Prologue

Unofficial Forum - [BH, SC] Monster Player Thread

511:

Top 3 attackers gotta be monsters. Any of them anyone’s buddies?

512:

we don’t know what they did to rack up points. Could be monsters, could be not.

513:

Look, the ones that fell this round were:

Peare -> Neuschloss

Hilith -> Velstead, royal capital(?)

All fell to monsters. That confirms it beyond a reasonable doubt.

514:

>>including Hilith in this

>>thinking event mobs count as rankable players

lol. lmao, even.

515:

What about that Blanc player in first place? Could they be the event boss?

516:

One player doing all that? Are you new?

517:

Point-scoring formula’s not public. Could just be some dude who farmed NPCs in a backwater town all event.

518:

guys am I just trash or is goblin actually unplayable? No reach, only viable build is magic sniper.

519:

Yeah, goblin mage really is your only option. It’s easy, though Learn some magic skills, pump INT, and you can rebirth pretty quick

520:

Don’t need any item for that or anything?

521:

Nope. Just have magic learned, INT at the right threshold, then meet the conditions and boom.

522:

really, damn that sounds fast. imma get on that then.

Wait, what are the conditions?

523:

search is your friend. use it.

524:

lul goblin trash nobody cares

Anyway, what’s everyone’s go-to skeleton build?

525:

lul thinking you’ll get answers after that opener.

526:

meh, he flamed goblin players, doubt he was looking for skeleton tips from goblin players anyway.

I’m rather partial to the skeleton knight build

527:

Skeleton mage here.

Yeah, INT starts a bit low, so going melee’s easier early on. But it’s not that bad.

Same deal as goblins: basically just a worse human.

Build however you want.

528:

interesting

so how do i rebirth into those

529:

believe it or not, search

530:

So the teleportation service during the event was limited to towns. And looks like the perma one is going to be too. Devs just hate monster players or what?

531:

? Nothing’s stopping you from going into a town and using it

532:

yeah, nothing except the guards and players who will kill us on sight thanks for that

533:

but they’re gonna sell that thing for monster players, aren’t they? to help them out with that?

534:

>>534 what item? don’t recall seeing that

535:

>>534 the race rebirth ticket

536:

>>535 ooooooooooo

...

...

602:

hello? anyone still here?

603:

ello

604:

sup

605:

ooh, still kicking. But did this place die overnight or what?

606:

Most people jumped ship to the official forums.

607:

Ah...

True. Guess there’s no reason for human players to use an anonymous underground message board

608:

no real reason for monster players either

609:

lol, cute

610:

haha, real funny. Until you accidentally drop your location and because your game handle’s public, a PKer spawns on your ass

611:

What’s up with that anyway? Why PKers got it out so bad for us?

612:

Beats me. I guess if you wanna kill humans, you roll monster like us. For those who want to kill players specifically, you roll human so you can kill “monsters” because it’s more “socially acceptable” or something who knows

613:

Pffft. That’s crap.

614:

Don’t shoot the messenger.

But you know, I’m pretty sure some of those “famous” monsters are actually players.

There’s still hope for us!

615:

wait really? who?

616:

pretty sure the boss that did that goblin takeover of that town neusch-whatever is a player

617:

really? source?

618:

source is me. I rebirthed into a Greater Goblin Wizard recently. Unlocked this skill called Retainer. Basically, it lets me tame mobs.

Just mobs that have “goblin” in name, but still.

619:

no kidding! Like the same thing as noble human NPCs?

620:

the one and the same.

That said, the resist check is pretty ass so you gotta beat em up pretty bad before the tame will work.

Like I said I’m a greater wizard so beating low levels is a breeze. And it only gets easier with more goblins under my control.

It’s like my BH,SC journey is finally beginning.

621:

Whaaaat!

Call me peanut butter and jelly!

622:

What race are you? Goblinoid?

623:

No siree, I’m a skeleton leader

624:

should be soon then, no? Skeleton leader -> Skeleton general and probably general has Retainer.

maybe? Idrk, though

625:

Whaaat! That’d be sick! Damn now I’m psyched to play the game!

626:

anyways. The point is, if you grind it out, creating a whole goblin army shouldn’t be impossible. And if you play it right, you could use that army to take over a town.

Out of all the towns that fell, that was the only one that fell to goblins and goblins only. Suspicious, no?

627:

Now that you mention it... You might be onto something

628:

insects or angels aren’t playable races, and those red skeletons were clearly a special type of enemy. So that really leaves neusch-whatever as the only possible town to have been taken over by a player

629:

pretty sure players can’t become human nobles either, so the only way to have an NPC army under your command is to play monster, and play it to the bitter end.

Bet those dudes who blew cash to rebirth into elves are crying right about now kekekekeke

630:

if that theory is correct, Blanc may very well be our goblin boss

631:

makes sense, makes sense

Chapter 1: Fortune and Misfortune

Three weeks after the implementation of the teleportation service in game.

Leah, Lyla, and Blanc had just wrapped up an elegant tea-time-slash-information exchange. For now, they parted ways, each with a few matters to attend to, but they’d agreed to regroup soon in Trae Forest, where Leah had headed directly. All were eager not only to hear more about Blanc’s theory on monster fusion, but to try a few experiments themselves.

The tea table had seen its fair share of intriguing revelations. Leah had contributed some crucial intel—though she’d kept far more to herself—while Lyla offered a moderately useful piece of her own. But the moment that truly stole the spotlight, wiping the smugness from Lyla’s face after her self-proclaimed “vital” contribution, was Blanc’s revelation that multiple entities, when reborn near-simultaneously and in close proximity, could merge into something greater.

The choice of their second rendezvous, Trae, had been chosen to facilitate this experimentation. Truth be told, Leah wanted to dive in right away—forget the others entirely—but that pesky thing, the social contract got in the way. If it had only been Lyla, she might have gone ahead anyway. But the promise was with Blanc too, and you didn’t toss a promise with a friend aside just because you felt like it. Promises with a sister, though? Ehhh.

With the others tied up for a while yet, Leah suddenly had time to do something she’d been putting off for some time now:

Power herself up.

She’d been waiting for the right occasion. To hit a certain amount of EXP and do it all at once. There was no real logic to it. In other words, less “I had a carefully thought-out plan” with her and more “I figured I’d do it when it felt right, and now it feels right.”

“Now then, the all-important question: Which direction should I take this upgrade?”

Early on, the smartest way to spend EXP when it came to boosting stats was to pump it straight into base stats for immediate gains. But past a certain threshold, the efficiency flipped. At that point, passive skills that boosted certain stats by a percentage—such as STR Boost I—gave a better return on investment.

One caveat: Boost skills didn’t apply to the stats granted to retainers through Enhance Retinue, only base stats did. For any halfway-decent master who relied on their minions, that meant base stats still had to be raised, even if EXP efficiency suffered.

That said, Leah couldn’t make her minions stronger at her own expense, so she opted for a healthy mix: boosting her base stats while unlocking percentage passives. After all, anyone strong enough to challenge her directly would almost certainly have those passives too—and there was no way she’d let herself be the one caught lacking.

With stat increases out of the way, it was time to turn to skills.

First up was what, judging by the name, appeared to be a Queen of Destruction-exclusive racial skill: Dark Principle. It was a toggleable skill, similar to Evil Eye. When active, it granted a considerable bonus to all magical skill checks and effects—while also vastly increasing their MP cost. The flavor text read “You further grasp the laws of the arcane,” suggesting the unlock condition was either learning a set number of magical skills as a Queen of Destruction or reaching a certain INT threshold. There was no apparent downside to taking it, so Leah did.

Immediately, three more “dark lord”-related skills appeared: Dark Carapace, Dark Aegis, and Dark Blade. All three clearly had Dark Principle as a prerequisite. There might have been others as well, but for now, there was no way to tell.

Dark Carapace was a toggleable skill that, when active, protected the caster from all attacks. In short, a damage mitigation skill. Any damage to LP prevented by the skill would instead drain an equal amount of MP. There was no adjusting the rate of reduction, no partial mitigation. As long as it was active, all damage taken would be nullified and redirected to the caster’s MP bar.

“Or more accurately, it’s a damage redirection skill. All damage taken by me goes straight to my MP bar instead.”

As a death-prevention tool, this was massive. But it was no free lunch. Nearly everything Leah could do in her current form relied on MP. Burn through too much and she’d be dead weight. This wasn’t something she could keep on constantly; it would have to be used with care.

This led to another point: Recovering a single point of LP in this game was far cheaper than recovering a point of MP. If all we were talking about was finding a way to use MP to recover LP, there was already a way to do just that: healing. And it was actually way more efficient per point of MP spent. In the world where healing existed, a straight one-to-one MP-to-LP conversion like Dark Carapace was almost never worth it. It was always more efficient to take the LP damage and patch it up later—so long as you could survive the hit and had the time to heal. But she supposed that would precisely be the situation where Dark Carapace paid for itself, when one had to pull out all the stops to survive to see another day.

Next up was Dark Aegis. This skill formed an invisible shield of arcane energy, lasting indefinitely until broken. To break it, you just needed to deplete its LP bar. There was no fixed MP cost to cast; instead, you could invest any amount of MP, and the shield’s LP would match that value. Multiple shields could be created, the number determined by how many “Dark”-prefix skills you had unlocked. In Leah’s case—Dark Principle, Dark Carapace, Dark Aegis, and Dark Blade—that meant four shields in total.

In essence, this was another flavor of Dark Carapace, but with one important distinction: You could stack it in advance. As with Carapace, the one-to-one MP-to-LP conversion wasn’t efficient. But unlike Carapace, you could create shields during MP surpluses, when that extra MP would otherwise go unused. Viewed that way, it was essentially free LP, making it far more valuable than its raw numbers suggested—and something Leah could, and should, keep active at all times.

Lastly, Dark Blade—an active skill that conjured a weapon from arcane energy. Creating one locked away a chunk of the caster’s MP bar, which would only be restored once the weapon was destroyed. The weapon’s strength scaled with the MP invested; more mana meant a stronger blade. But as creating one would effectively be removing usable MP from her pool—unable to be regenerated as long as the weapon was in use—Leah found the skill underwhelming. As mentioned, MP to her was everything. Like Dark Carapace, this was a “use with care” skill.

As she reviewed the four skills, a thought crossed her mind:

“Is it just me, or are these basically passive boost skills with fancier names?”

True enough, the costs and effects were certainly high—impressively so—but stripped to their core, they were just passive stat boosts in thematic dress. They did stack with other skills of the same type, so it wasn’t as if they were bad; they just felt a little...boring.

She recalled hearing that Lords of Destruction were a race famed for their solo combat prowess. In that light, the abundance of stat boost skills made sense. Still, it clashed with her mental image of what Lords of Destruction—or Dark Lords—should be. Instead of master sorcerers raining arcane devastation upon their foes, this interpretation leaned more toward the “let me hit you with my mana-infused fist” variety.

She took all the skills regardless, though she wasn’t convinced of their true value in a near-peer fight. It was the sort of thing she’d want to test sooner or later—preferably in an all-out match against someone of comparable strength.

It was then that she noticed a new unlockable skill under Evil Eye: Heretical Eye.

Whether it appeared because she’d unlocked Dark Principle or for some other reason was unclear, but its description marked it as a skill that inflicted status effects on opponents. And not just a stand-alone skill, but one with its own full tree, much like Evil Eye itself.

In its base form, Heretical Eye inflicted dissociation. Advancing further down its tree unlocked more options—for example, Heretical Eye: Burning applied the burn status effect, and so on. Spell hit/resist was determined by the caster’s INT versus the target’s MND.

An interesting thing to note was that it cost LP to cast, making it not a spell you could just throw around.

“Hmm... This almost feels less like an add-on to Evil Eye, and more like it’s using Evil Eye’s framework to emulate a completely different skill.”

If that were true, then there could be players who’d unlocked Heretical Eye without ever touching Evil Eye—and perhaps, if they kept progressing down that path, they might eventually be able to emulate Evil Eye in return.

I’ll do well to keep that in mind, Leah noted, unlocking the skill.

Almost instantly, her left eye began to itch, a familiar sensation. She rubbed at the eyelid, but it didn’t help; the irritation was coming from the eyeball itself.

Then came the throbbing.

“Ow... That— Ow...”

It passed soon enough. Leah quickly pulled out a mirror to see...a treant looming above, peering at the mirror. The curious thing must have been seeing one for the first time, which she couldn’t exactly fault it for, but it was blocking the light and making it hard to see.

She decided to cast a bit of illumination using Light Magic—speaking the incantation this time. Casting a wordless light through Evil Eye and Spell Fusion carried the very real risk of blinding herself. The smart and wise Leah might make that kind of dumb mistake once, but twice? Who did you think she was?

“Now, let’s see... Is that...violet?”

Her right eye remained its usual crimson, but her left now shone a distinct violet.

“Awesome...”

When Leah cast a spell with Spell Fusion, inscrutable arcane circles appeared in her eyes—Sieg had told her as much. So it stood to reason that Heretical Eye would have some equally cool visual effect when applying a debuff. She wanted to see it for herself. But casting it into a mirror wouldn’t actually debuff her...would it?

Better not risk it.

“Now then. That should be it for Queen of Destruction skills. I used up more EXP than I thought, but we can finally move on.”

Outside of those, Leah’s skill set was mostly magic. At the moment, there was nothing new to unlock there; she already had everything available. That wasn’t to say something new couldn’t appear later after meeting some unknown condition, or if some future game update added one, but for now, there was nothing to tinker with.

Physical and martial skills? Needless to say, she had no intention of taking any. The entire Unarmed Combat tree was unlocked, sure, but that had only been for training with Mali; beyond that, she had no use for it.

As for crafting, she still only had Alchemy. All those negotiation and merchanting skills that were a role-player merchant’s bread and butter remained untouched. And would likely stay that way unless she came up with a compelling reason to bother. After all, she already possessed the most effective negotiating tool of all—violence. And so far, she saw little reason to need anything else.

Sense enhancement skills—skills that empowered the five senses—now maybe that was something she could finally see about picking up. They were fairly expensive for base skills available right from the start of one’s Boot Hour, Shoot Curse journey, but taken for what they were—passive skills useful in virtually any situation—they were arguably cheap for what they offered.

She hadn’t bothered with them before because Mister Plates had covered that ground for her. But now, with his unwieldy size making her think twice about bringing him everywhere, and with him needing to remain at the royal castle as her stand-in for various duties, it seemed like the right time to shore up that front herself.

