Leticia watched Fogremia's perfect purple eyes narrow slightly in disgust. Hearing her near-judgmental request, a gentle and somewhat indulgent smile appeared on Leticia's face.
She nodded slightly.
"Go ahead."
Leticia's voice was calm and clear, as if she were instructing a painter to complete a timeless masterpiece.
"Show him what true 'creation' is."
Having received the Goddess's permission, an exquisite smile that was both perfect and tinged with cold cruelty instantly bloomed on Fogremia's face.
That smile was enough to make even the stars pale in comparison.
She didn't use any weapons, nor did she mobilize even a shred of energy that could be detected by conventional instruments.
She simply and elegantly raised her slender right hand, which was clad in a silk glove.
Then, from a distance, she aimed it at the most massive, most heavily armed, and most hideously ugly Iron Bastion in the entire Defense Matrix.
In the Command Core of Medrengard.
Perturabo's holographic projection stared intently at the screen, watching Fogremia's movements, which were so elegant they were almost provocative.
Beside him, the Automated Defense System emitted a cold, emotionless electronic prompt.
"Scanning target's physical movements, assessing threat level..."
"No energy accumulation reaction detected."
"No physical ballistic trajectory detected."
"No psychic fluctuation peaks detected."
"Determination: Ineffective threat action. No response required."
Perturabo ignored the system's judgment.
An indescribable intuition, born of a master craftsman, made every nerve in his body scream frantically because of the bizarre scene before him!
He didn't know what the opponent was going to do.
But he knew it was definitely not an "ineffective threat"!
On the battlefield.
Fogremia's [Divine Charm] Authority, like an invisible tide filled with the concept of supreme aesthetics, swept silently from her toward that Iron Bastion.
It wasn't destructive energy.
Nor was it some reality-warping psychic spell.
It was a forced instillation of the "concept of beauty."
It was an unquestionable "divine decree" from a higher dimension, acting directly upon the "form of existence" of matter!
In the next second.
A scene occurred that caused the Logic Cores of all the Iron Warriors watching the battle to crash.
Under the gaze of their red-glowing Bionic Eyes, the bastion's armor plates—originally dull, rough, and covered in rivets and weld seams—began to become as smooth as a mirror at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Immediately after, countless exquisite gold carvings, filled with a sense of harmonious rhythm, grew and emerged from the smooth mirror surface as if they possessed life!
The angular gun turrets, designed for maximum firing arcs, also began to twist and deform like melting candles.
Ultimately, they transformed into elegant, flowing spiral spires pointing toward the sky!
The heavy concrete walls, thick enough to withstand Orbital Bombardment, were hollowed out into slender and magnificent colonnades in a burst of silent writhing.
The ends of the dark gun barrels, which once exuded the breath of death, actually bloomed like flower buds into massive, crystal-clear flowers carved from pure crystal!
In a short span of just a few seconds.
This war fortress, which represented the highest level of defense in Medrengard and the life's work and utilitarian philosophy of Perturabo, transformed before everyone's eyes from a cold war machine built for killing...
Into a massive, magnificent piece of art, filled with impractical romanticism and completely defying any principles of physics or structural mechanics...
A work of art.
"This... what is this?"
For the first time, a sense of pure, blank confusion appeared in Angronia's amber eyes, which were burning with Battle Intent.
She couldn't understand it.
She couldn't even comprehend this method of attack.
Sanguinia opened her cherry-like mouth, her sky-blue eyes filled with shock and wonder.
"So... so beautiful..."
She praised from the bottom of her heart.
In the eyes of this Archangel, the crystal palace before her, transformed from a war fortress, was itself a soul-stirring miracle.
At the highest point of Medrengard.
"No... no... impossible..."
Perturabo's massive holographic projection flickered violently because of the scene before him, which exceeded his scope of understanding.
He was trembling all over.
It wasn't fear.
It was a kind of... extreme rage and humiliation; everything he had believed in and taken pride in throughout his life was being utterly trampled and denied in the most elegant and contemptuous way!
He would rather his fortress be ground into dust by ten thousand Macro-cannons!
Than accept it meeting its end in such an... absurd, "beautified" way!
Just then.
Accompanied by a crisp, pleasant sound, like countless wind chimes shattering simultaneously in the wind.
Crack—!
That fortress, which had just been "perfected"—that beautiful crystal palace that seemed like it should only exist in myth—because its internal load-bearing structures had completely turned into slender, fragile artistic columns...
Finally reached the critical point of its structural strength under its own immensely heavy mass.
It collapsed!
There was no earth-shattering explosion.
No mess of flying dust.
The entire fortress, like a magnificent castle made of countless crystal blocks pushed over by a child, turned into a dazzling, magnificent ruin of gold and crystal amidst a glimmering light like stardust.
This method of destruction itself carried a cruel and desperate beauty.
Looking at the glittering ruins, the cruel smile on Fogremia's face slowly faded.
In its place was a calm satisfaction belonging to an artist who had completed a masterpiece.
She elegantly wiped away non-existent "dust" with a handkerchief.
Then, she turned around and performed another impeccable lady's bow to Leticia.
"Sister."
"A crude imitation has been destroyed by me."
She spoke softly, as if she had only done something insignificant.
This casual sentence, however, struck Perturabo in the Command Core like a bolt of lightning!
A crude imitation?
The perfect defensive fortification he had forged using the experience of countless wars, the most precise calculations, and the blood and sweat of an entire legion...
In the opponent's eyes, it was actually just a "crude imitation"?
This contemptuous strike from the dimension of "aesthetics" stung his proud yet insecure, riddled soul more than any physical attack ever could!
Just then.
Amidst the glittering dust of the ruins made of crystal and gold.
Magna took a gentle step forward.
Her crimson eyes, which reflected universal truths, calmly swept over the remaining fortress groups, which had fallen into logical chaos due to their comrade's "artistic death."
Then, in a cold, emotionless tone, like a top scholar reviewing a student's thesis, she spoke slowly.
"A failure has been corrected."
"Now then..."
Her voice paused for a moment, as if giving those crashed machines a little time to understand.
"It's time to check..."
"...the remaining assignments."
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