Ophis Wants Silence [114]

Silver-white stardust fell upon the Lahmu covering all of Uruk, bursting into dazzling radiance.

Bathed in that glow, the Lahmu melted back into black sludge—or reverted to human form. Some even cast grateful smiles toward Medea before dissolving into particles and returning to the Underworld.

Even Ophis couldn’t help but quietly admire the scene.

Not because it was spectacular visually, but due to the purity behind it.

In this world, mystery was nullified by a higher mystery—that was the rule. Medea’s mystery was unquestionably below Tiamat’s divinity.

And yet Medea’s Noble Phantasm—Pain Breaker—was the manifestation of the purest love carried by the princess of Colchis.

And emotions… always held endless possibilities, didn’t they?

A stubborn rejection of tragedy, yearning only for simple beauty—the unreasonable love that insisted upon a happy ending.

A love capable of cleansing even the Evil of Humanity.

Perhaps pure white was easiest to stain, but at that moment, she was at her most beautiful.

Without a chance to be tainted by other colors, she bloomed once—brilliant beyond measure—and then scattered away.

Medea drifted gently down beside Ophis, her entire form shedding pale violet spirit particles.

Ophis regarded the dreamlike princess with complicated eyes, but in the end, simply nodded.

“Thank you. And… good work.”

Medea smiled softly, satisfied—and fully dissolved into spirit particles, vanishing.

A Servant’s power had limits.

Even aided by Ophis’s serpents, with Ophis’s Infinity already damaged, a Saint Graph’s strength would eventually run dry.

When that happened, only one path remained.

Returning to the Throne.

Medea had invoked a miracle vastly exceeding her own scope—something infinitely close to true “magic.” Burning out was inevitable.

“Medea…”

Ritsuka’s expression dimmed.

She had witnessed scenes like this countless times.

Yet she never got used to it.

But before grief could settle, an even greater upheaval erupted below.

“So Medea’s part is done,” Jeanne murmured, glancing back gratefully toward where Medea had vanished.

With the Lahmu cleansed, Jeanne no longer needed to expend herself against hordes of lesser foes.

Then she knelt, bathed in gentle light, her expression solemn.

She had burned to death as a witch—then canonized five centuries later, remembered by history as a saint.

Yet Jeanne had never accepted that title.

To her, she had simply protected her homeland. But for that cause, countless had died by blade and flame. Perhaps she wasn’t a witch—but she was still a sinner.

That was why judgment’s fire always burned within her.

Clink—

With the quiet ring of steel, Jeanne drew a weapon she had never once used.

The Sword of Saint Catherine.

As a sword, it was nothing more than a blade slightly sharper than average.

Yet Jeanne had carried it as a catalyst, transforming it into the crystallization of her inner world.

The saint raised the Sword of Saint Catherine in both hands, holding it upright before her chest.

“No time to say a proper goodbye this time…”

To Chaldea, whom she hadn’t seen in so long. To the Master she’d known briefly yet cherished.

Still, someday they would meet again.

Right now, all that mattered was the enemy before her.

Tiamat drew closer with each tremor, and Jeanne’s expression hardened.

“A god abandoned by humanity… seeking revenge is only natural,” she said calmly. “But I’m sorry—I cannot allow you to destroy humanity. I must stop you.”

She lifted the Sword of Saint Catherine high, speaking the words to release her Noble Phantasm.

“O LORD, I ENTRUST THIS BODY TO YOU—”
“[LA PUCELLE]!”
THE CRIMSON HOLY MAIDEN

Flames erupted from the blade—fire that purified sin and brought salvation—engulfing Jeanne and transforming into a towering pillar. It spread through the sky, forming into a massive cross before Tiamat, equal in height to the Mother Goddess herself.

The crimson lotus saint—Jeanne’s ultimate offensive Noble Phantasm—summoning the fire that once burned her, destroying any enemy she judged must be defeated.

At the cost of her own life, its rank was an immeasurable EX.

In the next instant, Tiamat collided with the crimson inferno.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaa——”

The colossal cross engulfed Tiamat completely. The flames surged even higher, finally eliciting cries of pain from Tiamat.

Ophis watched, momentarily dazed.

Aside from its eerie selectiveness—burning only Tiamat as something Jeanne deemed “must be purged”—Ophis couldn’t discern anything special about the blaze.

It was just ordinary fire.

Yet it carried enough force to injure a creator deity.

An inner world… was this, too, the strength of emotion?

Humans truly were peculiar.

Unfortunately, she was a dragon—a creature typically destined, according to myths, to be slain after someone “powered up.” She doubted she could master that kind of miraculous technique, especially given her own muted emotions.

Still, one by one, they were sacrificing themselves for Uruk—for humanity.

So this was what “heroes” were.

What a cruel fate it was to be a hero.

Now that she thought about it, her own identity carried the title “King of Heroes,” didn’t it…?

Ophis’s gaze flickered.

The saint’s flames held Tiamat back for a full half-hour before finally fading.

“Aaaaaaaaa——”

Tiamat’s injuries quickly regenerated, but she had genuinely been delayed for thirty minutes!

Almost as soon as the flames faded, Altera moved.

Under everyone’s puzzled gaze, she reversed the Sword of the War God, pointing the hilt toward the sky.

“Originally, I didn’t intend to use this Noble Phantasm while I am ‘Attila,’” Altera murmured, seemingly to herself.

“But… Uruk is a good civilization.”

A blood-red beam fired from the sword’s hilt, piercing into the heavens, forming an extraordinarily complex, three-dimensional, tri-colored composite magic circle directly above Tiamat.

Ophis narrowed her eyes.

That intricate formula… guidance and targeting?

Its peculiar structure was far beyond Ophis’s knowledge. The only reason she recognized anything at all—without consulting Inori—was its similarity to the engravings of the Enki, the Swords of the End… only vastly more complex.

Meaning, whatever it was guiding was likely of a higher order than an apocalyptic flood.

Yet the circle itself wasn’t especially powerful, indicating that whatever it summoned would be less than a world-ending deluge.

“[TEARDROP PHOTON RAY].”
STAR OF TEARS, SWORD OF THE WAR GOD

Altera spoke its true release name.

A red-white beam descended from the sky.

It struck the magic circle, expanded instantly by countless magnitudes, then crashed down upon Tiamat.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa——”

The Mother Goddess of Creation unleashed an agonized howl unlike any before.

—

T/N: everyones sacrificing themselves…

This is a fan translation of 无限龙神找不回寂静 by 呆毛神 rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!