She unlocked Watcher’s Gaze, Sentinel’s Ear, and Hunter’s Nose. Watcher’s Gaze essentially canceled out the effects of her Poor Eyesight, but that was better than nothing. There were also Seeker’s Touch and Gourmand’s Tongue, but...

“The heck am I going to use those for?”

Rejected.

If she’d planned on taking up Cooking, maybe. But no such plans existed.

“Oh, right! Since we’re here, might as well round out things with that.”

Last on the list: Mysticism.

Since the patriarch back in Oral already had it, this wasn’t strictly necessary. But Leah was curious to see what unlocking it might unlock in turn. First, though, she had to figure out how to get Mysticism in the first place, based on the hints she’d gathered from the patriarch’s build.

“I don’t want to take it, but Suggestion is looking mighty suspicious.”

Suggestion was the only skill visible in its tree. Taking it revealed two more nodes: Autosuggestion and Mass Suggestion. Still no Mysticism.

The effect of Suggestion was to temporarily raise or lower a single stat on the target. A buff/debuff skill, as it were. But whether raising or lowering, it required a resistance check based on the caster’s INT against the target’s MND, just like Heretical Eye. On top of that, the target had to be looking at the caster at the moment the spell was cast, which made it an awkward and situational skill to use.

It had a low unlock cost, but it wasn’t a base skill available to all players from the start. Clearly, it had some hidden stat or condition prerequisite, but...it didn’t seem nearly useful enough to justify any.

Next was Autosuggestion—basically self-Suggestion. Thankfully (and perhaps obviously), there was no resistance check component to it. But it only raised or lowered stats by a much smaller amount. As in, consolation prize, what is this even for? small.

Mass Suggestion was the area-of-effect version, though its AoE was unusual compared to other spells—it extended across the caster’s entire line of sight. Or, perhaps more accurately, the target’s line of sight, since every affected target still had to be looking at the caster to be affected. Each one checked their resistance independently using the same formula as the base spell.

The stat changes were even weaker than Autosuggestion, making it questionable whether you’d even notice if the spell had worked at all. These spells boggled Leah’s mind. Seriously, what was the point of this?

Perhaps just to unlock Mysticism, as there it appeared after she’d taken all three.

After Mysticism, Leah took Anthropism, Veritism, and Divinism.

Which made her UI promptly populate further.

“Whoa, hey. That’s new.”

An entirely new tree had appeared, bearing the rather long name: This Is Both a Blessing and a Curse. Inside, the passive skill Ars longa, vita brevis was already unlocked.

Was Mysticism the trigger? Suggestion? No, going purely off skill names, Divinism seemed the most likely culprit.

The new skill was permanently bound to Leah’s character—no turning it off, no removing it. A curse indeed, true to its name. But as it was hardwired into the game’s rules, it was what it was, Leah supposed.

The effect read: Your maximum LP is now calculated solely from your VIT score. Your maximum MP is now calculated from the combined total of your INT and MND scores. You may cast spells or activate abilities that require MP even if you lack the required amount. Any missing MP is paid for in LP on a one-to-one basis.

The Latin phrase “ars longa, vita brevis” translated to something like “art is long, life is short,” a lament that the time it takes to acquire knowledge and skill is vast, but life itself is too short to see it all through. In this context, MP was the “art,” LP the “life.” In other words, a very flavorful and poignant way of saying: “Your MP bar is long, but your LP bar is short.”

“Now if that isn’t an unexpected boon. All my Dark skills just got a sudden boost in value.”

With Leah’s build, her MP bar had effectively doubled, while her LP bar was cut in half. But with Dark Carapace in the mix, that was hardly a problem—LP and MP were now, for most intents and purposes, interchangeable.

Not that it was all upside. With Ars longa, vita brevis being a passive that remained permanently on, she would have to be extra careful. Get carried away and start flinging spells and skills without restraint, and she’d find herself far closer to death’s door than she’d like.

“Guess that’s good enough for today.”

There were other things she’d have liked to explore, but time was almost up—Lyla and Blanc would be here soon.

***

When the trio regrouped, the sun was already sinking toward the horizon, one of those golden hours when being outside was tolerable if not downright pleasant.

“So, a few things...” Lyla said, taking in the sights around her.

“I told you I wouldn’t be explaining anything, didn’t I?” Leah shot back.

They stood in a clearing in Trae Forest, an open space pressed right up against the World Tree. Calling it a clearing was misleading, though; it was anything but natural. Leah had ordered the forest’s treants to step aside, stripping away what had once been a dense, tangled weald. Now the displaced treants crowded along the edges, packed so tightly not even an ant could squeeze through.

What they’d left behind was nothing but bare earth. The forest was now treants, and treants alone. With the arrival of the World Tree and the treants, they had choked out every other plant until nothing else remained.

Then there was the World Tree itself. Which of these sights Lyla found more curious, or alarming, was anyone’s guess.

Looking out over the open space, an idea came to Leah. She shot the World Tree a quick friend message:

<Hey, think this clearing could be used for other purposes? Maybe have the treants lightly maintain the space after we’re done here?>

<Of course, my queen,> the World Tree replied.

And back to the clearing. It was about wide enough to fit another World Tree—meaning, plenty of space to summon whatever large-scale minion she wanted.

“Now then,” she said. “What shall we begin with? Maybe...a safe bet.”

Skeletons.

More specifically, the skeletons currently lounging around in the Hilithian capital, doing much of nothing lately. So no one would mind if she were to just whisk them all away without notice.

To bring them here, though, she’d first need to summon Sieg. That meant depriving the dungeon of its boss, which was a risk. So she had Sugaru hop over and hold down the fort in Sieg’s absence; she was the safest option for handling any surprises.

She summoned Sieg, who dropped to one knee before her.

“Sieg the Mournful, of the Four Lords of Doom, attends Your Majesty’s will.”

“Sieg.” Leah nodded. “You all sure love putting on airs when we have company, don’t you.”

Lyla blinked. “Whoa. Four Lords of Doom? What’s that all about?”

“Four Lords of Doom, that’s right! And guess who’s another Lord of Doom? Me—that’s who!” Blanc declared proudly.

“Really? Wait, wait, huh? What about me?” Lyla looked between Leah and Blanc.

“You’re...an adviser!” Blanc announced.

“An adviser?! Decided without my consent?! Fine, exclude me from your little circle, won’t you!”

Leah stifled a chortle.

She’d almost forgotten that conversation with Blanc—but Lyla’s reaction was exactly as she’d envisioned. Getting one over on Lyla was a rare opportunity, and one she’d never, ever pass up.

“All right then, Sieg,” Leah said. “I guess to start, can you summon over... Ah, forget it, why am I even bothering—just summon every skeleton from the capital. You’re not using them anyway, right?”

Sieg obeyed, calling forth the entire contingent of skeleton knights. They appeared in the clearing, forming up into perfectly straight ranks.

Row upon endless row. Seeing them all together like this was something. There had to be hundreds.

Hundreds, but...

“In context, that’s not much, is it?” Leah mused. “I mean, I’ve got way more carknights than this, and even then, defending the capital with them is like trying to dam a river with a broom.”

Especially when you considered that any player strong enough to even think about attacking the capital could wipe them out without breaking a sweat.

“You think?” Blanc said. “I dunno, I feel like they could steamroll a small town pretty easily.”

“But in a larger town,” Lyla added, “you might have individuals who could solo the whole lot of them.”

Leah nodded; both were making the same point in different words. In a game world where personal combat ability could swing so wildly, the strength of any fighting force was always relative.

But getting back to the matter at hand:

“So, Blanc, how’d you actually do it? How’d you Rebirth everyone at once?” Leah asked.

“I just pricked my finger, held it out like this, and had all the bats lick it up. After the ninth one, bam—big change all of a sudden, and I was left with three mormos!”

Well, the way she put it definitely makes it sound like a unique interaction with vampire blood, Leah thought. Philosopher’s stones had always triggered the same reaction every time, so it wasn’t like she could just drip-feed them to skeletons and expect the same result.

“In which case... Philosopher’s Egg? Maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever tried putting creatures into them. Only items.”

Might as well try it. Her MP was now well beyond its former measure; throwing around a Philosopher’s Egg or two, or ten, just for testing barely registered anymore.

“Philosopher’s Egg, activate. ’Kay. Now, skeletons, if you would, please.” Leah motioned toward the egg.

“You want them to enter that thing?” Blanc frowned. “But that’s a glass egg. How are they gonna— Whoa! It like ate ’em up. That’s crazy! What the heck?”

“Blanc,” Lyla said, deadpan. “Let’s just be quiet little audience members, shall we?”

The crystalline egg, just as it had before, reshaped itself to swallow the first skeleton knight that stepped forward. The open “mouth” sealed shut immediately, leaving it looking exactly as it had before devouring its prey.

Inside, the skeleton floated weightlessly, seemingly unconscious, almost like it had been put into stasis. Though, considering these were skeletons, Leah wondered how that might work with more...living creatures.

“Okay,” Leah said. “I guess that means we’re on the right track. Next skeleton, come on in.”

The Philosopher’s Egg swallowed them one by one, slowly growing larger with each. The MP cost ticked upward with every addition.

By the time it had devoured ten, its diameter had swelled to over five meters. But when the next skeleton approached, the egg stayed still; it no longer shifted to open. Apparently, ten was the limit.

“That’s it, eh?” Leah hummed. “Okay. Then first, Athanor.”

Leah spoke the phrase, and a familiar golden lamp materialized beneath the egg. It began heating the crystalline crucible.

She waited, letting the lamp do its work, but nothing seemed to change inside. Just ten skeletons drifting listlessly with a fire lit under them; it looked more like some macabre ritual than anything else.

“I feel like I’ve seen this before,” Blanc murmured, then suddenly brightened. “Ah! That’s it! Doll send-off ceremonies!”

That old Japanese custom? Leah thought.

“Blanc, shh,” Lyla hushed.

Clearly something was missing. Whatever reaction she was aiming for wasn’t happening. Leah pulled out a philosopher’s stone and held it toward the egg. “Maybe this?” she murmured.

Although the egg had refused the eleventh skeleton, it opened for the stone. And that seemed to be the key. At once, the interior lit with a familiar coruscating rainbow, swirling and churning.

“There we go,” Leah said. “The Great Work!”

The spell drew a hefty chunk of MP. Not much compared to her total pool, but more than even her highest-level spells had ever required. The egg blazed with golden light, completely obscuring whatever was happening inside.

Leah closed her eyes and tried peering in with her Evil Eye, but all she could see was the roiling, swirling mana. Switching to True Sight—the precursor to Appraisal she’d unlocked—only revealed a mass of color indicating high LP.

Then a system message appeared:

<<Your retainer requests 300 EXP>>

Leah recognized the notification. She’d seen it usually when Sugaru birthed a queen. It was the prompt that appeared when a minion lacked the EXP needed to activate a skill. Sieg probably wasn’t using any skill right now, and he likely wasn’t even aware he needed EXP. But since NPC-retained minions were automatically reborn without permission, the request had likely skipped Sieg and landed straight on Leah’s lap like an invoice.

So this was more than just simple fusion.

Through Sieg, she funneled 300 EXP into the crucible. At once, the amorphous blob she saw through True Sight began to shift—lines forming, shapes solidifying—until it coalesced into the towering outline of a humanoid.

“Uh, maybe we should give it some space,” Leah said, and they all stepped back—not a moment too soon.

Inside the crucible, massive arms braced against the interior and ripped outward. The crystalline shell split and shattered as the figure tore itself free, bursting from the egg and landing on all fours.

The blinding light faded, and at last the shape could be seen with the naked eye, or the Evil Eye.

Shards of the crucible drifted down around them like glowing snowflakes, scattering even across the spot where Lyla and the others had been watching from moments ago. Their faint radiance flickered before each fragment struck the earth and melted away. Only the giant remained.

What stood before them was the skeleton of a giant—easily five meters tall, perhaps more, its true size hidden before by the way it had curled in the egg’s confines.

Its bony frame was sheathed in armor reminiscent of the Sengoku era—layered plates, curved lines, and a menacing silhouette that radiated power and command.

Leah checked the creature’s name. “Let’s see... You are a...Mushadokuro: Skeletal Warlord? Hmm. Maybe because we used skeleton knights instead of regular skeletons, it jumped straight to an upgraded mob?”

“What were you hoping for, Leah?” Lyla asked. “A gashadokuro? That yokai didn’t even show up in reference until the midtwentieth century, so for the game’s setting, it might be a bit too modern.”

“Hmm, you don’t say... But looking at them, they’re definitely related, don’t you think?” Leah said.

But, assumed resemblance to a giant rattling skeleton yokai of twentieth century Japan aside...

“Guess we can call this one a success.”

“Hwa.”

Suddenly, something vibrated next to Leah. She turned to see Blanc.

“Ah, Blanc. That’s right—take it in. Witness the strength your information has wrought. This is all your—”

“Holy crap! That’s huge! That’s sweet! Can I do that too? Can I do that with my Dragonsteeth, my Scarlet, and Crimson, and Vermilion?!”

Leah blinked, caught off guard by her burst of energy. Then again, Blanc had been utterly smitten with Mister Plates too. She clearly had a thing for anything mega. Not that Leah couldn’t relate.

“Your minions, huh, Blanc?” Leah murmured aloud. “I wonder. What I just did relied on invoking the hidden art of Alchemy—basically, I wanted to see what would happen if I stuck monsters in the crucible instead of items. I figured they might have to be under my control, but...guess we won’t know unless we try, will we?

“I mean, it’s not like normal items have an ‘owner’ bound to them or anything. Hell, let’s give it a shot—I’ll try anything once.”

Blanc’s eyes lit up. “Let’s do it! Let’s do it right now! I’ll summon them over immediately!”

From behind Leah came a smug voice.

“What happened to not explaining anything, Leah? But that’s okay—that’s what your big sister loves about you so very much.”

***

“You can call them over, but let’s make sure we’re not leaving holes in your defenses,” Leah said.

She sent a quick warning to Diaz and the queen beetle to stay extra vigilant, just in case, and Blanc summoned her forces into the clearing.

Over thirty red skeletons—her Spartoi—materialized, along with her three fierce, barbed-looking Dragonsteeth lieutenants. In Leah’s opinion, those three were already more than strong enough without going through this whole process, but who was she to rain on Blanc’s parade?

Interestingly, the moment they arrived, the remaining skeleton knights instinctively stepped back, as if cowed by their presence. Apparently, in the natural order, Spartoi outranked skeleton knights.

