I'm in another world, and I start out transformed into Lancelot.

Acquiring such powerful weapons should have been a huge strategic victory.

However—behind the desk, Lelouch, wearing the Zero mask, was unconsciously pressing his temples repeatedly with his fingertips.

Deep within his deep purple pupils, a solemn frost, not belonging to a commander, was condensed.

Blood. An overly bright red, viscous vision suddenly pierced my mind!

It wasn't the cold, modified body before me, but the altar from my past life, utterly torn apart by despair and madness.

Euphemia's fallen figure, the crimson flowers that instantly spread across her pure white dress, the frozen shock and sorrow in her eyes that she could not comprehend even in death.

This is not a memory, but an eternal burn mark imprinted in the deepest part of the soul.

Even if the script is rewritten, even if the target is now Euphemia herself, there is still the absolute fear of personally pushing a loved one into a blood-stained abyss.

As the date of the ceremony drew near, it was like a hibernating insect awakening, gnawing fiercely at his nerves.

The shadow was invisible, yet so heavy that he could almost smell the rust.

"Ha~"

A soft laugh, as sticky as honey, broke the deathly silence.

The luxurious sofa in the corner is deeply shrouded in the figure of the green witch.

She held a golden-brown potato chip between her slender fingers and slowly put it into her mouth, the crisp "crunch" sound unusually jarring in the quiet.

CC keenly sensed the extremely rare, almost timid, energy blockage emanating from the contractor.

Although she had no way of knowing the secret of reincarnation, this obvious fear—facing the protagonist of the stage that he himself had chosen.

In her eyes, it was even more novel than a new flavor of pizza.

Those golden eyes gleamed with pure amusement; his tongue licked his salt-covered fingertips as he lazily drew out his words:

"Hey... that worried look on your face, it's really..."

She paused deliberately, her voice like a feather brushing against a taut bowstring. "It feels rather incongruous~"

"What? Are you worried that your sacrificial princess, Her Highness, is too dazzling... and will pierce your heart, which is already soaked in mud, hidden behind the Zero mask?"

Lelouch suddenly turned his head, his cold gaze like a poisoned dagger, precisely piercing the green figure on the sofa who seemed to thrive on chaos.

"You witch, you've actually become helpful?!"

CC showed no fear, and even adjusted to a more comfortable position, her fair legs swinging leisurely in mid-air.

"Hey~ don't be so harsh, Contractor."

She flicked the crumbs from her fingertips, a thoughtful inquiry flashing deep within her demonic eyes: "I just felt... about that knight who helped you carry the package..."

CC gestured with her chin toward Jeremiah. "Quite interesting."

"Knight? Name?" Lelouch's nerves were instantly pricked by the word "interesting." C.C.'s unconventional thinking always harbored hidden traps.

The witch's red lips curved into a cunning smile, as if she had finally cast out a carefully prepared bait:

"Yes...she calls herself—Lance Sloan Te~"

"—Lancelot?!"

Lelouch's heart skipped a beat. The name, like a battering ram with tremendous force, smashed open the barriers of his chaotic thoughts!

Lancelot?! That's not it—the image of his close friend Suzaku Kururugi piloting the white Nightmare immediately flashed in his mind.

Its agile figure, tearing through steel on the battlefield, was invincible! The piercing roar of its engines, the radiation wave cannons shattering fortresses...

"Suzaku's... mecha?!" The thought blurted out uncontrollably, filled with immense surprise and heightened vigilance.

The impact of the names is too strong: one represents a war machine that represents the ultimate human power, and the other is a fairy knight with intelligence that surpasses that of humans.

These two images collided and overlapped violently in my mind! A vortex of confusion instantly swallowed up the previous gloom.

Code name? Coincidence? Or a deeper connection?

However, the ceremony for the establishment of the special economic zone is just around the corner.

Chapter 39 Establishment of Special Economic Zones

Special Economic Zone Ceremony Site —

Beneath the magnificent dome of the hall, the light refracted by the crystal chandelier flows like a river of stars.

The air was filled with the scents of imperial perfumes, the lingering fragrance of carpets, and the sweltering heat of the crowd, rising amidst thunderous cheers.

Euphemia R. Britannia stands in the center of the light.

Her long, cherry-pink hair flowed with a warm, silky sheen, and her pure white dress drew an elegant arc as she slightly bowed.

