Dust and grit choked the air, obscuring the vision as far as the eye could see.
The city lay in ruins, its buildings reduced to piles of rubble that left nowhere to step. Until only a few hours ago, a small nation’s capital had stood here. It was a place of history and tradition, home to a grand temple where clergymen were dispatched directly from the holy lands of the Elfen Continent—a rarity in the conflict-torn Martel Continent.
Now, not even a shadow of its former glory remained.
"Is it finished?"
"Yes. At last."
"To think they would commit such forces. The Demon King Cult must be plotting something far different than before."
The speakers were clergymen. They were all elites of the Elfen Religion, masters of both blade and sorcery. Even in the strife-ridden Martel Continent, those sent here were burdened with the heavy duty of protecting pilgrims.
They stood before a section of wall, perhaps once part of a common home, where a man was displayed.
He was crucified. The spears and blades pinning him to the stone were the very weapons the clergymen had wielded. Stone spikes, conjured through magic, ruthlessly impaled the rest of his body.
The survivors spoke while looking over the bodies of their fallen brothers.
"How many did we lose?"
"Look at this carnage. We may be the only ones left."
"Ah... Lord Elfen, grant your children your blessing."
They mourned their comrades and cast gazes of pure loathing at the crucified man.
Then, it happened.
In the briefest of moments, just as the three men turned their eyes away from the prisoner...
"What... is this?"
One clergyman gasped as his chest was pierced by a spear—the very spear he had been using.
A second man was impaled by another weapon before he could even cry out in shock. When the final survivor looked back at the crucified man, he found the prisoner laughing, even as a stone spike remained driven through the center of his chest.
The clergyman drew his sword, a blade tempered in the Holy Land, and took a stance.
However, the man spoke. "My apologies, but my body is not so easily discarded."
The man snapped his fingers. Hands of black mana erupted from the earth, seizing the clergyman's legs. He tumbled, but the violence did not end there; a nearby house that had managed to remain standing finally gave way, raining heavy debris down upon him.
The clergyman watched in horror as the man pulled the weapons from his own flesh with his bare hands.
"I see... You are the Regenerator..."
"I am honored that my reputation precedes me."
The man was handsome and gallant, dressed with the refinement of a high-born noble. As he stepped down from the wall with a smile, his wounds closed before their eyes. His torn clothes smoothed over, becoming pristine and brand new in an instant. There was not a single speck of dust on his white shirt, and he left the top two buttons of his collar casually open.
He took a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his gilet and meticulously wiped the grit from his glasses.
Even with his body half-buried in the rubble, the clergyman glared at him.
"Foolish," the survivor wheezed, his face wet with blood and gravel. Driven by the pride of his station, he forced the words out. "Divine punishment will strike the Demon King Cult... Our god will surely—"
"You really should close your mouth. Is it not painful to speak?"
The man did not even look at the priest as he spoke, his focus entirely on his task. "The phrase 'divine punishment' is quite convenient, isn't it? It serves as a pillar of support to rouse you clergymen no matter the situation. But at the same time, invoking it is no different than declaring the absence of your god."
He paused, adjusting his glasses.
"After all, the very fact that no punishment falls upon me here is all the proof you need."
"...How typical of the cult. Such arrogance."
"My, my," the man laughed. "That is also a fine word. But tell me, is it not the height of arrogance for those who mistake a god’s majesty for their own power?"
He finished cleaning his glasses and slid them back onto his face. He folded the handkerchief, tucked it back into his pocket, and walked away without sparing the dying man a final glance.
He thought he heard a voice calling for him to wait, but perhaps it was just the wind.
"Well, it hardly matters."
In the end, they would all be buried by the dust.
A few days later, in a city within the Empire of Leomel.
It was far more urban than Clausel, though it paled in comparison to the grandeur of Erendil. A girl walked through a street bustling with a daytime market. With every step, her lustrous silver hair—streaked with jet-black—swayed gracefully.
She possessed a bewitching, exquisite face and unique eyes—one silver, one crimson. Her beauty, a blend of fragility and haughty pride, made the phrase 'a beauty that could topple a kingdom' seem like an understatement.
And yet, despite her striking appearance, no one spared her a glance. If a man happened to lock eyes with her, he would be instantly captivated, only to blink and find she had vanished as if she were a ghost.
