At the same time, high above the clouds over the battlefield, a peculiar group was chilling on a massive flying island while sipping tea in a lounging room inside the singular building atop the island.
Melroy was the only one who did not have a cup of tea in his hands.
Instead, he had a trio of maids standing around him beside a table on the side, massaging his back, legs, and arms while he groaned in satisfaction as their hands roamed over his ripped frame.
"Ahhh…" he sighed deeply. "That's the spot."
It was certainly odd.
A figure of his power definitely did not need such things to loosen his muscles or anything of the sort. His physique had quite literally reached the peak of what existence in this world could realistically achieve, which meant he was only doing all this for the sake of it.
This point was only proven by Miss Fenrir's exasperated sigh as she put her empty teacup down.
