Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

Oh well, might as well take it!

Tsugumi put away her prize, patted the Cancer next to her, and laughed.

"Alright, that's all settled. Time to welcome your new demonic ascension!"

"Buzz~~~~" The response to him was a reluctant sound that was terrifying to mortals, but rather quite cute to Tsugumi.

Watching them being sent to Leviathan's domain one by one, waving goodbye happily before leaving, Tsugumi suddenly felt a strange sense of loss, as if her daughters had left home. She wiped her eyes and then activated her beacon.

I suddenly felt like going back to Type-Moon!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

P.S.: I've finished drawing and killing, now I'm asking for votes so I can go to the moon and finish the story!

Changing styles doesn't stop the killing! : 151. [Type-Moon Rome] Boudica's Elegy

Humans have limits to their perception of pain.

As the rough, sharp whip tore at the skin of her shoulder blades countless times, Boudica clearly felt that boundary, the pain beyond the limits of what her body could endure.

The rough texture of the sand and gravel pressed against my knees through my light white clothes, and the leather ropes dug into my wrists. All these sensations receded into the distance, and even the cries of my daughters in the distance sounded like they were being heard through a thick layer of ice.

Her fair skin was stained with blood and whip marks. Boudica's mature and beautiful face was held high, but her emerald green eyes were devoid of any light.

The tower in Queen Boudica's heart collapsed.

It was a towering structure built of trust, a place where she had once believed in the Romans, and her husband had too, even willing to ally with them for peace. But on his deathbed, he held her hand, and this man, whose marriage, though arranged, had still given Boudica's family a sense of belonging, murmured in his final moments…

"The Romans will keep their promise..." he said listlessly, as if he could see the future through Boudica, pleading with the unseen emperor thousands of miles away in his dying moments.

"Give half to the emperor, and half to our daughter...that way we can survive."

"To live," those three words were like a simple incantation, which she chanted day and night to seal every crack in the tower that let in the wind from the doubt. Her husband had compromised with Claudius in exchange for Iseni's existence. And now, Boudica too must choose compromise and peace.

She calmed her restless people, suppressed the elders' radical attitude towards Rome, and placed her husband's will and the agreement with Rome at the highest point of the Tower of the Heart, choosing the path of compromise.

But she did not see the sorrow in her husband's eyes on his deathbed, the King of Isen. Having already compromised once, he was now doubting everything, doubting the integrity of those who came by ship.

Boudica convinced herself

This would be a mother's greatest victory, perhaps not a triumph, but the freedom to spare her daughters from the stench of war. She would no longer be the Princess Iseni who could drive a chariot; she would simply be a mother of two, a widow, and a guardian trying to find a way for her people to survive beneath the giant wheels of Rome.

But the Romans betrayed her trust.

After her husband's death, and after she persuaded the elders of her clan not to be enemies with Rome, the tax collectors' faces grew increasingly greedy, and then the hateful quaestor Catus, the slick man, never concealed his lust for her daughter.

Then, he invited Boudica and her daughter to a banquet, where he spread out a parchment and announced in Latin-like chanting that her husband’s will was invalid.

"Everything in the kingdom belongs to the Senate and the people," he said.

It belongs to Rome. But what about her daughters? What about the vows? What about everything that was promised?

What about oaths made in the name of the emperor?

Boudica rose to question and plead with the Romans, hoping they would honor their promise. She hoped they would keep their word, considering that Isen had helped Rome establish a foothold in southern Britain and had joined them in their campaigns against the cannibalistic barbarians and forest dwellers.

But Catus told her with a mocking look that it was precisely because he and their Roman ancestors had no real glory or dignity that they had earned everything they had today.

There is no glory between nations, only interests. Great Rome, the towering city of seven hills, was built by repeatedly ravaging the weak.

Moreover, the Romans never reasoned with barbarians.

Boudica's towering structure finally crumbled.

Royal silverware, ancestral armor, keys to the granaries—the wheels of a fully loaded cart crushed her last vestiges of dignity. And then came this moment. Dragged into the square, amidst the horrified gazes of her people and the mocking whistles of the Roman soldiers, the whip fell.

The whip, adorned with multiple leather straps, each concealing a blade, lashed against Boudica's fair skin with each strike.

They mocked, they ridiculed, they sizing Boudica up and down with malevolent eyes. Each blow left deep wounds on Boudica's body, each severing what little dignity she had left.

She gritted her teeth and didn't scream. Screams were reserved for those who still had hope. Even though she had lost her most precious thing, Boudica didn't want to lose her only remaining dignity.

"Mother, Mother, Mom!!!"

But when she heard her daughters' screams of terror as they were dragged away, saw the arms that had seized her daughters' hands and feet, and watched the Roman soldiers, grinning, pull them toward the barracks—

Boudica instantly knew what was about to happen and what horrific tragedy was about to unfold before her eyes.

Pain, humiliation, fear... all the feelings that had receded like a tide returned with a hundred times more ferocity, turning into a rusty burning sensation deep in the throat, turning into a sharp scream.

It has nothing to do with dignity; it is a mother's scream and plea like a primitive animal as she witnesses her child about to be harmed.

But it was no use. The Romans never cared about the pleas of a foreign woman. The same thing happened countless times on their conquests, but each time Rome trampled on the weak and ravaged other races.

Catus loosened his belt and approached Fura and Tanya with that slick, disgusting smile. The daughters' small bodies trembled like leaves in the wind under the soldiers' restraints, their eyes wide open, reflecting their mother's blood-stained face and the cold armor of the Romans.

Boudica could not close her eyes, nor could the tribesmen who were forced to watch, because closing their eyes meant abandonment, and the Romans forced them to watch this scene.

