Billowing dust and sand obscured the horizon, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The area was a graveyard of broken stone and shattered timber, leaving almost nowhere to find sure footing.
Until only a few hours ago, a city belonging to a small nation had flourished here.
In the conflict-ridden Martel Continent, this city had been a rare exception—a place of prestige housing a temple where priests were dispatched directly from the holy lands of the Elfen Continent. Now, not a single trace of its former glory remained.
"Is it finished?"
"Yes. Finally."
"To think they would mobilize such a force. The Demon King Cult must have something significant in mind."
The voices belonged to priests. Each of them was a formidable member of the Elfen Church, elites skilled in both high-level magic and the way of the sword. In the turbulent Martel Continent, these were the men tasked with the protection of pilgrims.
At a spot where stone bricks lay piled—ruins that had likely once been the wall of a residence—the priests stood watching a man who had been crucified against the debris.
He was pinned by sanctified spears and blades used by the clergy, as well as jagged stone thorns conjured through magic.
"How many of our brothers did we lose?"
"There may be no survivors left besides us. Look at this carnage."
"Ah... Main God Elfen, bestow your blessing upon your children..."
They mourned the deaths of their comrades and cast gazes of pure loathing toward the crucified man. Then, for a fleeting moment, all three of them looked away from the prisoner at the same time.
"Wait... what?"
The chest of one priest was suddenly impaled by a spear that should have been under their control. As the second priest stood paralyzed by shock, his own body was skewered by another weapon.
When the last remaining priest turned his eyes back to the crucified man, he saw the captive laughing. Even with a stone thorn piercing the center of his chest, the man wore a mocking smile.
The priest desperately reached for a sword forged in the holy land, but he was too late.
"My apologies, but this body of mine isn't so easily discarded."
The man snapped his fingers. Hands manifested from black mana erupted from the earth, seizing the priest’s legs. The priest tumbled to the ground, and before he could recover, the remains of a nearby house collapsed, burying him under a rain of heavy rubble.
As the priest stared up at the man with a look of pure vitriol, a realization dawned on him.
"I see... so you are... Medario of Regeneration..."
The man was young and dignified, dressed in slacks and appearing, at first glance, like a noble from a great empire. His pure white shirt was spotless, with the top two buttons left undone. As he stepped down from the ruins, his clothes—which should have been shredded by spears and magic—mended themselves instantly, becoming as pristine as if they had just been tailored.
He retrieved a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his vest and began to wipe the dust from his glasses.
With most of his body pinned under the rubble, the priest continued to glare at him.
"...How foolish..." The priest, his face smeared with blood and grit, croaked out a final warning. "May divine punishment... fall upon the Demon King Cult..."
"............"
"...Our God... will surely—"
"It would be best for you to close your mouth now. Is it not agonizing to speak?" Medario didn't even spare him a glance. While fastidiously cleaning his lenses, he continued, "The concept of 'divine punishment' is a remarkably convenient one. No matter the situation, it serves as the spiritual anchor that rouses you priests. However, in another sense, invoking it is the same as declaring the absence of God. The very fact that no punishment falls upon this place is proof of that."
"Typical of the Cult... such arrogance..."
"My, my." Medario laughed. "That is also a fine choice of words. For people who mistake the majesty of a god for their own power, 'arrogance' is quite fitting."
He finished cleaning his glasses and slid them back into place. Folding his handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket, he walked away without ever looking back at the dying man.
A few days later, the man vanished from the Martel Continent.
Sometime later, in a certain city in Leomel.
While the city was far more urban and developed than Clausel, it did not quite reach the heights of Erendil. A beautiful girl with silver hair walked through a street bustling with a daytime market.
Her hair was shot through with streaks of black, and her jewel-like heterochromatic eyes were striking enough to turn any head. And yet, no one seemed to notice her. Even when her shoulder brushed against others in the crowd, they didn't spare her a glance. A man who happened to catch her eye was momentarily captivated, but when he blinked, the girl had already vanished like a ghost.
