Deep space had no sound.
It was a place of absolute deathly silence—no wind, no temperature, even the light seemed sluggish here.
Miyamoto Musashi closed her eyes, both hands tightly gripping that unnamed katana.
The tiny human swordswoman swung her blade at a monster on the scale of a star.
This was an even more foolish joke than Don Quixote—
The instant she left Kenneth's protection, a gravitational storm took shape.
Before the slender blade could truly fall, the savage tearing force had already descended.
Superheated radiation followed close behind. Skin, muscle, and bone carbonized and vaporized directly under temperatures of several thousand degrees.
Not even a speck of ash remained.
Yet the slash wielded by the swordswoman's will did not vanish.
An invisible line followed Musashi's sword stroke and touched Chaos.
A crack appeared upon the stellar-scale machine god's body, composed of countless metal rings and Dyson spheres.
It was truly tiny.
If Chaos were compared to a Nimitz-class Helicarrier with a full-load displacement of one hundred thousand tons, then this crack was probably no more than a white mark scratched into the deck by a fingernail.
Insignificant.
But this sword strike had truly touched the void.
That empty "void" had been forcibly cleaved open with a seam.
In deep space, that enormous metal pupil shifted slightly.
For the first time, that stellar-scale giant god displayed a human reaction.
Surprise.
Like a person suddenly bitten by an ant while walking down the street.
It did not hurt, nor was it fatal, but it was enough to make one's scalp tingle.
Emotion—something utterly superfluous to Machine Gods—was born in that instant.
Only, unlike the emotions born from faith in Machine Gods like Zeus—
Chaos, who had existed for who knew how many eras and had only ever operated according to