At that moment, each one headed to their starting point.
The battlefield had been divided into two distinct fronts. Jeanne d'Arc and Chiron formed the decoy group, the first to depart. Their mission was clear: to distract the Red Faction and lure their forces away, using the fleet of aircraft as bait.
Simultaneously, Arthur would lead the rest toward the true target: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
The roar of engines echoed through the skies as the fleet of planes took off. With that, the prelude to the final battle had been sealed.
Unlike Jeanne and Chiron, who advanced aboard mechanical wings, Arthur divided his group into two smaller, faster units.
Astolfo, radiant as ever, skillfully guided his hippogriff, carrying the nearly lifeless body of Frankenstein on its back. The wind whipped through his pink hair, but the knight looked more exhilarated than worried, as if he were in a thrilling race rather than marching to war.
Arthur's own situation, however, was far less comfortable for his companions. He soared effortlessly on the currents of wind, holding both Mordred and Atalanta as though they were two foul-tempered cats. Their gritted teeth rattled so fiercely it rivaled the roar of the air splitting around them.
"If you dare carry me like this again, Master, I'll—!" Mordred growled, her face crimson with rage.
Atalanta, equally embarrassed, averted her gaze and held on tightly to keep from falling.
Before the tension could snap, Chiron's voice rang out from the walkie-talkie Atalanta held in her hand.
"Everyone, be ready! We're already approaching the enemy stronghold."
Arthur took the transmitter for a moment and replied with a faint smile.
"Understood. And Chiron... don't go losing to your own pupil."
On the other end of the line, Chiron's warm laughter filled the night.
"Hahaha! Do not worry, King. Even if only for pride's sake, I will do my utmost not to be defeated."
Arthur let out a quiet chuckle. It was that kind of confidence he valued most in his allies.
---
In the Hanging Gardens
Meanwhile, at the heart of the enemy fortress, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Shakespeare, the eccentric Caster, lounged lazily with a notebook in hand when the cold, imperious voice of Semiramis sliced through the air like a blade.
"I want to ask you something, Caster. What do you truly expect from our Master? Glory… or failure?"
The weight of the question nearly made Shakespeare burst into laughter on the spot. He had to bite his lip to hold it back, settling instead for a mischievous smile.
"Why, glory, of course," he answered theatrically.
Semiramis narrowed her eyes, each word dripping with venom.
"You must already know this, but I'll remind you anyway. If this plan is ruined because of your book—if you dare write something that undermines our progress—I swear I'll take revenge on you in the most painful way imaginable."
Shakespeare placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, though his voice remained insolent.
"Do not worry, Empress. The Master has already warned me with a Command Seal. And, how ironic! I had no intention of turning this tale into a tragedy. Not this time."
"Hmph. Who would believe your words?" Semiramis retorted, her gaze piercing like daggers. "Listen well, Conjurer. The worth of a writer lies only in the pages he leaves behind. The moment I deem your book of no benefit to us, your reason for living will vanish."
Shakespeare, however, was unfazed. If anything, his theatrical curiosity urged him to counterattack with another question.
"In that case, allow me to return the question, Majesty. What result do you wish to see? The fulfillment of our Master's wish… or the pleasure of crushing him beneath your heel?"
The words struck Semiramis like an unseen blade. For a heartbeat she held her breath, but her icy demeanor soon prevailed.
"Of course the will of the Master takes precedence. A Servant lives to serve."
Shakespeare sighed, disappointed, as though he had just heard a mediocre answer from a poor student.
"That is merely a façade, my dear Empress. I ask you again: in the depths of your heart, do you long for destruction… or not? Answer truthfully."
This time, Semiramis understood. The poet wasn't bluffing. He had peeled away a truth even she rarely admitted.
Stripped of her layers of hypocrisy, she finally answered in a cold but genuine voice:
"I do not deny what I wish to see. I have no interest in kindness or tolerance. I am a woman who loves destruction and despair. I have seen kings who boasted of their glory crumble to ruins, I have seen brave generals' eyes consumed by terror. But… I have never witnessed the despair of a saint. So yes, it is true: I wish to see it."
Shakespeare's eyes gleamed with excitement at the revelation.
But Semiramis continued, her voice now laced with enigma:
"There is more. I want to see how far that man can go. The desire he holds deep within his soul… the salvation of mankind. A vision no hero or saint has ever dared to bring to reality. I have seen misery and splendor, ugliness and virtue. But that… that I have never seen. Perhaps it will be tedious. Perhaps it will end dryly, without brilliance. But I can only know once I witness it."
Shakespeare tilted his head, fascinated.
"So, in the end, it is not loyalty, but sheer curiosity that drives the Empress of Assyria."
Semiramis smiled faintly, like a child receiving a new toy.
"Exactly. Of course, I also carry the desire to rule. But what interests me is: how far can he go? What extraordinary scene will he allow me to witness? That is what I look forward to."
For a brief moment, Shakespeare felt the irresistible urge to laugh and proclaim: "She's nothing but a spoiled little girl!" But he swallowed the words just in time. Had he spoken them aloud, his throat would have been slit within seconds.
Semiramis stared coldly at him.
"You seem on the verge of saying something impertinent. Amazing that you still manage to hold your tongue."
Shakespeare merely gave a theatrical smile and averted his gaze.
Still, his mind buzzed feverishly as he returned to his desk: Ah, I should have asked if I could add a love story for the Empress! Bah, never mind. I'll write it anyway. I guarantee it will be a hit with the audience, no doubt.
With that foolish thought, he pulled out a sheet of paper and began scribbling furiously.
"The Empress of Assyria… fell in love."
Fortunately, Semiramis was not there to see it. Otherwise, Shakespeare would not have lasted beyond a single paragraph.
---
When Shakespeare was about to reach the climax of his story, his pen suspended midair, he felt a sudden vibration run through the floating fortress.
The floor quivered softly beneath his feet, as though the very structure of the Hanging Gardens shuddered in forewarning.
He snapped the book shut and lifted his head, eyes gleaming with excitement.
It was midnight.
And there was only one plausible reason for such a sudden disturbance at that hour: the enemy had finally arrived.
A broad, nearly insane smile spread across the Bard's lips. His laughter echoed through the fortress walls like applause for fate itself.
"You've come, Saint? Ah, how marvelous! Then the time for the third act has finally arrived!"
Tossing aside the unfinished pages, Shakespeare rose with theatrical flourish, his cloak swirling, and rushed off like an actor who could not afford to miss his cue.
---
At the same time…
On the suspended throne, draped in black cushions and ornaments, Semiramis opened her eyes. The Empress, who had been resting in silence, slowly raised her gaze and let out a faint sigh.
"So… you have finally arrived?"
Her voice was low, yet brimming with dark delight.
Though she had always known the attack was inevitable, part of her thought the enemy a little late. After all, she had been waiting for this moment for nearly a week.
Was it because they lingered too long in preparation? Or was there something more than mere strategy delaying them?
In the end, none of it mattered.
The final result would be the same.
(End of chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."