“All right!” Blanc declared. “Let’s get this party started! Lealea—lay me an egg!”

“Phrasing!” Lyla cut in.

Leah gave a half-amused smirk. “Anything for you, Blanc. Philosopher’s Egg.”

No sooner had the crystalline crucible appeared than Blanc swept an arm toward her troops. “Okay! Everyone—get in there!”

“Wait, everyone?”

Following her orders without hesitation, some thirty Spartoi thronged toward the egg. It swallowed them one by one, leaving them listlessly floating inside, just as the skeletons had before.

“You know what lemmings are, Leah?” Lyla asked.

“I was just thinking the exact same thing...” Leah replied. “But—wait. It’s really just going to keep going? That’s already more than ten. Guess the recipe really does change by race.”

By the time it had devoured every Spartoi in the clearing, the egg had swelled to a size many times larger than before. For scale, it might have even given Uluru—the tamed golem from the volcano—a run for its money.

Now the clearing was just as empty as it had been before Blanc had summoned her forces, Leah thought.

“Wait—just as empty?” she said suddenly, glancing around. “Hey, Blanc? Where did the Dragonsteeth go?”

Blanc blinked, then scanned the area. “They were right— Huh? Where’d they go?”

“Well... There’s only one place they could’ve gone.”

They were in the egg, along with everything else.

“You want them out of there?” Leah asked. “I mean, I guess if they were let in, the fusion should work, but...”

From the earlier skeleton experiment, it was clear the egg rejected anything incompatible.

“It’ll work?” Blanc said. “Then go for it, I say! Fuse ’em all together—let’s do it!”

No good, the tail was wagging the dog at this point.

Not that Leah wasn’t curious about the result herself. And if she stopped now, all the MP she’d spent on the Philosopher’s Egg would go to waste. She wasn’t sure if the cost scaled with the egg’s size or the amount of material put in, but this attempt was already far more expensive than the skeletal warlord.

“Okay then,” Leah said. “Now, for the philosopher’s stone...”

“Ah, wait!” Blanc cut in. “Let’s use my blood for this one!”

She bit down on her finger, then held the bloodied digit toward the egg. It opened to receive it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s sucking my blood, it’s sucking my blood!”

Blood poured from her fingertip, far more than a wound that small should’ve allowed, streaming into the egg. Under True Sight, Blanc’s light—her LP—was dimming fast.

“Uh-oh!” Leah scrambled. “Stay with me, Blanc—stay with me! Heal!”

“Yeah, that didn’t move her LP bar at all!” Lyla said. “Greater Heal!”

Even their strongest healing spells couldn’t keep pace. Blanc’s LP bar kept plunging downward until, alternating Treatment casts between them, they finally stemmed the loss.

Blanc collapsed to the ground, spent. When it was over, she’d lost the equivalent of five full LP bars.

Handing her a potion, Leah observed the egg. The interior swirled with a dark, foreboding crimson.

“Do we...keep going?” she said. “This can’t be good, right?”

“Good or not, we’ve put too much into this to stop now,” Lyla said. “Like all the MP I just burned healing Blanc.”

“D-Do it!” Blanc croaked.

“All right. It’s your funeral,” Leah said. “Athanor.”

The golden lamp’s flames licked at the crucible, and the crimson swirl shifted into that vivid rainbow pattern.

“Oh, good. Seems it’s proceeding as usual. The Great Work.”

<<Cannot perform The Great Work. Target Dragonsteeth; Spartoi, the Sown Ones, are tamed by another player.>>

<<Permission from the current tamer is required to proceed.>>

“Oh,” said both Leah and Blanc. It seemed Blanc had also received a system message. Of likely the opposite variety.

“Permission granted! EXP granted!” Blanc said.

<<Resuming process...>>

“So that’s how it works,” Leah said. “Not sure when it’ll come in handy, but good to know.”

“Huh? What happened?” Lyla asked.

“Nothing. Not explaining anything,” Leah shot back.

The whole process had taken a lot out of Leah—more than she could’ve ever expected. Her MP was completely drained, and it had even eaten into her LP bar. She was lucky she’d had enough to pull it off, but the fact that she could’ve died from something so dumb was sobering. She wasn’t in much of a position to make fun of Blanc now. She’d definitely need an MP potion once this was over.

Through True Sight, she could see something massive with high LP writhing inside the egg, just like the skeletal warlord before it. But this was bigger. Much stronger. The shade of its LP was deeper than Leah’s own.

Meaning whatever was in that primordial cocoon had more LP than a Lord of Destruction.

“This thing’ll listen to us if we let it out...right?” Leah asked nervously.

Even with her LP cut in half, the comparison still held; the LP of this thing was downright anomalous. Lyla must’ve been seeing it too, because she backed off even farther than she had with the warlord.

Then, something stirred behind the light. A shape moved, gnawed, gnashed, snapped its way free of the crystalline crucible.

A three-headed skeletal dragon, its bones the color of deepest crimson.

It was nearly the same size as the egg it had torn itself from, meaning it rivaled Uluru in scale, if not surpassed it.

A heavy, stagnant air rolled off its form, pressing down on the clearing like a physical weight.

Leah and Lyla gaped, speechless. Blanc, on the other hand...

“Holy! Yes! Yesss! I have a dragon! I have a dragonnn!”

If only Leah could’ve shared in that burst of pure, childlike joy...

From the moment the dragon appeared, she’d been taking constant ticking damage of some kind. The prickling, burning sensation wasn’t unlike what she felt under direct sunlight, but the sun was already low, and any remaining light was blocked by the ring of treants. So it couldn’t be that.

What gave her pause wasn’t the scale of the damage—this middling damage-over-time was fully offset by her natural regeneration. The problem was that it was getting through her Dark Aegis’s. The shields were active, yet the damage slipped right past them.

Looking closer, she realized that wasn’t quite right either. The damage wasn’t bypassing the shields—it was hitting every shield and her equally. Like a spatial hazard, eroding everything within its reach. And since Dark Aegis’s didn’t regenerate, Leah could only watch as their LP ticked lower and lower. There was no way to “heal” them either—once damaged, the only way to get fresh shields was to destroy and resummon them.

Basically, if Dark Aegis could block conventional attacks but not this kind of passive, “rot” damage, then that was a glaring weakness—an easy way to harass and wear her down in her current build.

It was good she’d discovered the flaw early. Still, having her brand-new shields scuffed before even getting into a real fight was a little disheartening, she had to admit.

However, looking around, she could see that Blanc, Sieg, and the skeletons all seemed unaffected; they stood around as if nothing were happening. Except...where was Lyla?

Ah, trying to run away as far from the source of pain as possible.

“What’s the difference here?” Leah murmured. “Oh. Right. They’re undead. The dead aren’t taking damage, so this must be some kind of DoT that only saps life from the living.”

She looked up at the culprit—the three-headed skeletal dragon. “Appraisal.” The monster’s profile appeared. “Well, hello, skeletal gidorah. So this rot damage is coming from your passive, Death’s Balm, is it? Basically, you’re just a stinky boy, huh?”

“Hey, you take that back!” Blanc cut in. “He’s not stinky—he’s not stinky at all! Don’t ruin my super cool new friend by making him stinky!”

Blanc clearly didn’t feel a thing, whether it was due to some racial trait or simply because she was the dragon’s master. And, to be fair, the dragon didn’t actually stink; it just filled the air with a heavy, clinging sense of doom, gloom, and death.

Leah noted that when she’d cast Appraisal on the ghidorah, it hadn’t reacted. Or, at least, it didn’t seem to care. That made sense since the spell resist message was a system notification—NPCs wouldn’t receive it.

That was big. Maybe as a way to test whether someone was an NPC or not. Sure, most status effects would draw attention because they came with a visible or physical effect, but a spell that only triggered a system message—something with no outward sign? That might be the kind of thing only a non-NPC would react to.

Back to the ghidorah—its LP was nearly four times Leah’s own maximum. Even pre-Ars longa, vita brevis, the thing still lapped her. That was the only stat that came close to her—thankfully—but compared to her strongest minions, it would rank among the very top, on par with something like Uluru.

Given Uluru had been a raid boss that would’ve given her real trouble in a fair, mano a mano fight, it wasn’t hard to imagine the kind of peril a ghidorah could pose. Plus, a ghidorah was a dragon, and dragons could fly, so any one-way air-to-ground cheese strat was right out.

Its skill panel was packed with new and unfamiliar abilities, which Leah read through with keen interest. Most, however, turned out to be race-exclusive, and the few that unfortunately weren’t particularly impressive. The only truly general-purpose one was Skyrunning, and that would be a terrifying sight, this monster running through the skies. It also had Flight. Its wings were nothing but bare bone, but as always, Flight seemed to be very magical in nature.

“Hey, Blanc?” Leah said. “Can you turn this Death’s Balm skill off? It’s ticking my LP down, as well as the LP of my World Tree. If you could, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Oops, sorry about that. Let’s see, let’s see...” Blanc fumbled through her UI. “Ah! Found it! And...off!”

The unpleasant draining sensation vanished, and the air itself seemed to clear.

Lyla came running back. “Hoo, boy,” she said, panting heavily. “Now we’ve got a real doozy on our hands, don’t we? I appraised it, but all I got was the name of its race. That alone puts it above you, Blanc. Are you sure it’ll listen to you?”

Blanc gasped. “You’re right! Oh no—what if it doesn’t listen to me?”

“Pretty sure it just did,” Leah deadpanned.

That said, a dragon in the flesh... Or, in the bone, maybe, in this case. NPCs had always spoken of their kind in hushed, awed tones, but seeing one firsthand put a whole new weight behind the stories.

Leah definitely wanted one of her own, to be sure, but it seemed this particular dragon would have a hard time coexisting with her treants and insects.

Perhaps something alive would be the better bet.

“They were originally lizardman skeletons, right? Think if we caught some living ones and fused them, we’d get a living dragon?” Leah asked.

Lyla hummed in thought. “Well, the Spartoi in mythology are warriors sown from dragon’s teeth, right? The Dragonsteeth take that parallel a step further. If it’s even possible, you’d probably have to Rebirth them several times to make them more and more draconic.”

Leah glanced at her. “You want one for yourself, Lyla?”

“My kingdom’s very own guardian dragon? Of course I do! Imagine the bluffs I could pull with that thing.”

True enough—there were real countries out there with dragons on their flags. It could easily be a convincing show of power.

As for Leah, if she was going to go through the effort, she wanted something special. A one-of-a-kind pet draped in everything “queen,” and “lord,” and “destruction.” Did such a variation exist? No idea. And in any case, she didn’t even have any lizardmen on hand to find out.

“But maybe we don’t need lizardmen, per se,” Leah murmured. “Could we just Rebirth some lizard-type monsters a few times until they get close? Let’s keep an eye out for potential habitats and let each other know right away, yeah?”

“Let’s do it.” Lyla nodded.

“That said, though—whew. I am glad we didn’t try this at your castle. Imagine the carnage if all this had happened in your courtyard.”

A ruined castle. Countless dead. And whoever survived the initial destruction would have to contend with Death’s Balm slowly sapping their life away; there was no telling how much more devastation there would have been in the end.

Worst case, it could’ve sparked another revolution, and the freshly couped Kingdom of Oral might have fallen again in a single night, complete with an entire forum thread dedicated to the debacle.

“All right. I’ve decided!” Blanc’s voice jerked Leah from her thoughts. “Your name”—she pointed toward the dragon—“is going to be Burgundy!”

“Oh, giving it a new name?” Leah asked. “It’s got three heads, so I thought for sure each one was one of your old Dragonsteeth.”

Blanc blinked. “Wait—really?”

Each of the three heads nodded.

As it turned out, the middle head was Crimson, the right was Scarlet, and the left, Vermilion.

In the end, it was decided that Blanc would use their individual names when giving orders to a single head, and “Burgundy” when referring to the body as a whole.

Appraisal confirmed it—Burgundy was now the dragon’s name, with the three heads retaining their own as well. Pretty nifty. It made Leah wonder if there were more of the same out there: monsters with different names for different body parts.

Leah nodded. “Now that we’re all sorted, let’s move on. Next up: zombies.”

***

For the zombie fusion experiment, they started with Leah’s zombies—or Sieg’s rather. Just like the skeletons, these were idle zombies in the capital, contributing little of value.

Given zombies were weaker than skeletons, Leah might have used them first for testing. But as it turned out, they weren’t as useless as the truly layabout skeletons. Once reborn, they became far more humanlike and capable, able to take on work around the city. Through Sieg’s steady, thankless efforts, over half had already been reborn into revenants and put to use staffing various posts. Leah had figured that was a perfectly good way to keep them occupied, so she’d chosen skeletons for the initial experiments instead.

But then those first experiments happened. Fusion had required extra EXP; the resulting monster—the skeletal warlord—was a powerhouse, on par with or stronger than a queen ant. If the remaining zombies could produce something of similar caliber, or even stronger, it would be a tremendous boost to her forces.

So they kept at it, running the same routine a few more times, and...!

“So, ten regular zombies make a flesh golem, and ten revenants make a giant corpse,” Leah summarized.

“And ten of my vampiric minions still only make a flesh golem,” Blanc sighed.

Much to Blanc’s dismay, it turned out vampiric minions were, functionally, just regular zombies with the vampire Rebirth path unlocked. Worse, when fused, any vampiric traits vanished entirely from the resulting flesh golem’s profile. Blanc even tried feeding one blood in hopes of turning it into some grand “giant vampire”—but no, it would only Rebirth into a giant corpse.

In any case, a single flesh golem was far stronger than ten zombies, and a giant corpse easily outclassed ten revenants, so Leah eagerly fused the rest of the troops Sieg had brought over. Plenty more zombies still lingered back in the capital, but those would have to wait until she could bring them here.

She then wanted to see whether ten giant corpses could merge into something even stronger, but the egg didn’t react at all. The same went for the skeletal warlord. Apparently, creating a “mega” unit from an already “giant” unit just wasn’t a thing.

“So, what’s next?” Lyla asked.

“Good question,” Leah said. “We know the egg won’t let anything in that isn’t capable of at least something, so there’s no downside to going with the shotgun approach. In which case, maybe Mister Plates and the Sharps next. Magical creatures that they are, there’s a high chance.”

“Oh, Lyla, you’re still here,” Blanc suddenly said, then turned to her. “Why haven’t you gone home yet?”

“First of all, rude,” Lyla said.

But Blanc raised a good point. Leah wasn’t about to tell Lyla to beat it, but why was she still here? There was nothing left for her to do.