Her exposed shoulders and neck were slender yet bore the weight of countless gazes.

The crystal microphone carried her clear and firm voice to every corner of the hall: "From this moment on, this is no longer territory conquered by iron hooves, but a common home called Eden!"

“Every life willing to sow seeds of hope here, regardless of bloodline or past—” Her gaze, like a warm searchlight, swept across the crowd with its varied expressions, finally gazing deeply into the eyes of the children in the corner, their clothes clenched tightly, their eyes brimming with expectation, “—will all enjoy the same dawn and share the storms of the future!”

There was no pre-planned gunfire, no unexpected bloodshed.

Only she clearly uttered one promise after another—about bread, about books, about gardens that could be entered without being searched.

Like a pebble thrown into a still lake, it creates ripples in the hearts of many.

The declaration, "The new special zone of District 11, Eden, is reborn here!" resounded like the tolling of a silver bell.

The room fell silent for a moment.

Immediately afterwards, the first slap was like the first thunderclap!

The applause grew louder and louder, like snowflakes, eventually transforming into a deafening, earth-shaking tsunami!

The Britannian nobles stood regally upright, their palms clapping with a precision as precise as an imperial procession; the white-haired old man from District 11 straightened his hunched back, oblivious to the fact that his rough palms had turned red from clapping.

The flashbulbs in the media section exploded like a galaxy of light, vying to capture the princess's clear, slightly watery smile.

In this frenzy, no one cares whether it is true meaning or a mask; a huge bubble called "possibility" rises slowly amidst the enormous noise.

Atop the surging crowd, on the private terrace of the viewing box—

This place is like a tranquil reef suspended above raging waves.

The sheer curtains, partially transparent, filtered the thunderous cheers and the roar of the crowd below, turning them into a hazy background sound.

The air was filled with the cool, delicate fragrance of lilies of the valley specially prepared for the celebration, mingling with the bubbling heat of the crowd.

Lancelot, the Fairy Knight of Euphemia Le Britannia, stands silently in the shadows on the edge of the terrace, closest to the speaking platform below, like a guardian spirit dwelling in the ancient castle of the Abyss.

The dark blue light armor was as deep as a lake without light, covering the entire body, its texture like the deepest, solidified lake water.

Only his jade-like chin and his inhuman vertical pupils burning with molten gold were not obscured.

The surrounding area is filled with the pristine, moist air emanating from the lake deep in the forest after the rain, rich in moss and driftwood, clear and serene.

Those molten gold vertical pupils, unhindered by the mask, pierced through the curtain of light and shadow and the clamor of voices—anchored with absolute focus and without deviation to the single source of light below.

Every slight movement of the Contract Lord's lips and tongue, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and the instant his fingertips tightened in response to the declaration, were like drops of water thrown into a still, deep pool, stirring up silent yet incredibly precise ripples on the mirror-like surface of his vertical pupils.

Her posture was like a mirror lake reflecting the ancient trees on the shore, unfathomable yet containing the power of a collapsing tsunami. Beneath the elegant and calm surface was an absolute will that existed solely to protect the pure white rose at the center of the reflection.

Yuffie's gaze wandered, occasionally glancing towards the terrace.

The light and shadows swayed in the gauze curtains, and she could only catch a glimpse of the sharp, cold silver light that occasionally refracted from the deep blue mask in the darkness.

These points of light act like anchors, bringing a deep, unwavering sense of security that requires no confirmation.

Her knight was as natural and necessary as the air that sustained her heartbeat and breath.

Just as Euphemia bent down with a smile, her fingertips about to touch the braid of the girl presenting the flowers—

On the terrace, the pair of molten gold vertical pupils behind the mask's holes suddenly narrowed like the needle tip of aurora condensing beneath ice.

The Guardian Radar detected a speck of dust outside the Contract Master's "Perfect Trajectory".

The hand, covered in a light blue armor, silently traced a "ripple" in the air—the trail was faint, like the ripples left by a newborn dragonfly skimming the surface of water.

Among the crowd below, an elderly woman, weathered by life's hardships and warmed by Yuffie's gaze, stumbled and lost her balance due to overwhelming joy.

Her foot was about to snag on a tiny imperfection in the gleaming marble floor in front of her, while directly in front of her, a towering champagne tower was dangerously tilting in the hands of a waiter due to a shove from behind.

