[The Royal Capital of the Elves]
Silence.
It was not the tranquility of a forest in slumber, nor the hush of a library. It was a heavy, suffocating stillness, the kind that settles over a graveyard after the mourners have gone home. The air was thick with the scent of pine and stagnation, devoid of the usual hustle of the Elven populace.
"I detect approximately three hundred life signatures remaining. The majority are huddled in subterranean cellars and reinforced warehouses. Judging by the faintness of their magical auras, they are non-combatants, civilians."
The woman speaking kept her eyes closed, her fingers twitching rhythmically as if plucking strings on an invisible harp. This was the 7th Seat of the Black Scripture, the "Thousand Leagues Astrologer."
Born with a talent that the Theocracy regarded as a miracle of the bloodline, she was a genius of divination. Her surveillance magic could bypass standard anti-detection barriers, expanding her sensory net far beyond the limits of ordinary casters. While her combat abilities were negligible compared to the rest of the unit, in terms of information warfare, she was a strategic asset on par with a fortress.
Her eyes snapped open, revealing a flicker of genuine unease.
"... However, Captain. I see no trace of the Extra Seat. Nor is there any sign of the Elf King."
The report hung in the air, heavier than the silence.
Clemence Paxley Votive the Captain of the Black Scripture and the 1st Seat—felt a cold weight settle in his gut. It was a sensation he detested: the creeping dread of the unknown.
Before setting foot in this forest, the Theocracy had attempted to locate Zesshi Zetsumei via the magical signature of her equipment. Those items were relics of the Six Great Gods, items of such immense data capacity that tracking them should have been child's play.
The result had been a terrifying void.
It was reminiscent of the betrayal of Clementine, the former 9th Seat, who had discarded her gear to evade tracking. But Zesshi? That was impossible. Her loyalty wasn't born of patriotism, perhaps, but she had no reason to run. She lived for combat, for the chance to find a mate stronger than herself.
Did she discard her equipment? No, she knows their value. Was she captured? Unthinkable. To capture the Extra Seat would require a power that rivals the Dragon Lords.
Clemence gripped the shaft of his spear a legendary weapon in its own right, until his knuckles whitened. He looked up at the Royal Castle. The open gate loomed before them like the maw of a dark beast, waiting to swallow the hope of humanity.
"This situation has surpassed 'irregular,'" Clemence muttered, his voice low but carrying authority. "If the Elf King has somehow neutralized the Extra Seat, our threat assessment of him must be revised from 'Critical' to 'Catastrophe'."
He turned to his squad. The strongest heroes of humanity stood ready.
"Initiate the intrusion search," Clemence commanded "Sherry, don't just scan for life. Replay the residual mana in the area. I want to see exactly what happened at this gate."
"Understood. Accessing the leylines... [Trace Perception]."
The Astrologer cast the spell, her mana flaring violet.
The air in front of the castle gate shimmered, distorting like heat haze. Slowly, a ghostly, semi-transparent image flickered into existence. It was a phantom of the past, replayed through the memory of the world itself.
There she was.
Zesshi Zetsumei. Even as a mana-construct, her presence was overwhelming. She walked with that characteristic lazy arrogance, her mismatched eyes bored, her massive battle scythe resting on her shoulder. The replay accelerated. Elven guards rushed her, elite soldiers of the capital.
It wasn't even a battle.
Her scythe blurred a single fluid motion that severed heads from shoulders before the elves could even raise their weapons. The phantom Zesshi stepped over the bloodstains, her mouth moving.
"Can you read the lips?" Clemence asked sharply.
"The resolution is too low for audio reconstruction," Sherry replied. "But... she looks disappointed."
Clemence nodded. Disappointed meant she hadn't found a challenge. So where did she go after this?
"Accelerate the playback. We need to catch up to the present," Clemence ordered, his mind racing through tactical formations. "Stres, take point. If we encounter any forest spirits or automated golem defenses, eliminate them instantly. Do not conserve mana; speed is our priority."
"Understood."
The 12th Seat, "Heaven and Earth," nodded once. He wore the outfit of a ninja. With node He melted into the shadows of the gatehouse, scouting the path ahead.
"Tyr, your priority is Sherry. Do not leave her side. She is our eyes; if she falls, we are blind."
"Sir."
The 8th Seat, "Tyr Grandaire Cedran'' stepped closer to the Astrologer, planting his armored feet firmly on the stone. He raised the Great Shield of Ten Thousand Walls. It was a Divine Class artifact bequeathed by the Gods, a massive slab of metal that could block attacks from high-tier entities.
But his value wasn't just in blocking. One shield defended the body, the other possessed a unique enchantment capable of unleashing high-tier healing magic. If they found Zesshi broken or dying, Cedran would be the one to pull her back from the abyss of death.
"I'm ready as well," murmured a soft voice.
It was the 5th Seat, "Kein'ai Hasaiya Quintia''
He flexed his fingers, chains rattling lightly against his robes. As the "One-Man Legion," his duty was to flood the battlefield with summoned monsters. Against an entity like the Elf King, who likely possessed druidic magic, Quinta's summons would serve as a wall of meat and cannon fodder, buying precious seconds for Clemence to land a killing blow.
And behind them all stood Valen, the 3rd Seat. He remained silent, his hand clutching a sealed scroll tightly. His magic was their lifeline. If the situation turned catastrophic, he was responsible for casting the mass teleportation spell that would get them out alive.
Clemence looked at them. The formation was perfect. It was the pinnacle of human tactical warfare, refined over centuries of defending mankind from extinction.
We are the Black Scripture. We are the guardians. Even if we face a god, we must not falter.
"Let's go," Clemence said, brandishing his spear. The tip pointed into the darkness of the castle hall. "We find the Extra Seat, or we find her killer. Either way, the Theocracy will have answers."
Without a battle cry, the heroes of humanity surged forward, chasing the fading afterimage of death into the gloom.