“You have nothing better to do?” Leah asked.

“I mean, no... But, I guess, yes... I’ve done everything I need to at the moment, and I’m just waiting to see how things play out. But, like, huh? Why? I can’t be here? I can, can’t I?”

“Of course you can!” Blanc said. “I was just genuinely making sure if you had nowhere else to be!”

“I swear this girl knows what she’s doing...” Lyla narrowed her eyes.

“If you’re gonna stay, might as well make yourself useful,” Leah said. “Give me some mithril. I know you’ve got extra. Not like you’re using it for anything other than cooking implements at the moment.”

“What do you mean by ‘might as well’? Fine, yes, I’ve got some lying around. But perhaps you’re unaware, dear sister, that mithril fetches a very high price on the markets. On account of it being, you know, very rare.”

“‘Price’ is an illusion, Lyla. The market is a construct. No object has intrinsic, immutable worth. Value changes with time, place, and need. Need. As in right now, do you really need those idle ingots wasting away in your inventory, languishing in their inefficaciousness when I can put them to much better use?”

“What I need is for you to pay a fair price for them.”

“Nope, too late. You said you had some lying around, so fork ’em over.”

“You can be such a younger sibling sometimes, you know that? But fine. I’m happy to oblige.”

“Wow, Lyla... You really are so nice to your sister.”

Mithril. Acquired.

With that, Leah summoned Mister Plates from the capital.

Ideally, she’d have swapped him for the skeletal warlord or giant corpses, but sending them back to the capital was a nonstarter. The last thing she needed was the difficulty rating ticking up to five stars because she’d dropped a couple raid bosses in the middle of town.

Instead, she sent Sieg off to Lieb, and parked the giant undead gang in the open fields nearby. However, this could only be a temporary solution. Once the sun rose, her undead would suffer badly, their “health” plummeting under the scorch of its rays.

Solution: She pinged the local queen, still stationed in Lieb, and had her put some of the ants to work on a new project. A little underground storage, monster-sized. Nothing fancy—just a big enough dirt chamber to keep a small army of giant undead comfortably out of sunlight until further notice.

The flesh golems and giant undead under Blanc’s control still remained, but Leah supposed she could live with that. Hardly the small army she’d just relocated, they were just a few created for proof of concept; they could be easily shuffled off to the side where they wouldn’t bother anyone.

“Right, then. Philosopher’s Egg.”

She nudged Mister Plates toward the crystalline crucible. Nothing. Slid the Sharps off his back—still nothing. Apparently, neither Mister Plates nor the Sharps counted as viable fusion fodder. Which meant her working theory—that magical creatures were fair game for the egg—had just hit a wall.

“That’s a shame. Oh, well, it was worth a try. Next up, we have—”

She stopped. Maybe she was being too hasty. Mister Plates and the Sharps weren’t exactly baseline magical beasts; they were bespoke, one-of-a-kind cases. Hardly representative. If she really wanted an answer, she’d need to test on something a little more ordinary.

In other words, time to call up either Team Adamant, Team Carknight, or Team Rock Golem.

“So...if you’re not using the mithril, could I have it back now?”

“Not so fast, Lyla! Summon: Rock Golem!”

A single, standard-issue rock golem stomped into being. Leah herded it toward the Philosopher’s Egg—and, lo and behold, the egg accepted it without complaint.

Next came one of Lyla’s requisitioned mithril ingots. Leah tossed it in, cast Athanor, and topped it off with a philosopher’s stone. The moment the egg absorbed the stone, that telltale rainbow light bloomed.

“Nice. Looks like golems are a go. The Great Work.”

She’d worried one ingot might not be enough, but the system apparently thought it was just right.

What stepped out of the crystalline shell moments later was...something else. A warrior of gleaming silver-white, its frame unmistakably golem in design, yet every facet, every crag radiating that cool mithril sheen. It didn’t look like stone flecked with precious metal—it looked like a block of mithril, sculpted into golem-shape by a master artisan. A very natural shape gleaming very unnaturally.

Also, it was—

“Tiny! Oh my god, what is that, it’s so tiny!” Lyla pointed, cackling.

Leah couldn’t even fault her. The golem had kept its proportions but lost its scale, now barely reaching her waist. Like someone had run the original through a hot wash and high heat cycle. Sure, it was bigger than the ingot she’d fed the egg...but a lot smaller than the golem she’d started with. Which begged the question—where exactly had the rest of that rock gone?

Appraisal pegged the little warrior as a mithril golem—which, thankfully, meant the size issue was only temporary. A steady diet of EXP should bulk it back up to original size.

Even at this funner size, its stats outclassed a rock golem’s across the board. INT and MND were especially impressive; probably the system’s nod to mithril’s supposed magical affinity, even if that brainy reputation sat a little oddly on something that looked like the literal definition of rock-for-brains.

AGI, as with all golems, was still in the basement. Then again, that just made them perfect candidates for magical artillery—plant them somewhere strategic, let them lob spells all day, and call it a win. Maybe she could place these in the capital as a defense troop instead of members of the giant undead crew.

Decision made, Leah burned through Lyla’s remaining mithril ingots and converted the lot into shiny new mithril golems.

That done, it was finally time for the main event. She cleared a suitably large patch of ground and summoned Uluru. Standing beside the World Tree, with the skeletal ghidorah looming nearby, Uluru seemed smaller than she remembered. Either that, or her sense of scale had been thoroughly satiated.

“Is this that ‘as big as the castle’ thing you mentioned?” Lyla eyed Uluru, humming. “Mm... As expected, you exaggerated. Quite a bit smaller. But where’d you even find this thing?”

“At the base of a volcano,” Leah replied casually.

As was almost routine at this point, she conjured the Philosopher’s Egg, had Uluru step inside, and lit Athanor beneath. Then, from her inventory, all the adamant-whatever she had left (or adamas, as Appraisal had taken to calling it) into the mix. It was the last bit of scrap from the haul she’d recovered from the capital, once upon a time. Most of it had long since gone to the artisans in Lieflais, so what she had here really was the dregs of the dregs.

Given Uluru’s size, the MP cost came out about the same as the skeletal ghidorah’s, but it was nothing Leah couldn’t cover, so the process moved forward.

This was going to be a one-of-a-kind, named minion, so Leah wasn’t about to cheap out. She tossed in a greater philosopher’s stone. Skimp and risk ending up with a pocket-sized version? Not on her watch.

Also, taking a page from Blanc’s book, she even added a bit of her own blood. It was drawn from her with more than a little force, though this time it didn’t feel anywhere near as dangerous. The system seemed to register the loss as a “cost” rather than damage, meaning Dark Carapace didn’t kick in; the LP drained away as normal.

“The Great Work.”

<<Your retainer has met the conditions for [Rebirth].>>

<<[Rebirth] into “elder adamant golem”?>>

<<Spend 1,500 experience points to [Rebirth] into “Adamantalos”?>>

Adamantalos, obviously. From the EXP price tag alone, Leah pegged it as being on the level of a Cataclysm.

It only took a moment for the egg to split apart—and for Uluru to be reborn.

“What...is that?” Lyla breathed, eyes wide.

It was truly a rare thing to catch her off guard like this, and Leah allowed herself the smallest, most tasteful hint of smugness.

“What’s the matter?” she said. “Can’t even read the species name? It’s an Adamantalos.”

The thing looked like an ancient Greek temple come to life, if that made any sense. Its limbs were sculpted in the style of Doric columns, its torso shaped like a full temple facade, and within its “halls” glowed a crimson crystal like a sacred relic. Even its head was columned—shorter ones this time—topped with a single horizontal slit across the front that served as an “eye.” The entire construct gleamed with a deep black metallic sheen.

“Adamantalos?” Lyla tilted her head. “Talos was that mythical bronze automaton, right? So...adamantium Talos? Is that actually a thing?”

“I mean, obviously,” Leah said, sweeping a hand up and down at the towering construct. “If the myth is the basis, that red glow in its chest would be ichor—the blood of a god. And since I’m the one who gave it my blood to make this happen, that makes it my blood. Ergo, I am a god. Ergo, worship me.”

“If there’s one thing I agree with you there, it’s that glow being its weak spot. In the myth, didn’t Talos die because the blood vessel in his chest was severed and he bled out?”

“I thought it was a nail pulled from his ankle?”

“That’s flippin’ sweet! Hey, hey, Lealea! Wanna battle my Burgundy?”

Leah and Lyla both turned to stare at Blanc.

“Where would we do that?” Leah said at last.

“Nope. No. Stop right there. Absolutely nothing about that ends well,” Lyla said.

Poor Blanc. Outnumbered two to one, the great kaiju battle of Boot Hour, Shoot Curse was not to come to pass.

<<Disaster-class entity “Adamantalos” has been born.>>

<<The standard message has been canceled because “Adamantalos” is already under an existing faction’s control.>>

Well, that’s a shame, Leah thought. And here she’d gone through the trouble of unlocking Mysticism and wanting to see how it worked only for the message to be canceled.

Still, the lack of a “special” tag in the “conditions for Rebirth met” phrasing in the original system message told her at least that Adamantalos was an orthodox raid boss. As in, the assumed apex evolution of the adamant golem race with nothing else sprinkled into the mix.

“We used adamas, so it became Adamantalos,” she mused aloud. “If we used mithril, would that make a Mithritalos? And maybe if we used bronze, it’d just be plain old Talos.”

“Then if we used gold, it’d be Kintaros from Kamen Ri—”

“And I’m gonna stop you right there, Blanc,” Lyla cut in.

Leah gave a dry smirk. “Probably Chrytalos, after the Greek word for gold.”

In addition, there could’ve been many metals out there stronger than adamas. Meaning, there could be a Talos even stronger than Adamantalos. For something that didn’t seem to age, the possibility was there: one just biding its time somewhere deep underground, untouched by human hands, waiting for someone reckless enough to wake it up.

“So, next? What’s next?” Lyla asked.

“Okay, but seriously—do you not have somewhere else to be?” Leah shot back.

“It takes me, like, a second to get home. Come on!”

“Mm-hmm. Sure. Not like I said you weren’t welcome. Anyway—next up is my adamant squad. Last time I ran them against some Hilithian knights, they struggled, I’ll admit. That was pre-adamas retrofit, though, so maybe they’re not quite so bad now. But still.”

That thought took her all the way back to Rokillean and her fight against the Grand Army of Hilith. Most of the Hilithian rank and file had been wiped out by her artillery, but the survivors—the elite knights—had met her adamant squad head-on and given them more trouble than she’d have liked to remember.

It was probably safe to assume those knights had been the strongest the old Kingdom of Hilith could field. Hilith, after all, was a human-majority realm—and humans in games tended to lean hard into quantity over quality.

Which was Leah’s roundabout way of saying in kingdoms run by other races, the knights might be on a whole other level. The idea that she could just let her current combat strength stagnate? Absolutely unacceptable.

Which made it a little anticlimactic when the Philosopher’s Egg rejected every last one of her adamant warriors. So much for that plan.

Looked like the only way forward for them was the slow road—forcing each Rebirth individually with philosopher’s stones.

***

In the end, the only minions to successfully undergo fusion that day had been undead. Golems weren’t out of the running entirely, but with so few left on the volcano, that experiment would have to wait until their numbers naturally rebounded.

Building a personal golem army wasn’t complicated. All you needed was the metal of your choice and a metric boatload of MP. Leah had plenty of both. The only missing ingredient was a stockpile of rock golems to serve as the base, and the volcano would take care of that, given time.

The next tea party didn’t have a set date yet, but the venue was already decided: Lieflais. Whoever had something worth sharing would sound the call.

As for Blanc and her monstrous new dragon? She just...went home with it. Which, considering there was no way that thing was fitting inside the manor, could only mean one thing: Ellental was in for some carnage.

***

Sure enough, when Leah checked a few days later, Ellental had been bumped up to a five-star dungeon. Since the original takeover of the town was tied to her, the Cataclysm, the forums laid the blame squarely at Leah’s feet. Not that she minded in the slightest.

Chapter 2: Uluru Impact

The Kingdom of Portely, nestled in the southernmost reaches of the great continent, enjoyed mild weather year-round. Its rugged, rocky terrain rose and fell in endless mountains and valleys, making large-scale farming a challenge. Much of the land was cloaked in forest and, thanks to the warm climate, dotted with orchards whose fruits formed the staple diet of the kingdom’s elves—who made up over ninety percent of its population.

Lately, though, those orchards had seen trouble. Something—or someone—had been attacking them, and the farmers had been caught in the cross fire.

“Bandits, you say?”

“Yes, my liege. There’s been an uptick in violent incidents in the northwest. Towns raided, food stores plundered—by all appearances, common bandits.”

In the Portelian capital, within a sunlit office of the royal palace, the reigning monarch, King Wustersche, listened as an official laid out the report. Normally, something as small as stolen food wouldn’t have made it past a minister, let alone to the king himself. But in these unsettled times, with the appearance of the Seventh Cataclysm, the fall of the neighboring Kingdom of Hilith, there was no telling which small ripple might herald the wave that would sweep Portely away.

King Wustersche and his court were all high elves—each one, on an individual scale, leagues more powerful than the human nobility that had once ruled Hilith. Elves were stronger than humans by default, and with their long lives, they could hone that strength to heights humans could scarcely imagine.

Elves were vain, proud, and unabashedly conceited, yes—but not so arrogant as to think they could match a creature branded a Cataclysm. They knew the importance of caution, especially when it came to securing supplies—food above all—for the dark days that might lie ahead.

Which made it all the more galling for Wustersche to hear that a trusted vassal had failed so thoroughly. To let bandits prowl unchecked through elven lands—lands sworn to their protection—was a dereliction not easily forgiven.

“To permit mere banditry to run rampant through the countryside...” Wustersche said. “Whose demesne is so lax in its duties?”

“The report notes the demesnes of Viscount Pasquier and Margrave Cobère, my liege.”

The king’s brow arched, his expression sharpening. “Cobère? Now there is a surprise. With the knightly order at his disposal, supplied expressly to keep the beasts of that monster domain in check, one would imagine him more than capable of dispatching a handful of brigands. How do mere bandits tax him so?”

“According to the report, the domain under his watch has been unusually active of late. There has been a...change in the sort of monsters appearing there. His forces are fully engaged on that front, leaving the bandits free to operate unchecked.”

“A change in the sort of monsters?” Wustersche leaned forward, voice hardening. “You mean to say stronger, more evolved forms of the same creatures have begun to appear within the domains of his lands?”

