Boom! Boom! Boom!
Deafening blasts shot toward the sky, their tremors rippling across the crystal ground.
The crystallized earth shattered in an instant, disintegrating into countless violet-glowing shards that howled through the air in a storm-like surge, as if engulfing all of heaven and earth.
Soil, wood, steel... the vast forest of buildings was no sturdier than mirrors before this cataclysm, crumbling at a touch.
From afar, it looked like a massive, translucent athyst flower blooming in a silent city bathed in violet-red fla—stunningly beautiful.
Yet, within that brilliance lurked a terror like plunging into the abyss of hell!
Whoooosh—!
Flas erupted toward the sky, a wave of fire exploding from the golden silhouette’s body. A massive semicircular vortex of fire surged upward, swirling and roaring as it swept through streets and buildings alike—consuming everything in its radius.
How did she reach such mastery?
How old is she, anyway?!
From the mont of their clash, William Orwell believed every intelligence report on Selene. Her threat level had clearly been underestimated by the Vatican.
And though he was a seasoned rcenary who’d seen countless battlefields, never had he encountered soone like Selene.
He’d fought ’Saints’ before—less than twenty in the world—and among them, William Orwell ranked at the top. This wasn’t arrogance; it was fact.
He had heard of Selene defeating Kanzaki Kaori, a top-ten ranked Saint, and he had looked into it thoroughly. He’d even watched the surveillance footage of Selene’s iron fists pumling the mature "middle-schooler."
In Academy City, this incident wasn’t exactly a secret. Since Selene herself or Board Chairman Aleister hadn’t sealed the info, it was easily purchasable.
His reason wasn’t shallow curiosity to watch a catfight—William was the first among God’s Right Seat to take note of Selene due to intelligence assessnts noting her as a ’suspected Saint.’ That alone piqued his interest.
What kind of existence would result from combining the Christian concept of a ’Saint’ with scientific esper abilities?
Back then, based on reports, William concluded Selene’s biggest weakness in her fight against Kanzaki was her lack of real combat experience. She won purely by brute force—nothing technical.
Which was expected. What kind of aristocratic school teaches refined assassination or brawling techniques?
From the footage alone, he hadn’t thought Selene’s physical prowess that outrageous. He figured he could manage.
But now, William had to admit—ti changes everything. She’d improved trendously.
Selene’s fluid spearwork and crisp movents were far from what a middle schooler should be capable of. Even if espers had highly developed brain functions, wasn’t she supposed to be a Gemstone?
This kind of deadly technique had nothing to do with book smarts!
Even a genius with photographic mory needed years of grinding to internalize combat techniques and build muscle mory. Just two months ago, Selene was a total novice, relying solely on her physique...
Could her ’Saint’ trait have gifted her so kind of divine martial archive?!
William Orwell had a lot of questions swirling in his mind—but there was no ti to ponder them.
BOOOOM—!
Crimson flas surged down the entire street like a fiery teor. Selene, now stripped of her evening gown, wore golden armor shimring with the brilliance of starlight. In her hands, she gripped two long spears wreathed in spiraling fire arcs.
Elaborate and exquisite decorations adorned her figure, making her look like a golden-armored Valkyrie.
William Orwell stood like a steel colossus amidst a sea of fire. His muscles surged in an instant as he swung his massive iron rod like a guillotine blade toward the charging Selene.
Bang!
A shockwave rippled outward like a wave, its explosive roar tearing through the air.
In a split second, a stretch of the street—hundreds of ters long—was reduced to wreckage. The office buildings along the way crumbled from the re aftershock of Selene’s attack, their load-bearing structures collapsing, walls giving way, and entire buildings beginning to tilt.
Whatever William Orwell thought, Selene had clearly found a new ga—and she was thoroughly enjoying the combo.
