[The First Day of Destruction, 6:15 PM][The Slane Theocracy — The Holy City, Kami Miyako][Inner Sanctum: The Eye of the Water God]
Click-clack. Click-clack.
The sound was rhythmic, mechanical, and infinitely irritating in the hallowed silence.
In the hands of Clemence Paxley Votive, a small, multicolored cube spun with dizzying speed. It was a relic left behind by the Six Great Gods, a divine puzzle known as a "Rubik's Cube." To the uninitiated, it was a holy artifact of wisdom; to Clemence, it was a mechanism to occupy his fingers while his mind teetered on the brink of collapse.
For the sixth time, the colors aligned perfectly. Or was it the seventh?
He scrambled it again.
Restlessness. Anxiety. A creeping, cold dread.
These were emotions alien to him. As the First Seat of the Black Scripture, bearing the title " The Captain of Black Scripture," Humanity's strongest force. Clemence was a being who had transcended the limits of humanity. He was a God-kin, a descendant of the players who had once descended upon this world. Before he had even reached the age of majority, he had slain dragons, dismantled demon cults, and protected the very foundation of the human race.
Clemence knew the vastness of the world. He knew the terror that lurked in the shadows. He knew the fragility of mankind.
Yet, never once in his life had he felt this sensation. It felt as though a thousand ice-cold centipedes were crawling beneath his skin, gnawing at his nerves.
Calm down, he commanded himself. You are the shield of the Theocracy. If you crack, the nation shatters.
To maintain the facade of the stoic leader, he focused entirely on the cube. Red. Blue. White. Yellow. Order from chaos.
He stood within one of the most sacred domains of the Holy City: The Eye of the Water God.
Architecturally, it resembled a vast, open-air amphitheater centered around a pristine pool of water. However, to describe it so simply would be blasphemy. Surrounded by ornate marble pillars etched with high-tier defensive wards, the water shimmered with a divine luminescence, reflecting the dying golden light of the setting sun.
Beside each pillar stood a female paladin. These were the ceremonial guards of the domain, clad in armor that prioritized aesthetic beauty over defense, gleaming silver filigree, and silk capes. They stood like statues, their discipline absolute.
This was the stage for the Grand Ritual Magic: Theban Indomitability. A surveillance ritual of the 8th Tier, positioned to locate the missing "Certain death."
The event should have commenced an hour ago.
The delay was caused by a variable, a trivial, infuriating variable. One of the forest elf sacrifices, a girl no older than fifteen, possessed a hidden Talent allowing her to cast Third-Tier magic. She had attempted to escape during transit.
She failed, of course. But the chaos she caused felt like an ill omen. It was a crack in the porcelain perfection of the Theocracy's plans.
Pat-pat, pat-pat…
The sound of bare feet slapping against cold stone broke Clemence's concentration. His crimson eyes, burning with the blood of the gods, shifted toward the entrance.
The sacrifices had arrived.
More than a hundred forest elves entered the arena in two staggering rows. Their eyes were dull, glazed over by powerful charm magic. At the forefront walked three half-elves, the "failures" of the Elf King's bloodline, yet possessing enough spiritual weight to serve as the ignition keys for the ritual.
( ha! I feel… pity.)
The thought surfaced unbidden. Clemence suppressed it instantly. It was hypocritical.
If asked whether he considered elves to be "people," Clemence's answer, conditioned by years of doctrine, would be a firm "no." They were sub-humans. They were fuel.
And yet, he had changed. He had changed the day he met her.
The "Extra Seat." The Antichrist of the Theocracy. Antilene Heran Fouche.
The elf sacrifices waded into the pool, forming a concentric circle along the edges. Following them came the human participants.
The Deputy High Priestess of Water, an elderly woman whose wrinkled face bore the weight of decades of service, led the procession. Behind her came the Miko Princesses.
Only four remained.
The Earth and Darkness Miko Princesses were broken by the catastrophe involving the Sunlight Scripture and the mysterious Sorcerer King years ago. The fact that the remaining four were present signified the desperation of the Cardinals. This was an "All-In" gamble.
Their long, straight hair floated in the wind, shimmering as if dissolving into the twilight. They wore veils to obscure their faces and garments of semi-transparent gauze that left little to the imagination. These were not clothes for modesty; they were ritual vestments designed to allow magical energy to flow unimpeded.
Under normal circumstances, no man would be permitted here. But these were not normal times.
Scattered around the perimeter were the members of the Black Scripture, the apex of humanity's military might.
The 2nd Seat, "Time Turbulence," Emil Silas Mortlake. The 4th Seat, "Divine Chant," Zephira Alouette Linnet. The 6th Seat, "The Gilded Bastion," Valerius de Claire. The 11th Seat, "Infinite Magic," Sofia Lumia Nora.
Clemence noted the reactions of the maids attending the Miko Princesses. Upon seeing the Black Scripture members, the maids stiffened, blushing furiously. They were in the presence of legends. The Miko Princesses, however, were oblivious. Their minds were already half-submerged in the spirit realm, walking a path between divinity and madness.