That was no trivial matter. Only a month ago, Portely had endured a Swarming spilling out from the monster-held domains—and the devastation had been anything but small. The cause, the court had agreed, was the birth of the Cataclysm.

“No, my liege. Entirely different races of monsters.”

“...The undead again?” Wustersche’s tone was clipped, his gaze narrowing.

Then was this to be a repeat of the last Swarming—when the undead erupted across multiple domains, either spilling forth from within or driving out the native monsters to swarm in their place? That event had reshaped the ecosystems of several domains, leaving scars that still lingered.

“No, my liege. The reports speak of goblins and kobolds—a motley assortment of lesser breeds.”

The king’s brow furrowed. “That cannot be. I have never heard of such a phenomenon. You are certain the report is accurate?”

“It bears the signature of Margrave Cobère, my liege. I have no cause to doubt it,” the official said.

That was as good as fact. The man served as the herald of the royal court, his duties including the memorization of every great lord’s hand. In the past, every letter arriving at the palace meant summoning him to cast Discernment to verify its authenticity, which had been a needless delay. To avoid such inefficiency, Wustersche had assigned him a post in the royal household itself, where he could settle such matters instantly. The appointment came with the pay and privileges befitting the post.

“This is but the latest in a series of peculiar events,” Wustersche said. “We may need to look deeper into what is transpiring. To the north, the Seventh Cataclysm reigns supreme, and this could be related. Depending on what we uncover, I will not rule out a link to the bandits either.”

“The report does state the bandits are human, sire...”

“Perhaps displaced rabble, driven from their lands by the Cataclysm’s ruin. As I said, we cannot dismiss the possibility.”

“I suppose it could be... While the attacks are to the northwest, it is not so far from our border with Hilith as to be impossible...”

Hilith lay to the northeast of Portely, but the bandit-afflicted regions lay to the northwest, directly bordering Oral. Originally, Oral might have been a suspect—the old royal family had only just been ousted in a coup—but they had landed on their feet almost immediately. They had fallen into a far more stable political order than before. Given such stability, refugees turning to banditry seemed unlikely.

Far likelier, Wustersche reasoned, was that the bandits were playing some sort of intricate game, trying to make the elves believe their base of operations lay in Oral, when in truth it was in Hilith. Yes, this was definitely the case; his course was clear.

“Dispatch a detachment of knights to investigate and aid in Cobère’s bandit problems,” he ordered.

“And of Viscount Pasquier, sire?”

“His case demands an Officer of Royal Discipline. If Pasquier is found to be corrupt, have him dragged back to the capital in irons. If he is not—and yet still cannot bring a few brigands to heel—then his incompetence has passed the point of redemption. Kill him.”

For all their long lives, elves were a sparsely breeding people, surpassed in sheer numbers by every other major race. For the high elves, that rarity was even more pronounced. With that rarity came a self-image unlike any other; a conviction that they were a chosen people, set apart.

No one believed this more than Wustersche himself. To have one of such rarefied blood prove corrupt was distasteful enough. To have one prove merely inept was unthinkable.

His eyes narrowed. “Even if they are starving, we cannot allow the filthy paws of mankind to grub and chip away at the noble, unsullied lands of the elves. Send troops to the nearest town in Hilith—that will likely be the den of these so-called bandits. We shall engage in a little...tit for tat.”

The official hesitated. “Are you quite certain, my liege? We have yet to confirm the bandits’ exact location.”

“It matters not. Hilith, as a nation, no longer exists. Even should we strike the wrong people, who is there to punish us for killing stateless rabble? The goods taken from us were perishables. We cannot simply reclaim them as they were. Order our forces to raid their food stores and take an equal share in kind.”

To a sovereign state, stateless actors who dared attack its towns were no different from monsters. And if a town could not defend itself against monsters, then by definition, the fault lay with the town.

But Wustersche had no intention of lying down and accepting the insult. What was taken would be taken back in kind. Of course, one might wonder whether this was out of some lofty devotion to justice, or merely because the might-be culprits were the sort who could neither strike back or make themselves heard.

“Ah, one more thing,” he added smoothly. “Ensure the troops confine themselves to the town. They are not to stray anywhere near monster-controlled territory. That is an order of the highest degree.”

His gaze fixed forward, cold and certain.

“That dead kingdom is the cradle of the Cataclysm. We will not provoke them over something so trivial.”

***

As a nation of elves, the Kingdom of Portely’s population was small. What was more, the cost for high elves to use Retainer was exorbitant, limiting the number they could keep in service. For that reason, Portely’s army was modest in size, and its knightly orders smaller still.

But what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in the might of each individual soldier. The saying—more boast than fact, yet not entirely without merit—was that one elven warrior was worth a thousand men.

Such a detachment descended upon a farming town along Hilith’s southern frontier—and erased it from the map in a single night.

The town, far from any known monster domain and without the protection of its own knightly order, was little more than an ant in the path of a trampling elephant. The elves swept through without resistance, slaughtered every last resident, and claimed the ruins as their own, christening it with a new name: Forward Operating Base One.

Needless to say, NPCs were among those killed—but so were players. Farmer players who had called the town home for months, traveling merchants passing through on business... All cut down without distinction.

The lucky ones were those who could respawn in towns they had previously visited. Others had never left that settlement in their entire playtime. And with Hilith no longer existing as an in-game entity, they were forced into the respawn lottery, scattered to any number of locations across the continent.

The event blew up on the forums and related social media. Some raged hot enough to try rallying a volunteer militia to retake their beloved home. But as the shouting cooled, reality set in—every resident had been killed. Even if the town were reclaimed, there was no one left to reclaim it for. In the end, all that remained was simmering hatred and seething resentment toward the elven kingdom.

And yet, even as the heat of discussion fades, the archives thus remain.

As always, there was one user in the Kingdom of Hilith who never posted, but only watched, keeping regular tabs on any thread that appeared with the word Hilith.

***

[[To our valued players,

Thank you for being valued members of the Boot Hour, Shoot Curse player community.

We are pleased to announce the third official large-scale event: “Large-Scale Defensive Campaign.”

A continent-wide assault is imminent. Forces from the heavens will strike without discrimination, threatening every corner of the land.

Whether you fight for the cause of humankind, champion the rise of monsterkind, or serve the banner of any nation, this is the time to set aside rivalries. Stand together. Defend your surroundings, your town, your forest—your home.

The event is planned to last roughly one real-time week, or ten in-game days.

During the event, EXP gains will be increased by ten percent.

During the event, you will not lose EXP upon death. Instead, you will receive a five percent reduction to all stats for one in-game hour.

A special event forum will be available during the event period to assist with intercity coordination and community building.

No sign-up required - all players are automatically eligible.

Enemy strength will be roughly equivalent to a 2☆ teleport location.

Notes:

We apologize for revealing the names of top-ranking players without consent in the previous event. Player privacy will be respected in all future events.

For this and future events, ranking player names will not be disclosed without permission. To opt out, please reply to this system message.

The above bonuses will remain active for the full event period, regardless of event progress.

Thank you for playing Boot Hour, Shoot Curse, and we look forward to seeing you in game.]]

***

<<To the player [Leah],

Thank you for being a valued member of the Boot Hour, Shoot Curse player community.

We’re contacting you regarding the third official large-scale event. For full event details, please refer to the general announcement sent to all players.

This message is sent only to players with modified parameters of the following in-game settings:

Death penalty

During the event, the standard death penalty will be adjusted so that no EXP is lost, and instead all stats are reduced by five percent for one in-game hour. However, for players with existing modified death penalty settings, this adjustment will not apply.

We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and appreciate your understanding that we are unable to offer an alternate death penalty adjustment for this event.

Best regards,

The development team.>>

***

“Okay, let’s see... Just need to opt out of the name reveal and...done. That said, an event, huh? This really isn’t the best time.”

Leah flicked past the third official in-game event announcement. It was set to kick off next week, running for one week, or ten in-game days.

The wording—forces from the heavens—all but screamed “Archangel attack.” Which meant the Cataclysm floating up in its heavenly fortress was about to make a move. If Blanc’s vampire count friend could be trusted, it was still fairly young as far as Cataclysms went. Possibly the Sixth, if the intel was right. Basically, Leah’s senior by exactly one rung.

Would she actually have to do anything to prepare for this “invasion”? Probably not. The devs had pegged its forces at a two-star strength rating—lower than anything under her banner. Sure, the Plain of Tür was technically one-star, but that was only because she’d engineered it to be so. The queen ant in its boss cave was at least a solid three-star, and there was no way a swarm of two-star mobs was getting through her.

That left Lieflais as the only real consideration. The residents there weren’t her retainers, exactly; they were more like ants in a carefully curated farm she’d made without their knowing. She’d have to protect them, but do it quietly. No dropping her strongest, flashiest minions on the front lawn with a sign that read “Property of Leah.”

Maybe she could beef up Riley’s constables in town. And if things really went sideways, she could always take direct control of Mali to repel the invaders herself. Not that it would likely come to that; Mali herself could handle a pack of two-star mobs without breaking stride these days.

What did catch her eye in the event announcement, though, was that whole “set aside your rivalries and stand together” bit. In-universe, it was meaningless. As if NPCs—who’d been around long before the first player ever logged in—would suddenly start making distinctions between angels and monsters, like either side was something other than an existential threat. Even less so when NPCs couldn’t even hear system messages to begin with.

If the devs had really wanted some universal cooperation, they could’ve broadcast the message to anyone with Mysticism unlocked. But Leah had Mysticism now, and no such message had appeared, so that clearly wasn’t the case.

So, to go out of their way to phrase it like that... Was it just their roundabout way of warning everyone that angels were a proper third faction, and they’d attack anything that moved, no matter the race, faith, creed, or affiliation?

“They could’ve just said that,” Leah muttered. “You’d think the devs were deathly allergic to being straightforward, the way they dance around everything.”

The devs’ flair for the dramatic aside, a more pressing matter weighed on her mind.

Hilith had been attacked. A small, out-of-the-way farming town called Bezirk near the southern border had been overrun by a force from Portely. For reasons that escaped Leah, they’d massacred the entire population and planted themselves there. According to forum posts, there had been zero forewarning.

It wasn’t the morality of it that stuck with her (hard to throw stones when she’d done the same to Erfahren and the capital), but the motive.

Unlike her, a player, the NPC ruler of a kingdom didn’t move soldiers into (formerly) sovereign territory without purpose. The simplest explanation was invasion. But to what end? Would they be satisfied with one backwater farming town, or would they keep pushing into Hilith’s hollowed-out shell, where nothing remained to oppose them?

And if they kept going, one day, they might reach here. Reach her. The Old Hilith Capital.

“Then I’ll just have to put a stop to that, won’t I? They have to know that Hilith was conquered by the Cataclysm. If they’re poking at me like this, they’re testing to see if I’ll answer.”

A slow, thin smile curved her lips.

“In which case, my next mission is set. I’ve got one week before the event begins. And in that week, I’ll crush the Kingdom of Portely into the ground.”

***

“So, yeah. Sorry about that, sis,” Lyla said.

“It’s fine.” Leah gave her a sidelong glance. “More of an unfortunate accident than anything.”

To think that had been the cause of all this, she thought.

She remembered what Lyla had so casually shared at their last tea party. That she had units of her own flying the banner of bandits, raiding neighboring countries and plundering food stores. Leah had brushed it off at the time, hardly sparing it a thought...only to have the fallout land squarely in her lap.

Now it all clicked. Lyla had sent her people to raid Portely’s frontier towns under the guise of bandits. In turn, Portely had “determined” that those bandits hailed from Hilith.

Determined deserved quotation marks. Because there was no way Portely could’ve actually traced their origin. They’d likely simply decided it was Hilith, because retaliating against Oral would’ve meant committing to an act of war against a sovereign neighbor.

Of course, war had not been Lyla’s aim. If push had come to shove and blows truly had to be traded, she would’ve compromised and resolved things diplomatically. But Portely hadn’t known that. To them, Oral was a black box they needed to tread cautiously around.

So, unwilling to appear weak yet also unwilling to risk provoking Oral—another civilized kingdom—they found their soft target elsewhere. Hilith. A fallen nation stripped of its standing, easy to press, easier still to trample.

Yes, Lyla’s antics had sparked it. But the logic that made Portely see Hilith as the acceptable outlet? That had been all their own.

Which meant Leah was being taken for weak.

And Leah did not like being taken for weak.

Lyla might’ve been able to shrug off things like that—appearances, pride, reputation. None of it mattered to her. But Leah had always been cut from a different cloth. Appearances were everything. Her family had built their lives around martial arts—ostensibly for self-defense, but at its core, what they sold was strength. The promise of never being looked down upon. The assurance of standing tall.

So for someone to so much as threaten that image? To make her appear soft, pliable, vulnerable? That was something Leah would not abide.

“An unfortunate accident, but...” Leah paused. “I can’t just let it stand.”

“Oh, come on, it’s a game,” Lyla groaned. “Can’t you just let it go?”

“I can’t let it go. Not even in a game. No. Exactly because it’s a game. For an NPC called the Cataclysm, do you honestly think they’d let their territory be trespassed upon and just sit quietly?”

“You’re saying that was your territory?” Lyla arched her brow. “You didn’t even know that town existed until it got destroyed.”

“But I know it now.”

“Are you a kindergartener? That logic is—” Lyla threw up her hands.

By then, the whole debate was academic. Leah had already retaliated.

She’d even used the opportunity to send in a freshly minted minion.

And when she said she’d sent him in, she didn’t mean militarily. She meant it literally.

She had summoned Uluru directly over the town, and dropped him.

Apparently heavier now than in his elder rock golem days, Uluru’s landing alone obliterated most of the buildings in town. The soldiers, paradoxically, fared better than the structures. They were tougher than the Hilithian troops Leah had faced before; many actually survived the initial impact.

The initial impact. After that, Uluru made the rounds under Leah’s orders—curb-stomping every last survivor into the dirt.

Not that Uluru had come through the ordeal unscathed. In the middle of its stomping spree, one of the invaders managed to actually land a blow on its foot. Whether that meant they carried adamas-grade or better equipment, or possessed a skill strong enough to bridge the material gap, wasn’t clear. Either way, the feat was noteworthy.

Leah had immediately tried to appraise the culprit, but apparently you couldn’t appraise a pancake smushed into the ground. But this wasn’t a big deal. If the soldier was as strong as she suspected, then they’d almost certainly been someone’s retainer. Which meant they’d be back eventually, restored and ready for another round.