With the Swirl of Honkai in hand, the wielder of the Fate/Type-Moon composite multiverse and commander of the Throne of Heroes, Selene might not be a Servant, but the effects she wielded felt no different than Emperor Privilege—only at the highest level, unlimited, with no debuffs, and stackable!
The refined techniques of legendary heroes, when used by soone like Selene—who usually just hurled bricks with brute strength—felt strangely smooth, fluid, even elegant.
Dual spears in hand, she launched into a Celtic Ulster-style magical spear stance, fired flas like the sun god’s son from the Mahabharata, and moved with the unmatched martial grace of Britain’s Knight of Flowers—rging nurous complex and alien systems into one...
You could say, though she wielded the skin of Dea Anchora, her style and usage were nothing like Bianka’s. She blended countless influences into sothing uniquely hers—a style known only to Selene.
Ahem... Spear Technique Master from the Land of Shadows (premium version), crownless martial arts of Surya the Sun God, and infinite weapon mastery...
Selene had, more or less, made William Orwell her personal test dummy for this experintal session.
She believed she looked gallant and heroic—but to the observers... uh, their eyes couldn’t even keep up.
"So this is Selene’s true strength... No—she hasn’t even used her best ability: spatial manipulation..."
Misaka Mikoto was floating atop a thin violet crystal, looking utterly stunned.
She’d known Selene was strong—the undisputed number one on the science side. But no matter how eloquent your descriptions, no explanation could match the impact of witnessing it firsthand.
By now, Shokuhou Misaki had no thoughts of making any secret moves. Whether Selene intended to intimidate her or not, she was definitely terrified.
Sparks flew. Buildings collapsed one after another. Fireballs hurled skyward, and burning fragnts of crystalized structures—carrying extre heat and kinetic energy—rained down onto the city. What had already beco a ruin was now completely engulfed in fla.
From a bird’s-eye view, it looked like the apocalypse.
And all of it—caused by a single person.
Thankfully, the battlefield was just a mirrored city ford in the rift between imaginary space and the physical universe. Had this been the real world, District 7 would have been annihilated.
Elsewhere, a special guest—Third Princess Villian—clenched her teeth, her face drawn with exhaustion. Her golden hair had lost its luster, and pure tears welled in her eyes. Her cheeks still bore the red traces of weeping, yet she held back sobs with determination.
As a model of royal virtue, a symbol of compassion, she knew well the inescapable duty borne by a princess. But upon seeing him again—that tall, quiet rcenary she could never forget—her heart broke anew. She wanted nothing more than to cry her heart out.
Especially as Selene—emblem of the "Sun"—crashed down once more, crushing his water magic under her searing and icy brilliance. Villian couldn’t bear to look.
Her tearful, guilt-stricken face exuded a delicate sorrow that made one’s heart ache.
Her older sister, Second Princess Carissa, showed no such pity. To her, William Orwell was a traitor knight—his death was a convenience. One less pardon to sign.
William Orwell was indeed powerful, a bearer of both ’Saint’ and ’Holy Mother’ attributes. But without loyalty—if he wasn’t hers—then he was nothing.
"Mother, you’re already old. If Britain is to escape its steady decline, it must change..."
Carissa’s gaze locked on the burning foreign city beneath her feet, her expression hardening.
The Habsburgs’ rise was unstoppable. Britain reclaiming its forr glory as the empire where the sun never sets was a fantasy—but becoming second-best was better than a slow death!
CLANG!
CLANG!!
CLAAANG—!
In the mirrored city, the two combatants swung their enormous steel rods and spears simultaneously, unleashing an endless barrage of deafening clashes.
Violent shockwaves raged through the battlefield. Even the residual gusts from their blows severed nearby buildings in half.
Explosive flas roared repeatedly, their heat incinerating the land into charcoal. Even the athyst-like structures lted under the heat.
With a clang, another blazing burst of sparks erupted as a deathblow aiming for William Orwell’s throat crashed into his steel rod, sending a storm of sparks and friction with it.