"I pray to the Six that this proceeds smoothly," a soft voice broke the silence.
It was Zephira, the 4th Seat.
She was dressed in a cleric's habit, though it was heavily modified. High slits exposed her legs, and the fabric was a vibrant, almost scandalous pink. It looked like cosplay, yet every thread was woven from adamantite fiber and enchanted with holy magic. It was a legacy Class item left by the Gods.
Beside her stood Valerius, the 6th Seat. He was a towering figure of a man, blonde hair slicked back, exuding the aura of a classic hero. He leaned against a massive greatsword, a blade taller than a man, etched with azure runes that hummed with wind mana.
"After we locate the Extra Seat," Valerius said, his voice deep and resonant, "do we truly intend to mobilize the entire unit for a retrieval operation? Leaving the capital undefended seems… unwise."
"Hah? I'd rather decline that suicide mission, thanks," a childish voice sneered.
It was Emil, the 2nd Seat. He looked like a bratty teenager, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed. Despite his youth, he wielded a terrifying Talent related to time manipulation.
"Think about it," Emil continued, kicking at the stone floor. "That woman is a monster. She has the strength of a gorilla in human skin. If an enemy was strong enough to capture her, while she was fully equipped with the legacy of the Six Gods, then what hope do we have? We'd just be walking into a meat grinder."
"That is defeatist talk, Emil," Zephira chided, frowning. "The Black Scripture is not what it used to be. We have Clemence now. He is an Awakened God-kin. With him leading the vanguard, the calculus of battle changes."
"Hmph. You think the Cardinals agree?" Emil rolled his eyes. "Given the situation, those old fogies probably want to lock Clemence in the Sanctuary and use him as a breeding stallion. They're terrified of losing their last trump card. They want him to stay here, have sex all day, and produce the next generation of God-kin."
"Emil! Watch your tongue in the sacred domain!" Zephira hissed, her face flushing.
"Tch. Stop acting like my big sister."
"The brat has a point," Valerius interjected, his expression grim. "Clemence, the High Council is divided. The 'Hawks' want to rescue the Extra Seat and reclaim the artifacts. The 'Doves' want to abandon her, seal the borders, and hide you away to preserve the bloodline."
Clemence, who had been silently solving the Rubik's Cube, finally looked up.
"That is correct," Clemence said. His voice was calm, but it carried a weight that silenced the others. "However, regardless of the Cardinals' judgment, I have made my decision. We will rescue her."
The air in the chamber seemed to freeze.
Zephira blinked. "You… intend to act unilaterally? Without Council approval?"
"Yes."
Clemence turned his gaze to the western sky, where the purple bruise of night was beginning to spread.
"There is no time to debate. The moment the ritual pinpoints her location, I will launch the sortie. If we wait for the Cardinals to finish bickering, she will be dead. Or worse."
Clemence knew the logic of the 'Doves.' Hide in the Sanctuary. Wait for the storm to pass.
But that logic was flawed. Survival in the Sanctuary relied on the premise that the Sanctuary would never be found. If the enemy was powerful enough to defeat the Extra Seat, could walls truly stop them?
Besides… logic wasn't the only thing driving him.
(Why am I so desperate?)
Was it love? No. Clemence scoffed internally. He could not love that woman. Their first meeting had involved her beating him until he couldn't stand. She was violent, uncouth, and socially broken.
But there was a kinship. A shared loneliness.
"Oh, what a cute boy! Your eyes are so intense. If you can beat me, I might let you breed with me." That was the first thing she had ever said to him.
And the last thing Clemence had said to her that day, as he lay broken on the training field, was: "I'm sorry… I'm trash… I'm a weakling who smells like piss…"
The memory made his ribs ache. But later, when he had recovered and surpassed his limits, she had visited him. She had awkwardly apologized. "I went too far. I'm sorry."
In that moment, he realized she wasn't a monster. She was just a weapon that had never been taught how to be a person. She was his mirror image.
"Are you insane?!"
Emil's shriek shattered Clemence's reverie.
"I won't do it! Absolutely not!" The boy's face was twisted in genuine fear. "If the enemy were the Republic or the Dragon Lords, maybe! But this is the Sorcerer King! He's an Undead of the highest order! A being that rivals the arrival of a Player! We are marching to our deaths!"
"Emil, compose yourself," Valerius warned.
"No! Why didn't we just use Downfall of Castle and Country on the Elf King years ago? If we had just controlled him, we wouldn't be in this mess! We wouldn't have had to send the Extra Seat out!"
"There were complications."
"Enough."
Clemence didn't shout. He didn't have to. The single word dropped like a guillotine blade.
The pressure radiating from the First Seat changed. It wasn't just authority; it was Killer Intent. The air in the Eye of the Water God grew heavy, tasting of ozone and blood.
Emil choked on his words. Valerius stiffened, his hand instinctively twitching toward his greatsword. Zephira took a step back.