Naturally, the big glowing crystal in Uluru’s chest had drawn plenty of attention. Mages and rangers had done their best to snipe it, hoping to land a clean hit on the obvious weak point, but no dice. Commendable thinking. But threading a shot through a moving forest of stone columns in the sky was far easier said than done.

And even then, it wasn’t as if a lone arrow or fireball was going to bring down a walking fortress. A weak point was a weak point, but it wasn’t an instant off button.

Had someone versed in the myth of Talos fought Uluru, they might have aimed for its ankle. But that was hardly knowledge NPCs could be expected to have. And in any case, Leah wasn’t even sure this Talos shared that legendary weakness.

What it probably required was the usual raid-boss routine when it came to fighting something gigantic: get the colossus on its knees, unleash a concentrated burst on the exposed core, then repeat the cycle until it toppled. A gimmick as old as boss fights themselves, but they didn’t have video games in this world, did they? Players probably would’ve tried it as the first thing, but the commander stationed in town clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.

When all was said and done, the town had been returned to the earth, turned back into a vacant plot of land—and that was Leah’s first step at retaliation, done.

“By now they’ll have realized the town they claimed is gone, and that I’ve already made my move. You were too late bringing me the truth, Lyla.”

“I do wonder how they’ll respond,” Lyla mused. “Especially if the only reason they didn’t go for me was because they didn’t want things escalating.”

“Too late for that,” Leah said. “Since I can’t take back what I’ve done, I may as well teach these barbarians what the rule of ‘law’ really means.”

“‘Eye for an eye’? You gonna go all Hammurabi on them, sister?”

“No. Something even more fundamental to civilization than that. I’m gonna take inspiration from the oldest law code still in existence. If memory serves, both murder and robbery were punishable by death. If the perpetrators are a nation’s army, then the mastermind is its sovereign. Which means the king gets the death penalty.”

“Ah. Code of Ur-Nammu, then? But wait—by that logic, wouldn’t I be the one up for punishment?”

“Sure? But I’ll leave that to the Portelians, the victims of your antics. If they can manage it. Their failings are not my problem.”

“Talk about vigilante justice. So much for the rule of law...”

Maybe Lyla wanted to be punished? Too bad for her, Leah had no time to indulge. She had Portely to deal with, and an assault on their capital wasn’t without risk.

“But if I’m gunning for the capital, they’ll have artifacts, won’t they?” Leah murmured. “That’ll be a problem.”

“Ah, those things.” Lyla nodded. “But they’re not so much a force multiplier than a force irritator, right? Don’t they react the same to everyone except for the handful they’ve been keyed to?”

The Hilithian artifacts Leah reclaimed from Lyla had behaved that way. Players on the commemorative “Cataclysm defeated” thread had said as much too. If the ones in Oral followed the same pattern, then all artifacts—the Fey King’s scattered legacy—likely worked the same. And if, as Lyla once claimed, the Fey King had forged them out of spite against the royal houses of the six kingdoms, then it stood to reason they’d be nothing but cursed tools designed to lash out indiscriminately.

“They look distinctive enough. You could just steer clear if you spot one,” Lyla mused. “Or steal them before they’re ever put to use.”

True enough, now that she knew what artifacts looked like, there was no reason she couldn’t avoid them wholesale.

“Actually, taking that train of thought to its logical terminus, why even risk approaching the capital at all?” Lyla added. “If either of us died, the fallout would be catastrophic. So reason would dictate sending in someone who doesn’t carry that risk. That’s your thing, right? Reason. Logic.”

Leah bristled at the smug phrasing, but Lyla wasn’t wrong. She did like all things logical. Sure, she chased thrill and whimsy now and then, but those were just the tiny nuggets of excitement tossed into an otherwise cold and sensible world; the colorful marshmallows in a bowl of otherwise beige leprechaun-themed cereal.

“You know what, you’re right,” Leah admitted. “I’d have liked to use this as a test of my own strength, but that can wait. Still, if we’re talking high-level retainers whose death wouldn’t tear open a gaping hole in my forces...there aren’t many. Uluru, maybe, but I just tested that big old temple.”

There had to be someone. Powerful enough to take down an entire kingdom, yet commanding few enough followers that their death wouldn’t leave her holdings exposed...

“Oh, wait. There is.”

***

For this mission—the razing of Portely and the regicide it would demand—Leah chose the one retainer who fit the bill: her strongest, and one with no underlings of his own.

Diaz.

Until now, his main task had been to keep watch over Blanc. But ever since Ellental’s difficulty rating had spiked to five stars, that job had become more symbolic than anything. No sane player dared tread near anymore.

Now and then, a reckless few with more bravado than brains would wander in. Within moments, though, they’d be struck by that inexplicable ticking damage. And then they’d catch sight of the undead three-headed dragon looming before them, and their courage would evaporate. Most bolted without ever daring to draw steel.

With outcomes like that, Diaz’s patrols had long since stopped yielding anything of note.

When Leah broached the subject with him, using words such as “revenge” and “retribution,” Diaz was all of a sudden very excited and jumped at the opportunity, which she’d thought he might.

So, with that settled, Leah turned her attention to preparations. Both Diaz and Sieg had been left largely to their own devices since their Rebirth as Undead Kings. But as Leah knew better than most, titles alone meant little. The system might brand something a Cataclysm, but that didn’t make you an actual world-ending threat. Not yet. Not without work. Especially not if you were walking into a capital bristling with artifacts.

She intended to bring them closer to what she herself had been before... No, beyond that. Diaz needed the strength for offense. Sieg, for the opposite reason: to defend the capital where artifacts already loomed, his territory demanded he keep pace.

Both bore the mantle of knights—commanders by nature. Well, one of them did, at least. Diaz had no retinue, probably never even thought of himself as anyone’s commander. But even so, pretend that he did for a moment.

At this point, there was little sense in giving them new tricks like spellcasting or magic. Sieg might put such things to clever use, but Diaz? Definitely not Diaz.

For that reason, Leah leaned their upgrades toward the martial side of things: sword-and-board techniques, physical conditioning, sensory skills that sharpened their edge. With skill names like Quickness and Endurance, these were the kind of tools that would keep a charging knight alive when he inevitably hurled himself headlong into the fray. Diaz was going to do that—it was simply his nature—so the least Leah could do was tune him so that his hotheadedness could survive long enough to bear fruit.

Then came the matter of artifacts. She remembered the way her own stats had been throttled under one’s curse. But if Diaz invested in the right skills, maybe he could brute-force his way past the penalty.

So she gave him the kind of active skills the tooltips described with a straight face: “blow away an entire enemy line with a single swing of your sword.” How that worked, physically, Leah didn’t know. Nor did she really care to know. The tooltip promised it, and that was good enough.

Perhaps this was the devs’ way of leveling the playing field. Physical playstyles—sword, axe, even bare hands—could never stack up against magic in sheer destructive power or area coverage. Without skills that bordered on the absurd, proper balance simply wouldn’t exist.

It did, however, raise a concerning possibility. With these abilities, even a swarm of only melee fighters might pose a genuine threat to colossi like Uluru. Leah had always looked down on melee as second-rate without magical support, but perhaps this little experiment just showed otherwise.

To back Diaz’s conquest, she assigned him most of her adamant squad. A handful stayed behind as a contingency, but the rest went marching off to raze and conquer. Whether they were up to the task was another matter. Leah wasn’t exactly confident. The Hilithian knights at Rokillean had given them trouble already—what would happen if they crossed swords with elite elven knights? If whoever managed to wound Uluru’s foot showed up again and did the same thing to an adamanknight, they might be split clean in two.

However, that, in its own way, was the point. Unlike the carknights, her adamant soldiers weren’t for routine deployment. They were her hidden trump card, a special task force she could strengthen however she pleased without worrying about balance or restraint. Better to let this campaign expose their flaws now, and once the dust settled, refine them all at once.

***

With Diaz sent on his merry way, Leah turned her focus to another matter. Namely, the powering up of the goblin in charge of her EXP farm—Gaslark—and maybe seeing if any of his underlings could be reborn into larger versions of themselves. Hiding herself with Camouflage, she summoned herself over to Gaslark’s side in the Golf Club Tunnels.

“Your Majesty,” Gaslark said, dropping to one knee. “Your presence graces these dark, unkempt halls.”

Leah glanced around. A cavern—stone benches carved along the walls, giving it the look of an arena’s locker room. It even felt sturdier, safer than the slapdash Safe Area the players had outside. Another well-executed project, no doubt, courtesy of the sapper ants she’d stationed here for support.

“Gaslark,” Leah said with a nod. “You deserve some recognition. This pilot case of yours turned out great.”

The forums had been buzzing about the place. For a first-time effort, it was a triumph on Gaslark’s part.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Gaslark bowed low.

A hardworking goblin deserved a proper reward for his efforts. However, when Leah asked what he wanted, he claimed nothing—whether out of politeness or genuine lack of desire was hard to say. Unsatisfied, she pressed him for something, anything, to which he only replied: strength.

“Strength? Really, Gaslark?” Leah tilted her head. “That’s the sort of thing I’d give you anyway because it’s necessary. Doesn’t exactly count as a reward.”

“Oh, but it does,” Gaslark replied. “For in terms of our directive, our current strength is sufficient to fulfill it. Thus, to wish for more is no duty, only my own selfish want.”

That...was an impressive bit of reasoning. For him to even be able to frame it that way meant he was ready for bigger, better things.

Gaslark’s build was an unusual one, to say the least. If you were to take his stats and lay them out on a radar chart, his would be the one with a giant spike shooting off toward the spoke labeled INT. Leah had designed him that way, boosting his intelligence and memory. But perhaps that very strength had the unintended side effect of making him conscious of his shortcomings elsewhere.

In which case, fine. She’d be glad to take Gaslark (along with a handful of his closest aides) and power them up properly.

First up was the goblin himself. Once the leader of his tribe, then reborn into a goblin general as his current role—now it was time to push him further. Leah handed over a greater philosopher’s stone, and perhaps predictably, the goblin general became a goblin king. The transformation cost Leah a mere 300 EXP. But perhaps that was actually expensive for a goblin. Then again, maybe it was expensive in all contexts. Was Leah the one out of touch?

Even with the two-tier boost from the greater stone, no alternate Rebirth path showed itself, which led Leah to believe “king” was the end of the line for Gaslark. His frame expanded, now a bit larger than the average human’s, and about the size of the hulking goblins she’d fought back in Neuschloss. But...he definitely wasn’t one of the hulking goblins she’d fought back in Neuschloss. There was something missing from him. Sheer presence, perhaps. Or menace, or intimidation.

“Makes sense,” Leah murmured. “There’s no way every trash mob in that dungeon was a ‘king.’ Size might line up, but odds are they’re not even the same race.” Then she remembered something. “Oh, right.”

She pulled out the corpse of the boss goblin she’d felled in Neuschloss and plopped it down in front of herself and Gaslark.

“And this is, Your Majesty?”

“The corpse of a bigger goblin I killed. Well, technically he turned himself into a corpse before I managed to turn him into a corpse of a corpse, but... Okay, anyway, that’s not important right now.”

She cast Appraisal. As it was a corpse, no stats or skills showed up. Just the line: Deovoldraugr corpse. Condition: Poor.

Look, she’d incinerated the thing in a beam of holy light. It was actually a miracle it was even there, let alone poor quality.

“Hey. This isn’t even a goblin,” Leah said. “Then what the heck is it?”

And now that she thought about it, only other players had ever called it a goblin. Which meant all those so-called goblins in Neuschloss might never have been goblins at all. And if that was true, they were useless as reference material for what she was trying to do here.

“Welp, so much for that. Gaslark, grab two of your most trusted lieutenants. I’ll Rebirth one into a goblin general and the other into something more magic-focused.”

Gaslark obeyed, bringing forward two goblin leaders, and Leah handed each a greater philosopher’s stone. The magic-focused equivalent of the goblin general turned out to be a greater goblin wizard.

But something about that stuck in Leah’s mind. Two other goblin leaders? If memory served, Gaslark had been the sole leader back when she’d first dragged the tribe out of Lieb. Which meant...these two had Rebirthed on their own? What struck her wasn’t the fact it had happened without her knowing—their direct master was an NPC, after all—but the fact it had happened at all suggested the tunnels themselves met every condition for Rebirth.

“Gaslark,” Leah said. “Do you remember how these two were reborn?”

“Yes. By defeating enemy goblins and consuming them.”

“By consuming...? Hold up, what?”

Gaslark elaborated. In short, what they had eaten to trigger Rebirth were the stonelike objects embedded in their foes’ foreheads.

The very same stones Mali has in abundance, packed away in her inventory, looted from Neuschloss?

“In that case, we can try something here,” Leah said. “Summon: Amalie.”

“You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

Leah nodded. All she needed was a handful of the mountain of stones Mali carried to run a little test. What would happen if she fed them to goblin leaders and mages? First, though, she wanted to see what would happen with a regular goblin.

She handed one a stone. These particular stones had come from the larger pseudogoblins, but she figured they worked the same. The goblin popped it in its mouth and bit down with all its might. Nothing. Couldn’t so much as chip it.

“Your Majesty,” Gaslark said. “These stones appear far harder than those of ordinary goblins.”

“Which is to say, usually you guys wouldn’t have this much trouble? Got it.”

Leah ordered Gaslark to pump a little more STR into the struggling goblin. Bite strength was strength too, right? Sure enough, there came a faint crack as the stone finally split apart. The goblin chewed, grinding the fragments smaller—when suddenly, light engulfed him.

“Wait a second, it didn’t even swallow,” Leah said. “Is the condition not eating the stone, but just breaking it, then?”

When the glow subsided, standing before her was a monster about Gaslark’s size—but with an aura Leah was much more familiar with.

Yep. Now this was the monster she’d cut down droves of back in Neuschloss.

Its name, as the game would have it, was “hobgoblin.”

More experiments followed, and Leah pieced together the rules.

The condition for goblin Rebirth wasn’t eating the stone—it was breaking it. Biting worked, sure, but so did smashing it with a tool. Appraisal revealed the item’s name: hobgoblin corestone. The tooltip even spelled it out to be a necessary reagent for the Rebirth of certain races. Without one, a goblin couldn’t become a hobgoblin. Elf-side, this was probably the equivalent of whatever reagent or condition was needed to Rebirth into a dark elf. Slightly ironic, considering Leah had figured out the goblin side evolution requirements while still not knowing her own.