"Foolish children. Even if they target Leomel, His Majesty isn't coming back," the girl muttered dejectedly, an ice treat in one hand. A heavy silence followed her words, one thick with lingering attachment. The sorrow hidden behind her elegant smile had nowhere to go, remaining locked within her heart.
Catching sight of a man sitting on a bench along the street, she sat down beside him. The man glanced at her and, for a second, seemed to doubt his own eyes. He was a handsome man with a sophisticated air, his soft demeanor and pleasant features suggesting a gentle nature.
He was the same man who had been on the Martel Continent just days before.
"Whatever brings you here, my lady?"
"Who knows? I don't see any reason to tell you."
Though the man was clearly tense, he maintained his composure. "This is a rare opportunity. There is something I wish to ask you."
"I may or may not answer, but go ahead."
"That is a relief." The man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Oh? Is something the matter? If you have something to say, continue," she prompted, as the silence stretched on too long. She knew exactly why he was hesitating, but she chose to say nothing, letting out a soft chuckle.
"The Apostle of the Giant God, Wadatsumi, which we released off the coast of Eupeheim, displayed an abnormality. Could it be that you had a hand in it?"
"If I did, what would you do?"
"I would do nothing. It is merely a confirmation."
"Hmm. Is that all? You ask such boring things."
The man gave a wry smile at her dismissal. "Why were you operating in the shadows in Eupeheim?"
"I didn't intend to be 'in the shadows.' I simply despise the Seven Heroes, so I was scouting for their equipment. While I was at it, I happened to see that Wadatsumi and gave it a mana stone. There was no other motive."
"How disappointing. I had hoped you were extending your cooperation to us."
"How foolish. There's no way I would cooperate with you." The girl directed a bewitching, sidelong glance at him. "I've answered you, so now it's my turn to ask. Are you still searching for that Secret Treasure said to be hidden somewhere in Leomel?"
"Naturally. It is an absolute necessity if we are to bring about the return of His Majesty."
"...I see." The moment she heard the answer she expected, her voice turned cold and detached. She looked as though she had lost all interest in the conversation. "If nothing has changed, then do as you like."
"My, you seem quite uninterested."
"I am. That's why I'm not acting with your group."
The girl stood up from the bench and headed toward a secluded back alley. The man, who clearly had more to say, followed after her. Without turning around, she spoke to him.
"I will inherit His Majesty's will in my own way. Do not interfere."
"But—!"
The girl finally turned to face him. "If you get in my way, I'll drain you dry."
Blood began to drip from a fresh cut that had appeared on the man’s cheek. The girl's right hand was relaxed, her fingers extended, but she performed a graceful, chilling gesture, folding each finger toward her palm one by one, starting from the pinky.
Finally, she pointed her index finger at the man’s cheek. Blood, mana, and life force began to seep out of him, pulled away by her power. If she folded that last finger, it would be the end.
"You are playing with me," he managed to say.
"Is it play, or a warning? Which do you think? I don't mind if it's play, but can you really handle me? I doubt anyone besides His Majesty is capable of playing with me." She paused, then added under her breath, "Not that I have any intention of playing with anyone else anyway."
Losing interest, she suppressed her power. This time, she truly turned to leave.
"Where are you headed next?"
"To Windea."
"...I see." The girl paused as if something had occurred to her. "Ever since that business with the Tears of Elfen, you've been collecting Holy Relics with strange intensity."
"That, too, is for His Majesty’s return. However, if you were with us as you were back then, everything would proceed much more smoothly."
"I only helped back then because I didn't like the Elfen Church. That's all."
She didn't wait for a response, vanishing into the shadows of the alleyway.
The man adjusted his glasses, settling them on the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the sky from the alley, watching a magic ship soar through the high azure firmament with clouds trailing in its wake. He felt certain that the appointed time was drawing near.