"Such foolish children," she sighed, her voice directed at people who weren't there. "Even if they target Leomel, His Majesty will not return."
She spoke with a heavy dejection, her silence thick with lingering regret. The sorrow hidden behind her elegant smile had nowhere to go, remaining locked deep within her heart.
Seeing a man sitting on a bench along the street, she sat down beside him. He had an urban air about him, projecting a soft, kindly demeanor. He looked nothing like the monster who had claimed countless lives on the Martel Continent just days prior.
He caught sight of her from the corner of his eye and immediately doubted his senses.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered, his lips barely moving.
"Who knows? I see no reason to tell you."
The man was clearly tense, though he did his best to hide it. "I heard things were quite lively here while I was away on the Martel Continent."
"Martel? Did you grow homesick for your birthplace?"
"Impossible. There is no love left in this body for the country or continent that abandoned me. I merely went there to dye that land in darkness."
The man moved to ask another question before she could speak. "This is a rare opportunity. There is something I must ask."
"I might not answer, but go ahead."
"That is all I ask." The man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
The girl knew why he hesitated, but she simply let out a small, mocking chuckle. "Oh? Is something the matter? If you have something to say, by all means, continue."
It took several seconds before the man could find his voice again.
"There was an abnormality in Wadatsumi, Messenger of the Giant God, which we released off the coast of Eupeheim. Did you have a hand in that?"
"If I did, what would you do about it?"
"Nothing. It is merely a confirmation."
"Hmm... is that all? What a boring question."
The man gave a bitter smile at her dismissal. "Then tell me, why were you acting behind the scenes in Eupeheim?"
"It was nothing special. I was just looking for the belongings of the Seven Heroes. I happened to see Wadatsumi, so I gave it a magic stone. There was no deeper meaning to it."
"How regrettable. I had hoped you were finally cooperating with us."
"How foolish. You know that will never happen again."
Her voluptuous, sidelong gaze finally fell upon him. "I've answered you, so now it's my turn. Tell me..."
The man gave a short nod. "Yes?"
"Are you still searching for the Secret Treasure hidden in Leomel? The priests seem to be getting desperate lately."
"It is absolutely necessary if we are to bring about His Majesty's return."
"I see."
The moment she got her answer, her voice turned cold and detached. She looked as though she had lost all interest. In fact, she looked disappointed.
"Fine. Do whatever you like."
"As always, you seem displeased."
"I am. That's why I'm not with you."
The girl stood up and began walking toward a secluded back alley. The man, still having much to discuss, hurried after her.
"We should be acting together!"
"You're fundamentally wrong. Our paths can never be the same when our ideologies are so different."
"And yet—"
As he tried to press the issue, she cut him off.
"You're being noisy. Stop shouting," she said without turning around. "I will uphold His Majesty's will in my own way. Do not interfere."
Then, she stopped and looked back at him.
"If you get in my way, I'll drain the life right out of you."
A thin cut appeared on the man's cheek, and a single drop of blood trickled down. From the girl's right hand, a fingertip extended slowly. She began to fold her fingers back toward herself one by one, starting from her pinky—an elegant, predatory gesture.
Finally, she pointed her index finger at the man's cheek.
Blood, mana, and life force began to seep out of him, drawn toward her. If she were to close that final finger, the man would surely—
"You... jest..." he wheezed.
The girl laughed brightly. "A jest or a warning? Which do you think it is?"
The man was frozen, unable to move a muscle or even blink.
"I don't mind a bit of play, but can you even handle playing with me? Only His Majesty could ever truly keep up with me... though I wonder if you realized that."
She paused, then added, "Actually, I have no intention of playing with anyone but him."
She lost interest and suppressed her power. Turning her back to him once more, she prepared to leave.
"Where will you go next?" the man asked.
"...To Windea."
She looked over her shoulder, her interest piqued for a moment. "You've been gathering Sacred Relics with unusual zeal ever since the Elfen Tears incident."
"Everything is for His Majesty's return. But if we were together as we were back then, everything would proceed so much more smoothly."
"You really are a fool."
The girl didn't bother to respond further, vanishing into the shadows of the alley.
"I only helped back then because I despised the Elfen Religion."
The man reached up to adjust the bridge of his glasses. Standing alone in the alley, he looked up at the vast blue firmament. He watched the contrail of a magic ship cutting through the sky and let out a long, quiet breath.