Feeding a corestone to a goblin mage transformed it into a hobgoblin mage, making it human-sized, and stronger across the board. Giving another corestone to an already reborn hobgoblin, however, did nothing. But if she taught that hobgoblin some magic, then handed it a corestone, it would jump laterally to hobgoblin mage. Which suggested a clear rule: Specialized evolutions required the relevant skill beforehand. Looking at it that way, Gaslark’s underlings had probably become goblin leaders by breaking corestones while already meeting the “right” conditions, whatever they might’ve been.

The problem now was that Leah had a bunch of hobgoblins running around where there’d been none before. If players started running into them, suspicion would flare fast. So she laid down strict orders; they were to stay hidden at Gaslark’s side, and only to reveal themselves if he was in immediate danger.

Gaslark probably deserved to break a corestone himself, but Leah still had the image of Bambu in her mind, and couldn’t help thinking a “hobgoblin king” would blow up to titanic size and collapse the whole tunnel.

“Well, this has been thoroughly enlightening,” Leah said. “I’m guessing this is how that goblin boss player originally became one. That said, though, I do have one question. Why’d you guys think to eat the defeated goblin in the first place? Is that kinda just...how you guys roll?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Gaslark replied. “The only food to be found in these caves are bats and moles. They are not enough to meet our dietary needs.”

Leah blinked.

Right... She had to provide her minions with enough to eat...

She definitely owed Blanc a big, fat apology the next time she saw her.

As for the future, she arranged for the queen of the sapper ants to show up from time to time to bring up the goblins some provisions.

Chapter 3: Portely Falls

“Master, I really do think we have to do something about this.”

“The town’s being torn apart, and all our guests are being driven away!”

Blanc’s three daughters—her Laestrygonian daughters—had her surrounded, piling on the complaints.

“This” referred to, of course, the skeletal ghidorah. Or maybe the other giant undead. Hard to say at this point. Odds were it was the ghidorah, though.

Getting them back to Ellental hadn’t been the issue. Once they had gotten there, though... Hoo boy.

One whole neighborhood of the city had been flattened on arrival, sheerly from their size. Blanc had thought of that, which was exactly why she’d chosen to summon them into the empty plaza outside the manor—only she’d misjudged. After spending so long around Leah’s forest full of oversized monsters, her sense of scale had gotten, well...blown up.

Which was all to say, it hadn’t been Blanc’s fault. Cut her some slack, will ya?

“Buildings, we can always rebuild,” Blanc said breezily. “That’s how humanity has always advanced! Scrap-and-build culture, I think that’s what we call it. That said, the dip in foot traffic is a problem. We need EXP to fund the rebuilding...”

Work was already underway to reconstruct the broken structures in a way that accommodated Burgundy. A bit of forced urban renewal, one might say. Blanc had set the project in motion by granting some of her lesser vampires crafting skills like Architecture and Masonry. But only a handful had been given those skills so far. To really speed things up, she needed more hands, and thus, more EXP. Not just to unlock the skills, but also to raise the DEX of her notoriously clumsy zombies high enough to even qualify for them.

“If I knew it was going to be like this, I wouldn’t have spent all that EXP on strengthening myself,” Blanc lamented.

“Nonsense, milady,” Weiss said. “The cultivation of your abilities is of the utmost importance. We may suffer defeat time and again, but you alone must never be permitted to die, even once.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Everyone else here, Weiss included, was somebody’s retainer. If they died, they’d respawn in short order. Blanc, being a player, technically would too, but only after three hours. She hadn’t thought much of it before, but now, the idea of leaving Ellental deserted for that long sent a shiver down her spine.

“Guess that’s true...” Blanc said. “No point crying over spilled milk, right? Ellental’s a five-star dungeon now. We’re just going to have to deal with that. As for income, we still have Altoriva and Velstead. Surely we’ve collected more than enough from the—”

“A thousand pardons, milady,” Weiss interjected with quiet gravity. “Yet I must report that the towns of Altoriva and Velstead have suffered a marked decline in the number of defeated ‘players.’ Their revenues, I regret to say, have dwindled to virtually nothing.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Well, I guess even if they are beginners, zombies stop being much trouble eventually. And new players can just join other people’s parties now for support, can’t they? Huh. Guess I should’ve seen this coming.”

In the long run, giving beginners a steady supply of EXP wasn’t a bad business strategy. But...not getting anything in return was.

Then there was the difficulty curve of her holdings, which was...less than ideal at the current moment. No normal person would go, “Hey, this one-star’s too easy—let’s dive straight into that five-star!”

“Then,” Blanc began, “we should take either Altoriva or Velstead and tune it to a three-star. That way, we’ll have a clean difficulty curve—one to three to five—and that might attract more customers!”

“A most prudent course,” Weiss assented. “Might I inquire as to the manner in which you wish it carried out?”

Strictly speaking, the simplest approach would be to move the lesser vampires from Ellental to nearby Altoriva and swap them for its zombies. But that would risk leaving Ellental a bit under-defended. Leah had told Blanc that zombies posed basically zero threat to any player worth their salt. That meant Ellental would end up guarded by nothing but Burgundy and the giant undead. Not that they wouldn’t be enough—but what would that even look like in practice? Collateral damage came to mind. In a showdown of big versus small, a boot seeking to crush ants, every strike might as well be an AoE strike. No building nearby would escape unscathed.

“Do I really have no choice but to Rebirth all the zombies in Altoriva into lesser vampires...?” Blanc said weakly.

“At present, I do believe that is the most judicious course,” Weiss replied. “But, rest assured, we are equal to the task. Lord Diaz and Lady Queen Beetle left us a considerable supply of MP potions prior to their departures. Should we administer them to Azalea and the others to sustain their Treatment spells, I am confident you shall endure the whole of a night without collapse.”

Blanc shot him a sidelong glance. “Weiss, you’re real cold-blooded, you know that? Oh, wait—you are a vampire.”

And she’d only just finished nearly bleeding out not long ago...

Blanc had always wondered why vampires were reviled the world over as monsters driven by an endless thirst for blood. Turns out, it was for good reason; they really couldn’t get enough of the stuff.

***

It took two days, but at last, all the residents of Altoriva had been converted into lesser vampires. It felt easier this time, thanks in no small part to the town’s smaller population compared to Ellental.

Since Blanc was a viscountess now, she’d half expected that might mean her kin would emerge as something stronger. But no—the result was the same as ever; just plain old lesser vampires. Would it ever be different? Maybe she could ask the old count for reference: What would happen if he gave the zombies in his castle his blood?

In Velstead too, Blanc birthed a handful of lesser vampires. Not so much to raise the difficulty, but just enough to give the place a hint of menace, a little aura to keep beginners on their toes. She was doing it for their sake, really. After all, getting overconfident and lax was the first step to becoming a bad player. This was a small kindness she offered them—not entirely without collecting a toll in return, though.

“If only there were a way to see the difficulty changing in real time,” Blanc sighed. “Oh well, off to the forums I go...”

***

[☆3] Old Hilith - Ellental [Dungeon thread]

0621: Mentai-list

So, when are we closing this thread and opening a new one?

0622: Clamp

What the hell happened?

We were just chilling in there and all of a sudden BAM, that thing appears?

0623: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Uh... Did something happen?

0624: Wayne

This crazy bone dragon of some kind appeared in Ellental. It has three heads, and you take damage just by getting too close.

0625: Anonymous Elf

Yeah, that thing is seriously busted. Forget melee, even casters can’t get close enough to fire off spells. Archers might be able to reach from that range, but...not like arrows do much to skeleton-types.

Not that it matters when we don’t even have any archers in the first place.

0626: Gealgamesh

Nearly died just trying to hit the damn thing.

Of course, while the bone dragon has everyone’s attention, we’re all missing the giant flesh golem-like things just wandering around as well.

0627: Mentai-list

The red lizard-ish skeletons seem to have all gone. Maybe the dragon consumed them all in its birth?

0628: Anonymous Elf

Interestingly, the “flesh golems” appear to be what used to be the zombies. Maybe something happened to cause all the undead to “amalgamate”?

Speaking of, where has the Cataclysm been recently? Not in the capital, afaik.

0629: Gealgamesh

Now that you mention it...

You saying the cataclysm did some experiments or something crazy with the undead in Ellental?

Use the capital for that man, come on, not Ellental.

0630: Mentai-list

Not sure if that happening in the capital would be any less of a disaster.

Though, wasn’t the cataclysm quite taken with the streets of the capital? They wouldn’t do anything to destroy it, would they?

0631: Wayne

The capital was a 5-star before the cataclysm left, dropping it to 4, right? The same might happen with Ellental. Let’s wait and see.

0632: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Wait and see...for the dragon to leave the confines of Ellental and start roaming around the open world?

A giant undead dragon with an AoE rot effect attached to it roaming the world. Yeah, I’m sure that’s going to be juuust fine.

...

...

0675: Anonymous Elf

Well, Wayne wasn’t exactly right about the how, but he was right about the what. Things have settled in a new equilibrium, it looks like.

0676: Wayne

Yeah.

Glad we got through this without just pushing the problem somewhere else.

0677: Clamp

My heart goes out to all the newbies in Altoriva at this time. Though suppose Velstead’s not too far a trek away.

0678: Mentai-list

To summarize, the updated star rankings of this region:

☆1 Velstead

☆3 Altoriva

☆5 Ellental

☆3-4? Rokillean

Did I miss anything?

0679: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

If we include the 4-star capital as well, I think this region just got a whole lot more enticing for players.

Think we’ll be seeing an influx of new faces round these parts

***

“What are you doing there, slack-jawed and vacant, my kin?”

“Ahh!” Blanc yelped.

She tore her gaze from the forums back to (virtual) reality, only to find Count de Havilland looming before her. He must have summoned himself over to Weiss while she’d been too distracted to notice. He’d never come in person like this before. Maybe he bore urgent tidings, or some grave task only she could carry out.

“You have not visited of late,” the count said. “As I had matters to entrust to Weiss, I thought it time to pay you a visit as well.”

“Ahh!” Blanc yelped again, this time with recognition. “I’m sorry! I’ve just been so busy I forgot to drop by. You must’ve been lonely, huh?”

“Lonely, why I...!” His booming denial was followed by a stiff clearing of the throat. “It has simply been too long since our last chat, that is all.” He glanced toward the plaza. “Now, what is that great beast outside? From the fact that it is not laying waste to the town, I take it it is yours. Yet it is a kind of undead I have never laid eyes upon. It is undead, is it not?”

“It is!” Blanc said brightly. “So what happened there was...”

She rattled off the tale of how the three-headed dragon came to be. It wasn’t a difficult one to tell; the count already knew of her friendship with the Queen of Destruction. All she really had to say was, well...it was all thanks to Leah.

“To think the Spartoi could be bent to such an end...” the count murmured, his tone low and thoughtful. “And this secret art of alchemy, why, it calls to mind the Fey King of old...”

As Blanc recalled, the count and the old Fey King had been contemporaries. The count hadn’t spoken of him as though they were particularly close, but then, given his nature, it was likely he didn’t have many friends to begin with. Even so, he seemed to have counted the Fey King among the few he respected. Whether the Fey King thought the same of him was another matter.

“Was the Fey King good at alchemy?” Blanc asked.

“Not merely alchemy,” the count replied. “He had honed to perfection all manner of crafting skills. So fine was his artistry that relics of his making endure even to this day. Your ally, the Queen of Destruction, no doubt has crossed paths with them.”

He paused. Then something in his face shifted.

“Yet...to think she would consort with races beyond her own, and from such union bring forth undead monstrosities... This lies beyond the scope of what I had foreseen. Perhaps, though, therein lies the strength of your kind.”

“Oh, right! Speaking of Lealea, we were hoping to find some lizardmen! Are there still any around? Or even just, y’know, lizard-adjacent creatures would do!”

“If you recall the underground lake where you first raised your Spartoi—the lizardmen’s hovel there stirs once more. Slowly, they rebuild. So long as you do not bring ruin to the lake itself, you may lead them there.”

He thought for a moment.

“As for your...‘lizard-adjacent’ request—the river that flows from that lake, the very path you took when first you entered the surface world—there dwell creatures of a newt-like strain.”

“A nyoot-like strain...” Blanc echoed blankly.

“It is a monster not unlike the salamander.”

“A monster not unlike the saladmanter...”

“Bah! Enough! Let the Queen of Destruction correct your ignorance!”

And with that exasperated flourish, the count allowed the meeting to end. Before he left, however, Blanc treated him to a fruit tart and a cup of milk tea.

He declared them excellent, and promised he would return again for more.

It seemed Blanc would have to put in another order with Lyla much sooner than expected.

***

<Ohh... So you did know about the Fey King. Also! The count told me about these nyoots that live near his castle! And the lizardmen are starting to come back, but suuuper slowly.>

<Nyoots, Blanc? Oh, you mean newts? Like a salamander. Didn’t know those were in the game.>

<Yeah, yeah! Salamander! That’s what he called them!>

<Salamanders, huh. Technically amphibians, not lizards—or even reptiles. But maybe taxonomy doesn’t matter here...>

Salamanders were amphibians, like frogs. The count was old, sure—but not that old. More likely this was just the game being the game, lumping salamanders in with lizards for convenience.

<By the way, Blanc. Did you see the system message?>

<No sirree!>

<Figures. You should, though. It’s the announcement for the next event. Then again, it’s not like you gotta sign up or anything, so I guess it’s not urgent.>

<Oh, really? Cool beans, I’ll go take a look, thanks! By the way, whatcha up to now, Lealea? Getting ready for the event?>

<Not...exactly. Right now I’m... How to put it... Settling a debt? Balancing the books? Teaching a few uppity NPCs that every action has an equal and opposite reaction?>

<Ooh! Engaged in a little educational effort, are ya? I should do that with my minions too. Tighten them up a little. They’re always squabbling over the tiniest things.>

<Ha ha. That’s the good kind of squabbling. What I’m dealing with isn’t good. Isn’t good at all. Technically, it’s Lyla’s fault when you trace it back.>

<Y-You’re gonna educate Lyla too?! Should I really be hearing about this...?>

<N-No, just the NPCs. Lyla’s way past teaching. To the south of our kingdom, Hilith, there’s Portely, right? I’ll be teaching them the hardest lesson of all. And while I’m at it, test out a few things along the way.>

***

Kingdom of Portely. Royal office chambers.

“...What, pray tell, do you suppose transpired?”

“It is...difficult to say, my liege. According to the messenger, the order wasn’t just lost. The town itself, and the lands surrounding, were wiped from existence.”