"Participation in my unilateral action is voluntary," Clemence said softly, his crimson eyes glowing in the dim light. "Those who lack the resolve will only be liabilities. Stay here if you wish. Cower in the dark."
He smiled, a dry, mirthless expression.
"Do not forget. Even alone, I am the Black Scripture."
The arrogance. The sheer, unadulterated hubris.
It was the statement of a god walking among men. Even the Deputy High Priestess, busy arranging the ritual formation, paused and looked over in fear.
"Clemence… I… forgive us." Zephira bowed her head deeply.
"Sorry, Captain," Emil muttered, looking at his feet.
"It's fine. I am… on edge."
Clemence looked down at his hands. The Rubik's Cube was gone. He had crushed it into colorful plastic dust without realizing it.
(A bad omen…)
He dusted his hands off and sighed.
"Even if we disregard the rescue," Clemence reasoned, adopting a strategic tone to calm his team, "the ritual is vital. We must know who the enemy is. If we find Zesshi's location, we find the threat."
"Even if she is dead, the spell will show where her body lies," Sofia, the 11th Seat, spoke up. She was biting her nails, her appearance disheveled. "But… It's the Sorcerer Kingdom, isn't it? It has to be."
"Almost certainly," Clemence nodded. "In hindsight, we have been outplayed. The Sorcerer King has been constructing a noose around our necks for years."
He gestured to the imaginary map in his mind.
"First, E-Rantel fell. Then, the Sorcerer King personally subjugated the Abelion Hills, bringing the demi-human tribes under his banner. Then, the Empire became a vassal state. The Holy Kingdom was decimated and is now heavily influenced by his humanitarian aid. The Dragon Kingdom is overrun with Beastmen and relies on his Undead for support. And finally, the Re-Estize Kingdom was erased from the map."
"Erased…" Valerius grimaced. "Eight million people. Gone."
"North. West. East," Clemence listed. "We are surrounded. The Sorcerer King didn't just conquer territory; he strategically isolated us. And now, he has struck at the South—at the Elf Kingdom. He timed his attack perfectly to coincide with our operation against the Elf King."
A chill ran down Valerius's spine. "You mean… he knew? He knew we were deploying the Extra Seat?"
"He must have. A being of that intellect? An Undead who has lived for who knows how long? He likely anticipated our moves before we even made them."
Clemence felt a cold sweat forming on his back.
Ainz Ooal Gown.
The name felt like a curse.
"He targeted our trump card. He waited until Zesshi and the Elf King exhausted each other, and then he swooped in. It is a classic 'Fisherman's Benefit' strategy, executed on a continental scale."
"That is… terrifying," Zephira whispered. "Is he truly a God?"
"He is a Devil," Clemence corrected. "A Devil with the power of a God."
Because of this encirclement, the Theocracy's contingency plans were failing. They couldn't evacuate the populace to neighboring human nations, there were none left that were safe. The only route was South, into the desert, toward the ruins of the Eight Greed Kings' capital. But crossing the desert with millions of refugees was impossible.
"We are trapped in a cage of his making," Clemence concluded. "That is why we must act. We cannot sit and wait for the slaughter."
"Hey," Emil piped up, his voice shaking but his mind working. "If we can't run… distraction? What if we trigger a riot in E-Rantel? Use mental magic to amplify the citizens' fear of the undead? If his capital burns, he might pull back."
"A diversion," Valerius mused. "Not bad, kid."
"But the Wind Flower Scripture and Water Scripture are in shambles," Sofia pointed out. "Who would execute it?"
"The Miko Princesses?" Zephira suggested. "If we smuggled one in…"
"It's a long shot," Clemence said, "but I will propose it to the Cardinals. Anything to buy time."
Suddenly, the mana in the air shifted. It became thick, viscous, like breathing underwater.
"It is beginning," the Deputy High Priestess announced, her voice cracking with age and power.
Clemence turned to the pool.
The water had stopped rippling. It was now a perfect mirror. The Miko Princesses began to chant, a sound that bypassed the ears and resonated directly in the brain. The elf sacrifices swayed, their vitality being siphoned away to fuel the spell.
[Theban Indomitability]
The spell was designed to pierce all magical defenses. Anti-divination, Non-detection, False Data, none of it mattered. It was a brute-force scrying spell powered by the souls of hundreds of beings.
The ritual was underway, and everyone held their breath for the result. Clemence heard a soft prayer murmured beside him."
Author's Note — Chapter 23: A Board Already Lost
Clemence's calm cracks here, the crushed cube shows his hidden fear, and that moment sparks his choice: a unilateral rescue. The ritual Theban Indomitability begins, the city holds its breath, and the Sorcerer King's long game becomes clear. Stakes: the Extra Seat's life, the Theocracy's survival, and a gamble that may cost everything. Short, sharp, and brutal, the next chapter is the rescue, and it won't be pretty.
Thanks for reading — see you Thursday! Big announcement for the story then. Have an excellent day.