain possibilities have been 'fixed'? And yet… though this is a dead end, the planet itself has not despaired…"

The man in the bowler hat did, in fact, possess a measure of foresight. In his earlier visions, the North Sea Kraken—a phantasmal creature of the ancient world—should have lived well into the next millennium.

Behind him stood six young women. Though their hairstyles and clothing varied, their limbs, golden hair, and flawless, luminous skin were so identical it was uncanny—like sisters born of the same mold.

These were Van-Fem's "daughters." The Fourteenth Ancestor, Van-Fem, was the supreme puppeteer when it came to crafting colossal constructs, once having created the "City" of the Seven Great Golems. In other words, these sister-like girls were avatars of that Golem City. That there were only six was because one had been destroyed long ago by a White Knight, leaving Van-Fem with a deep-seated hatred for the Ayltrouki faction ever since.

"But if it's the North Sea, Rozegiane on the Scandinavian islands should know something."

The Dead Apostle Ancestors were, for the most part, not allies. Outside of the five elders known as the Divine Era Alliance, relations were generally hostile. The qualifications for joining the Divine Era Alliance were simple: an age of over three thousand years. At present, there were five members—among them, the Sixth Seat, Black Knight Rezovor Stulut; the Fourteenth, Van-Fem of the Demon City; and the Seventeenth, White Wing Lord Tervam Otenroche.

"Come to think of it… magma and lightning combined… Mount Etna's been alternating between roaring to life and going dormant recently. Could it be because someone ventured inside?"

Van-Fem frowned at that thought.

As one of the Dead Apostles still active to this day, he knew Etna well. Even with magecraft, nothing could alleviate the hellish heat of its molten depths. It was, in every sense, a land of death.

Could it be that some phantasmal species—or something else entirely—had awakened on its own?

Van-Fem's thoughts wandered along that thread.

"So what do we do next? Are we not going to deal with Britain's Be'ze? Right now's the perfect time—he's lost the support of the Welsh Church, and the Western Roman Church is pinned down in Gaul. This should be our best chance, since his strength is among the highest of our kind."

"You really think the Holy Church can be held back in Gaul? Even a true god might not be able to endure—let alone one bound to appear only through contract. Still… one could say these are turbulent times indeed."

"…True enough."

"…"

Van-Fem fell silent for a moment, then let words slip from his lips like the crystallization of frost.

"Glory must bow before me."

"Hm? And what's that?"

"It was once a phrase used to praise Nimrod, the fabled supreme ruler and hero of humanity's legends—and also the reason the man from the Clock Tower and the Wandering Sea is searching Britain for the Anchor of the Storm. The Tower of Babel, which touched the heavens, was destroyed by the god worshiped by the Church, and so mankind lost the 'Unified Tongue.'"

In the world of magecraft, some magi call the pre-Babel age the "Divine Era"—the time when mankind first became aware of the gods. The universal language of that age, before tongues were divided, was called the Unified Tongue.

The Unified Tongue was not merely a language for humanity—it was a medium of meaning shared by all things. It allowed not only human-to-human dialogue, but communication between humanity and the world itself—a means to define reality.

In the magi's view, the One True God replaced this invisible, all-powerful language with human speech because its power was too terrifying.

For one could use it to "speak" to the World itself—and in the ontological hierarchy of existence, no being could deny what was spoken in that tongue without denying its own existence.

This phenomenon was called "Absolute Speech." Words spoken in it became reality. Whether it matched the abilities of "Materialized Imagination" was still unknown; but it required no prana to activate, and could command anything that existed in the world—unlike Materialized Imagination, which could not affect the unnatural.

"The magi's reasoning, I suspect, is that since the Church has left them no path for survival, they will defy both the planet's will and the collective unconscious of mankind, dismantle every Anchor of the Storm, and let the laws that uphold this world be torn away—allowing countless lost phantasmal laws, along with the beings that withdrew to the Reverse Side of the World, to return. All beginning from the planet's very navel."

Van-Fem's lips curved into a playful smile. At times, one of the oldest Dead Apostles alive still revealed such an expression.

"Come to think of it, a few centuries ago, the Anchor of the Storm was indeed torn open by an unimaginable force… and the sight was nothing less than apocalypse."

With that, Van-Fem drained the glass of water before him and shut his eyes.

"It seems we must put aside our grudges for now. Whether it's that old relic, White Wing Lord Tervam Otenroche, or the White Knight Fina Brad Spielding who destroyed one of my beloved daughters—none of that matters anymore."

The blue handkerchief at his chest swayed like a rose in the wind, while his fingers twitched in a way that sent a shiver down the spine.

"Our Lady has been away for so many years… it's time we went to greet her. For now, she is the only queen we have. And if the future is gone—then why not make her the 'strongest' in the present?"

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