What is the source of power for one who could be an enemy to the God of War?
This was the question weighing on Jibril's mind.
Honestly, delving into the secrets of a man who was so obviously a powerhouse was a deadly proposition.
After all, the strong always held a position of absolute superiority over the weak.
This was especially true in this era, where life was as cheap as dirt.
That man was a being whom her master, the God of War, Artosh, had designated as "the enemy." One must understand, the last being Artosh had called an enemy was the strongest of the Dragonia—the End Dragon, Hartyley.
The scales of the eldest Dragonia were so resilient that even a full-powered Divine Strike from a lesser god would be useless against them. A casual flap of their wings could tear the very sky asunder. In their eyes, all existence was weak, save for the God of War himself—the embodiment of concepts like war, slaughter, and struggle.
And Li Zihan was an existence of the same stature as the End Dragon, perhaps even greater.
Although the man had said he would return all the Flügel as a gesture of goodwill to the God of War, it was easy to imagine what would happen if he were truly enraged. He might not be able to defeat the God of War, but he could certainly slaughter everyone else with ease.
If he truly set his mind to it, even the God of War would find it difficult to save anyone from his grasp.
Exploring the secrets of such a man was dangerous.
That much was painfully obvious.
But—
Jibril was not a calculating being like the human, Riku.
Her designation as the "Final Unit" and "Extra Unit" was not given lightly.
Artosh had not planned to create any new units, but after his battle with the Dragon King, he forged one last Flügel—the Extra Unit.
Little Jibril was not perfect. This was the greatest difference between her and the other Flügel. In terms of raw power at her creation, she was the weakest of them all. When the God of War made her, his own strength had been diminished.
Yet, the Jibril of the Great War was a ruthless killing machine. As the weakest of the Flügel, she possessed the most terrifying combat record.
In total, she had fought 245 times and sustained serious injuries 116 times.
She had slain one Giant, one Dragonia, one Phantasma, four Heavenly Kings (a mutated Demon King race), thousands of Elves and Dwarves, countless Demons and Fairies, and a myriad of other races.
In a future timeline that had yet to be altered, she would also kill hundreds of Ex-Machina, one of whom was a Parser…
Such a frenzied history of battle proved one thing.
—Her thirst for knowledge and her curiosity were abnormally intense.
Because of her imperfection, Jibril fought desperately, accumulating countless experiences. She overturned what the Flügel considered "common sense," modified the defensive techniques granted by the God of War, unleashed "Heaven's Strike" against her own creator multiple times, challenged a Dragonia alone—something no Flügel had ever done—and mastered "Heaven's Shift"...
She had even defeated Azriel, whose performance was four times that of a normal Flügel and more than five times her own.
Because she was not perfect, she had to become perfect.
This was likely the core concept of the Flügel named Jibril.
The risk of being killed was insignificant, so long as it moved her closer to perfection and power.
With this in mind, Jibril's gaze drifted to the few guards standing not far away—beings that looked like monkeys, yet possessed a soul density comparable to Phantasmal Species.
They were the "compatriots" of the God of War's enemy.
If one wished to explore the source of a person's power, the best method was naturally to start with their brethren.
Thinking this, Jibril observed the small group, who clearly did not get along.
The leader of the Demon Cult from Shenzhou, clad in her traditional robes… pass. That woman's face was capitalized with the words "Don't bother me." She was obviously not the talkative type.
The gloomy-looking Prince of Swords… pass. That one looked like he had a devious heart.
As for the one with red hair… pass. That person had suddenly put on a mask and started speaking in a man's voice. She felt there was something wrong with their head.
So, that left the other two as her targets.
Her eyes settled on a man who inexplicably reminded her of a sled dog—a husky—running wild in the arctic. After a moment of thought, she also glanced at the old man beside him.
"Might I have a word with you, friend?"
Her approach was painfully awkward. The Flügel, who was fundamentally incapable of normal social interaction, walked over to the husky-like man after entrusting the care of her kin to her elder sister.
"Of course."
Salvatore Doni, a man who was an idiot in all matters except his battles of wit with his butler and his fights against enemies, smiled as he held the magic sword that seemed to have been cast aside.
"My name is Salvatore Doni. Just call me Doni."
Even Jibril was stunned by this.
Was this guy always this easy to talk to?
"Don't mind him. That kid is just that strange," the old man, who always considered himself a gentleman, said, looking at the Flügel who had clearly approached with an agenda. "A fool who constantly steals his brother-in-arms' prey, shatters my will to fight, and infuriates everyone around him."
"Haha, the old geezer still knows me best," the blond man laughed, his smile so carefree it brought the word "fool" to mind. He patted the magic sword that had clearly been discarded by its original master. "In any case, it wasn't very gentlemanly of you to suddenly jump in and attack both me and my friend while we were fighting."
"Do you have a problem with that, junior?" the old man's eyes glowed a ghastly green, like a will-o'-the-wisp.
"Nope, no problem at all! But the thought of you losing even worse than that Chinese sister just makes me want to laugh!" the husky-like man blurted out, presumably without engaging his brain at all.
There was no doubt that such a remark had angered the leader of the Demon Cult.
"Sword King of Italy, are you insulting me?"
A terrifying magical gale stirred, making the very atmosphere tremble. The cold gaze of the supreme martial artist, wrapped in the demonic wind, created the illusion of being plunged into the arctic.
A mere mortal would suffer cardiopulmonary arrest from her immense majesty just by being looked at.
But—
The individuals gathered here were obviously not normal people.
"You madwoman, don't throw your power around so recklessly!" the noble Englishman, nearly blown away by the gale, roared furiously at the Demon Cult leader who had unleashed her power without warning.
"All of you, give me a break!!"
This was from John Pluto Smith, who despised pointless conflict. She angrily scolded her compatriots, telling them to calm down.
"Are you ordering us around?"
"Does big sister want to fight? I'll gladly keep you company."
The world seemed to twist in an instant. The magical power from the different God-Slayers tore through the atmosphere, making the air itself cry out in agony.
Before Jibril's stunned, vacant gaze, the God-Slayers…
A brawl erupted.