The sharp spear thrusts pressed in relentlessly.
He was a half-beat slow. Seizing a slim opening, William Orwell twisted his towering weapon—like a steel parasol fra made from girders—into Selene’s attack path to intercept, using the sheer mass of his weapon. His right arm swelled with corded muscle as he swept the rod in a wide arc.
But then—Whoooosh—!
Fierce flas ignited along the Voidstar Anchor in Selene’s hand, lighting the air and radiating unimaginable heat.
Shhk!
The sound of tearing flesh split the air.
Bloodstained fabric caught fire and turned to ash mid-air. Droplets of blood evaporated before they even hit the ground.
"Urgh..."
William Orwell groaned, gritting his teeth against the searing pain. Instead of retreating, he advanced—Selene’s spearhead plunged deep into his chest, and the impact sent him flying dozens of ters.
"RAAAAH—!!"
With iron grip, he clamped down on the spear’s shaft, blood trickling from his lips. William Orwell roared.
Every muscle in his body swelled like steel cables. He grew larger, a mountain of muscle like a small giant. Ignoring his chest wound entirely, he swung his steel rod downward toward Selene’s slender fra.
The air shrieked. Currents compressed under the force exploded outward like a hurricane.
’You seriously wanna try like this?’ Selene had no interest in taking that hit to the face.
In the next instant, a roar loud enough to shatter eardrums radiated from the center of the two combatants, spreading in all directions. Within several kiloters, the atmosphere itself was obliterated.
Buildings across multiple blocks were struck by the shockwave. Several nearby fast-food joints were completely flattened—walls and doors blasted down. Shards a few centiters thick flew like knives through the air.
The feedback of this power on the ground resembled a minor earthquake.
Within this terrifying range, the earth shattered!
That’s right—shattered!
After all, this wasn’t truly Imaginary Space nor the physical universe. It was a mirror world modeled after Academy City, crafted by Selene. While it replicated the city’s basic structure, it was rather crude—lacking even sothing as basic as a sewer system...
So when William Orwell unleashed a strike at more than 200% of his innate power, it plowed through the surface of Selene’s creation—tearing open the layer and exposing a bottomless abyss glowing violet-red beneath.
Crash—!
Near the abyssal maw, crystalline structures cracked, crumbled, and plumted. The rushing air surged like a typhoon, shredding everything around.
"What a sha. Ga over. Are you satisfied with my ’capacity’?"
Vmmm—!
A compressed crimson glow tore through the fire curtain, the resulting explosion blasting William Orwell away just as he was about to fall into the abyss.
Thud!
His body slamd into the devastated crystal ground.
He skidded for several ters, gouging a long trench before finally stopping—his body embedded at the base of a collapsing skyscraper. Blood quickly dyed the surface beneath him.
"Ugh... ah..."
His voice was now a strangled murmur, mangled by agony.
His body was soaked in blood, his clothing tattered, his skin cracked and torn. His entire right arm had been torn off, leaving exposed flesh and splintered bone. The pain from fractured limbs and shredded muscle throbbed like a curse etched into his nerves.
BOOM!
The upper half of the collapsed building was crushed by a streak of dark light. As he lay on his back in a crater, gazing dazedly at the stars, William Orwell felt only defeat.
Cough, cough...
He had to admit—Selene had done it. She had shattered all his confidence and pride.
To lose like this, in such disgrace... he had never imagined it could happen to him.
Again and again...
He had felt it, every ti. Just when he thought he’d gained an advantage, she’d unleash even more terrifying power with infuriating ease, reminding him of his ignorance and weakness.
The victory he’d strained for, that had seed so close, had been nothing more than her plaything.
What a cruel, twisted person you are, Selene.
Clack—clack—
With the crisp steps of her golden boots, he once again gazed at the dazzling, sun-like figure before him—his bloodshot eyes filled with awe.
In that mont, all William Orwell could feel was pure, overwhelming power.
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