As the old woman lost her balance and her body leaned forward to the point of collapse, the circular ground with a radius of ten centimeters below her seemed to be instantly covered by an invisible "micro-shrinkage film" with extreme tension. The brief but tough elastic texture replaced the hard coldness!

It was this miraculous, minute difference in touch that allowed the old woman's body to regain balance on the verge of the laws of mechanics breaking down, relying on her survival instincts.

Before the exclamation of "Oh dear!" could even finish, the alert officer beside him grabbed him and helped him up!

The champagne tower was on the verge of tipping over, but the waiter miraculously managed to stabilize the base at the same instant, and the liquid in the glass remained perfectly still, like solidified golden ribbons!

Yuffie was completely unaware of this.

She was placing a wildflower wreath in the girl's hair, the pink ends of which hung down, complementing the child's rosy smile and igniting a new wave of frenzy below.

On the terrace, the molten gold vertical pupils, as sharp as needle points, quietly dissolved, returning to the calm of the unfathomable ancient pool.

As if a perfect protective ripple spread silently, everything returned to the ultimate harmony of a mirror-like lake.

The fingers that lightly brushed across the water droplets fell to the sides, as if they had never moved.

Only beneath that cold, hard mask, a curve even more subtle than the edge of the rising moonlight rippled across the corner of her lips.

After confirming that Rose was safe and sound, Deep Lake silently withdrew the protective mark.

Deep within the Shadow Chamber, Lelouch vi Britannia's figure still stood.

The light was deliberately dimmed, perfectly enveloping him in the shadows of the velvet curtains.

The faint sound of the ice ball lightly touching the glass between his fingers was completely swallowed up by the surging sound below.

The black mask concealed his expression, with only the cold, intricate light spots on his lenses flashing and fading as fireworks exploded in the distance.

Outside the window, a grand fireworks display announcing the establishment of the special economic zone roared into the sky, exploding into a shower of golden fragments.

Amidst the clamor of voices, three figures, each in their own way, sustain this fragile dawn built upon ideals, protection, and silence.

Chapter 40 The Witch's Teasing

The temporary governor's residence in Kyoto, a small Japanese-style tea room.

Sunlight streamed through the bamboo blinds, and the air was filled with the bitter aroma of freshly brewed matcha and the moist scent of moss by the pond.

A finely woven rush mat was laid under the low tea table in the corner of the tea room.

Melusin was not wearing her signature lake-blue ice armor.

She changed into a pure white linen casual outfit made of excellent material but with an extremely simple style, and the wide-leg trousers had a beautiful drape.

The loose-fitting top was only loosely tied at the waist with a thin woven belt of the same color, which made the already cool lines appear even more aloof.

Her long silver hair was loosely tied up with an antique-style dark red wooden hairpin, with a few stray strands falling down her neck.

Sitting at the head of the tea ceremony, he resembled a white jade statue, polished by time yet still exuding a chill, creating a strange balance with the rising steam of the tea.

Her posture still retained the straight back characteristic of a knight, but without the sharpness of being restrained by armor, she exuded a more composed demeanor.

The molten gold vertical pupils fell on the thin-walled celadon teacup in front of him, the clear tea soup reflecting the swaying bamboo shadows outside the window.

The sliding door opened silently a crack, and CC's head peeked in.

Her signature long, emerald-green hair was loose and slightly frizzy, and she was casually wrapped in a beige velvet robe that was clearly Euphemia's, embroidered with cute strawberries.

He was still holding the shiny pizza box in his arms, and in his other hand he was dangling a can of fluorescent orange carbonated drink with an extremely suspicious color.

"Oh~ are you dressed like a mascot from a cosplay princess's house, all all soft and fluffy?" Her voice was filled with undisguised surprise and teasing.

His gaze, like a searchlight, lingered on Melusin's loose, soft white linen dress, focusing on her slender wrist that gleamed with a cold, jade-like luster.

Melousin's gaze never left the teacup, but the fingertips holding the bowl tightened for a fleeting moment.

CC casually kicked off her fluffy slippers and sat down next to Melissa.

The distance was close enough to feel the constant, slightly cool aura emanating from the other person, which seemed completely out of place with the aroma of tea.

She tossed the pizza box onto the low table, the greasy edge of the box almost brushing against Melusin's teacup.