How their princess was insulted, trampled, and conquered by the Romans.

Just like Carthage, Etruria, Gaul, Greece, Illyria...

The Romans' iron hooves and legions conquered these countries, trampled on the people of a foreign race, insulted and abused their daughters, robbed them of their wealth, and killed their children.

Later generations praised the greatness of Rome, but beneath this greatness lay the trampled and humiliated corpses of people like Boudica.

These insults are merely a deterrent in response to criticism—your queen is worthless, your princess is worthless, and your country is worthless.

After her daughters' clothes were torn off, Boudica struggled desperately, like a trapped beast launching a blind attack on everything around her—including her own flesh and blood—when she realized that the cage was her grave.

The leather rope burrowed deeper into her wrist bone, and warm fluid welled up from the wound on her back again, but she couldn't feel it. All she wanted was to tear it apart, bite through it, and destroy it.

Just then, a voice reached her ears.

"Let's offer a sacrifice."

Somber, pleasant, and with an indescribable hint of wickedness mixed in.

"Sacrifice what you love most, awaken your demons, and help you break free from this despair!"

A cherished possession? A sacrifice? What does it mean?

"Your god can't help you! Andraste is long gone, and with her power, she cannot defeat the Romans!"

"What should I do? What can I offer? I can give everything I have!"

"I don't want anything from you! I want the things you cherish!!!"

Something she cherished? Boudica was startled. What was it that she loved? Her daughter? The people? No, everything in Britannia.

I love the wind and the earth. I love the flowers, grass, and trees. I love the springs and streams. I love the birds, beasts, fish, and insects. And even more deeply, I love all the people.

What does He mean? Does He want me to sacrifice Britain, to sacrifice everything in my homeland?

The screams of her daughters came from not far away. The soldiers' rough hands began to tear at their thin clothes. Pain, shame, ridicule, slander, violence—the mother, who had lost everything, was suffering severe physical and mental trauma at this moment. The emotions born from the pain reached an uncontrollable peak.

"Help me!" Boudica pleaded.

"Then repeat after me—I am willing to sacrifice my beloved possessions in exchange for salvation from despair!"

"I am willing to sacrifice my beloved possessions in exchange for salvation from despair!"

The moment the words were spoken, light descended.

It wasn't the gentle light of dawn, but rather like a giant axe cleaving through the stale air and solidified violence of the square. All sound—cries, laughter, the wind—abruptly ceased. A deeper, more guttural hum filled everything.

Katus's hand froze in mid-air, his formulaic cruelty replaced by a bewildered astonishment, slowly turning into fear.

Boudica used all her strength to lift her head.

Amidst the dazzling golden light, enormous golden wings, composed purely of light, slowly flapped behind the descendant, each flap scattering glittering gold dust with overwhelming magnificence.

He wore an odd yet harmonious outfit: white slim-fit trousers that accentuated his straight legs, a white bodysuit adorned with ornate gold swirling patterns, and a loosely worn white long coat with exaggerated gold trim and a dramatic, elaborate design.

The most eye-catching feature was the mask—or helmet—with sharp teeth and horns that curved backward like a devil or a goat.

Beside him followed a female angel dressed similarly, but in black and white.

His gaze fell on Katus, and a chilling smile appeared on his face.

"Well, well, what did I say before I left last time? That if I acted stupid again, I would cause another mass extinction? Although it's not a world, it's a Rome."

He slowly descended from the clouds, and as he moved, the clouds overlapped beneath his feet, forming a downward staircase.

The angel descended the steps, and suddenly a battle axe resembling a guitar appeared in his hand.

He grinned, revealing sharp, shark-like teeth on his mask, and then gently placed the battle axe on the ground.

The next moment, the vibrating strings caused a ripple, and Katus's body twisted and collapsed on the spot, exploding into a cloud of blood mist that was instantly evaporated by the golden light. There was no scream, only a dull sound of matter being completely wiped out.

And the wailing of souls forever condemned to the underworld.

Every Roman was plunged into eternal torment amidst the screams.

Whether or not they have a god, a source, or a restraining force behind them.

They could not disobey Dongjiang's decision.

With just a few words and a nod, Dongjiang has the power and ability to drag all of Rome down to hell.

Why? For no reason.

This is because it is the power of the Tsurugi River, because it is the oath established by the Lord through His actions and words, the power and qualification He has been granted.

—If they keep acting like idiots, we'll have another mass extinction!

Tsuruga approached Boudica. He looked at her, at the lingering desolation and rage in her eyes, at her scarred yet still trying-to-stand back. Then, he smiled. It was a magnificent, joyful, and happy smile.

"Want revenge?" Tsurugi reached out and touched the bloodstains on her face, seemingly savoring the smoothness and texture of the blood against her skin. His fingers gently traced her cheek.

"Do you want to destroy Rome? Do you want to kill all the Romans?"

He looked down at Boudicana, whose curves were fully revealed by the white cloak and the narrow white dress that accentuated her Northern Hemisphere waist.

Her kneeling position caused her body to bend backwards to an extreme degree, with her hands bound to her ankles. The posture made her chest rise high, outlining a breathtaking arc, while her slender waist appeared almost broken.

Of course, the best part is the shapely, full figure, which is covered and accentuated by white bottoms that resemble bikinis and long boots that look like stockings. The tight fabric creates a highly taut semi-circle, as if it would burst with juice like a ripe berry at the slightest touch.

Dude, you're such a womanizer! (Thumbs up)

As expected, the moon woman is still the most alluring!

So to be honest, he definitely prefers ripe peaches to unripe ones.

However... Tsugumi narrowed her eyes slightly.