“What nonsense is this? Some manner of natural disaster? Hah! And yet...” Wustersche’s voice faltered. He dropped his head into his hands. “For a kingdom such as ours, with so few professional soldiers to begin with, the loss of an entire knightly order...is beyond grievous.”

The Third—gone. The most seasoned in the realm at combating monsters, just lost to the void. They had lacked experience fighting people, true, but against monsters they were second to none. It was why Wustersche had sent them.

At first, all had gone to plan. The Third had taken the town in an instant. Its people were butchered so none would rise in vengeance. Its storehouses were stripped bare, provisions secured for the crown...

But that had been where the good news ended.

The next report should have been routine, little more than an update along with the spoils being carted back to the capital. Instead, the messenger’s words had strained credulity: the town and its outskirts obliterated. No survivors. Not a single soul from their own forces remained.

“We are certain,” Wustersche said coldly, “that they did not, perhaps mistakenly, attack a monster domain?”

“I must confess, sire,” the official replied, his tone uneasy, “I find it difficult to imagine the Third—who have made their very calling the slaying of monsters—committing so gross a blunder.”

Despite the torrent of questions, the tangled unknowns, they were forced to begin from the one certainty before them.

The town was gone. Obliterated. They would do well to accept that now. And unless some world-shattering calamity—an upheaval unseen in all history—had descended upon them, they must assume the hand of some hidden force. A will. An enemy.

But to what end? To strike at Hilith? Or was Portely their target?

If Hilith was the quarry, then perhaps they could just let whatever was rampaging, rampage. But if Portely was the target...then a plan had to be made.

The knights of Portely were already few, and with an entire order lost to the void, their numbers were thinner still. They couldn’t hope to stretch across a wide defensive line—and defense had never been their strength to begin with.

Even so, what choice did they have?

“And we cannot even say whether they’re connected to those bandits...” Wustersche said. “Bandits... Now this... Tell me. What has our kingdom done to earn such ire?”

Once again, the king dropped his head into his hands.

***

“My liege, we’ve received transmission that Willrav has come under attack.”

Portely was a harsh, rugged land. The elves had bent the terrain to their will, carving towers and forts into peaks and halfway up mountains. They were staffed by specially trained soldiers whose sole job was to serve as living information relays. They flashed signals, transmitting information from peak to peak in an instant.

The system demanded much, yes—years of training for soldiers whose sole duty was vigilance—but the result was a network of communication swifter and more reliable than any pigeon could ever be.

“Willrav?” Wustersche repeated. “That is a fortress city. Another Swarming?”

It was not an unreasonable suspicion. Willrav stood on the edge of a forest-type monster domain, its massive walls rising twice as tall as those of its neighboring towns. It was the shield for an entire cluster of settlements, a bastion purpose-built to stem the tide of monsters. The Fourth Knightly Order was garrisoned there—one of only four cities outside the capital with a permanent knightly presence. By strength of arms, Willrav ranked among the five greatest powers of the kingdom.

In the last great Swarming, the fortress had proven itself, turning aside the tide with iron discipline. Not a single monster had breached its walls. It was a city that boasted of defenses said to be unassailable.

“It appears these monsters are stronger than ordinary ones, and greater in number as well. The Fourth is...struggling to contain them,” the official reported.

“Struggling?” Wustersche nearly laughed. “Surely, you jest. The number of monsters in this kingdom capable of matching our knights could be counted upon a single hand. And even they, few as they are, would not dare assault one of our cities outright. Even during the last great Swarming, such creatures kept to their own domains.”

He referred to monsters such as the great kingspider, that beast of legend that was said to dwell in the Verdant Sea, the dense, shrouded forest stretching south of Portely, cutting its people off from the ocean. Its silk was said to be impervious, even to magic. A cloak woven from that silk was preserved among the realm’s treasures, enshrined in the royal vault.

Even the kingspider had remained silent during that great Swarming. A few lesser spiders had stirred, but never enough to leave the wilderness’s shadow. The same was true of the other few monsters said to rival it in power; not one had ever strayed from its own domain.

And even should one of them have emerged, it would’ve still been but a single foe. With an entire knightly order brought to bear, they could not fail to overcome it. Even those mercenaries, while they were of little real worth in battle, could at least be counted on to sweep aside the lesser monsters—or serve as meat shields for their own soldiers in such a battle.

“No matter,” Wustersche said at last, gathering himself. “What creatures have come to test their claws against us this time? Spiders? Slimes? No... If it is Willrav, then surely it’s those shrieking harpy hags.”

If the enemy commanded the skies, that would indeed be vexing. Yet Willrav had been planted at the foot of the very mountain range where harpies nested, a fortress raised for no other reason than to hem them in. Its antiair defenses were second to none. Against such foes, no city was better prepared.

“No, my liege,” the official replied, his tone grim. “The reports claim the enemy is composed of darkly colored skeletons.”

“Skeletons?” Now Wustersche really did laugh. “If there exists a foe more pitiful, I should dearly like to see it. Why, the common guard could sweep them aside! The Fourth need not even unsheathe their blades. What is the lord of Willrav playing at—is he begging for his own execution?”

“I fear I must add this, sire. There are accounts that the Cataclysm which overran Hilith was witnessed summoning legions of such skeletons. If I may surmise...”

“The Cataclysm has set its sights here? Upon us? Impossible. It seemed content to glut itself in Hilith all this time...”

The Cataclysm’s birth had been in the Great Woods of Lieb, deep in Hilith’s east. From there it had swept westward, seizing the capital before pushing ever outward. For it now to double back—to forsake Hilith and march on Portely—what conceivable aim could it hold?

“Suppose it is the Cataclysm,” Wustersche muttered, his voice low. “What, then, could it possibly be after?”

Had he not given the order? His knights were to keep well clear of monster domains—specifically to avoid provoking that harbinger’s wrath.

The official hesitated before speaking. “If I may, sire... If the Cataclysm already held sway over that town... Then perhaps—revenge?”

“Revenge?!” Wustersche roared. “Of all the absurd...! That was a human town! What are you saying, that this...this harbinger of death and destruction schemes to use human bandits to raid my kingdom?”

“I must repeat, my liege,” the official said carefully, “we have yet to prove that those bandits hailed from Hilith at all...”

At that, the elven king faltered, narrowing his eyes.

“If not Hilith, then...Oral? The remnants of their toppled regime, striking at us? But...how? That had been a near bloodless revolution, had it not?”

His own informants had spoken otherwise. Yes, there had been a brief scuffle in Oral’s capital when the crown was overturned, but it had ended before it grew into anything greater. No unrest after. No whispers of exiles turned brigands...

“No,” Wustersche muttered at last, the words heavy with frustration. “That matters little now. What matters is the truth before us. We struck down the town of Hilith. And it seems that now the hand of retaliation has struck back. Whether it be the Cataclysm itself or some other hand matters not. We have been challenged. And so—we have no choice but to meet them, head-on.”

***

“Commander, the gates won’t hold!”

“Ready the heavy infantry! They are our first line of defense if those gates fall! Every soldier is to give them their full support! I want every defender on that wall focused on thinning the enemy ranks before they breach! Turn the antiair cannons on the ground assault—break them down if you must! What’s that? They’ll be useless against the harpies afterward? Then so be it! If we fall here, there is no afterward! Now move—get those cannons into position!”

The streets of Willrav blazed with tumult and clamor.

Or rather—the knights did. The townsfolk had long since barred their doors, holding their breath in silence, while the monsters themselves gave no voice.

The impregnable fortress city was under siege. For the first time in its history, the enemy had reached its gates.

“Just what are these skeletons?!” the commander roared. “There’s too damned many of them!”

It was not the sort of cry one expected in battle with skeletons. Ordinarily, no matter their number, they were blown aside like chaff in the wind. But these skeletons were anything but ordinary. Their frames shone with a dark, metallic sheen, one that seemed to render them impervious to the knights’ attacks.

Even if on a sheer strength basis, the knights held the advantage, that was all for naught if their blades couldn’t bite. Only active skills unleashed by squad leaders seemed to carve through, and even then, it was not enough to fell one in a single blow.

To make matters worse, spellcasters lurked among the enemy ranks, their sorcery cutting down knights from afar before a response could be mustered. All the while, the arrows and spells raining from their side struck uselessly, glancing from blackened bone without leaving so much as a mark.

An unfair fight, and they knew it.

At first, when the commander saw their foes were skeletons, he’d made the call that holing up behind the walls wasn’t necessary. The knights would march out, form ranks, and break them in the open.

But that illusion had shattered quickly. Their blades could not cut, their formations buckled, and step by step they had been driven back, until they were forced behind their own walls, employing the tactic he’d once scoffed at.

And yet this was no siege. A true siege meant patience, meant starving the enemy into submission. These foes battered the gates with fell sorcery even now, their companions slavering for the chance to spill into the city.

Mages. What terrifying creatures, the commander mused darkly.

One-on-one, they weren’t much to be feared, but if they could be utilized in an organized structure, their firepower could be vastly enhanced, enabling all sorts of tactics. Like in this instance, where a single caster brigade was capable of acting both as archers and battering ram. Sure, they had shorter range than true bowmen, but they didn’t need arrows. They were less effective than actual siege engines, but could make up for that and more with sheer numbers.

For a commander who had never once conceived of besieging a city himself, it was at once a revelation—and a nightmare.

If their foes had been humanoid in nature, he might’ve been able to understand these tactics of war, but monsters? Monsters, arrayed in rank and file, loosing volleys of magic in unison. The thought alone would have been laughable yesterday. Now, it was the ruin of his city.

“Argh, damn it!” he roared. “Active skills. That is, active skills from squad leaders can damage them! That means the cannons will break them outright! Where are we on them?!”

The city gates shuddered; they would not hold much longer.

Below, the heavy infantry were now ready, the hoplite-like soldiers standing braced in phalanx—tower shields locked, pikes leveled—ready to meet the charge. If the black skeletons broke through, the wall-mounted cannons would be useless. Turned inward, they could fire, but not without risk to civilians.

“Commander, the cannons are ready!”

“Good! Then let us waste no breath! Fire!”

The refit was completed in the nick of time—antiair cannons torn apart and forced into service as ground guns. But the jury-rigged mounts held poorly, and it was anyone’s guess if they’d last beyond a single volley. Another problem was the barrel. If it was depressed too far, the shells would simply tumble out before firing. There was a huge dead zone; anything close to the walls was beyond their reach. At best, they could strike the enemy rear. Not that they would fire on the front lines in the first place—splashing damage on their own gates would do the enemy’s work for them.

In any case, the makeshift cannons would have to do. They were never meant as more than a stopgap—a desperate measure to thin the horde before the breach.

The first volley rang out. The shells tore through the enemy’s back line, each blast scattering blackened bones, tearing down knight-type skeletons held in reserve. The mages—those cursed mages hammering at the gates—were too far forward, untouched. Even so, it was not in vain. Every skeleton shattered now was one less to pour through the breach when the gates gave way. And that might be the thread on which the city’s fate yet hung.

“One shot is all we got out of them after all?” the commander said. “So be it. Keep on— Oh, what now?!”

“Skeletons! Skeletons on the wall!”

“On the wall?! How did they get there?!”

“Agile ones! Scaled it from the outside while our men were fixed on the cannon refit!”

“Damn it! Can the wall defenders hold their own?”

“Not a chance, sir! Only our ammo technicians and gunners are up there! Ammo crafting and marksmanship won’t do them any good! And against skeletons, our bows have little effect!”

With no flesh to pierce, the effect of arrows against such a foe was minimal on the best of days. When they were juggernauts only knights with heavy swords and maces could damage, the situation was truly hopeless.

The dreaded call then came:

“The gate has been breached!”

“Then the cannons are finished. Send word to the walls—tell them to hold out as long as they can. Forget the cannons; waste no blood defending them! Heavy infantry—forward! Lock shields, hold the line! All others, strike from the flanks!”

Through the shattered gates, the black tide surged, a flood of bone and shadow crashing against the wall of shields drawn up along the grand avenue.

In side streets, squads of knights lay in wait, each led by a squad leader. When the mass pressed inward, they would cut in from the flanks, dividing the enemy in two. With the skeletal knights straggling in the rear and the enemy’s mages sitting awkwardly at the front, the plan was to isolate, overwhelm, and destroy before they could rally and regroup.

It was a plan that hinged more on a prayer than anything else at this point, but it was the best they had.

Compared with other nations, Portely fielded fewer knights. They were no strangers to fighting outnumbered, no strangers to braving monsters stronger than themselves. And never once had they flinched.

But this was different. These foes were weaker in raw strength, yet their hardened frames turned their weapons aside.

“Such...impossible creatures...” the commander muttered. “Where could they have come from?”

Weaker though they were, their blows still gouged and scraped the shields of the heavy infantry. Not enough to break them, not yet—but enough to wear them down. Fortunately, the phalanx could still rotate men, pulling the weary back, pushing the fresh forward, keeping the line intact.

For now, miraculously, the plan held. The flanking knights had carved the enemy in two, and slowly, the tide was thinning.

And yet—something strange was afoot.

Dark lumps began appearing on the ground, sudden and treacherous, tripping knights where they stood.

“What is that...?” the commander hissed. “Lumps of metal? From the skeletons? Then... They are no skeletons at all, but magical constructs. Golems, perhaps?”

The one leading Willrav’s defense was no mere officer—he was commander of the Fourth Knightly Order. In Portely, such a title marked the elite of the elite. On paper, he stood beneath the region’s lord, yet in war, any lord appointed to such a high post was wise enough to yield the reins to the knights in times of crisis. The youngest knight-commander in Portely was over a century old. This one had seen more than two. In those long years, he had faced beasts of every kind. Though rare in Portely, golems were known to leave behind lumps of stone or metal when struck down, their forms dissolving into nothingness.

And not only golems. Even the angels, when they descended upon the world, vanished upon death, leaving behind relics in their stead.

“The tide may be turning, but we cannot assume victory. Relay this to the watch posts. Let all know what we face.”

The black metallic lumps kept appearing, scattered across the streets as the enemy fell. If the rhythm held, annihilation of the enemy was only a matter of time. Fatigue was a concern, but each knight bore recovery potions. They were used sparingly for fear of their aftereffects, but today, of all days, no one in the Fourth would hesitate.

But then—the battle shifted.

“Commander! The heavy infantry!”

He snapped his head up just in time to see a wave of armored soldiers hurling skyward.

“What is... What just happened?!”

In his two centuries, never had he seen the heavy infantry broken so. Soldiers in full plate, their massive tower shields flung aside like toys.

At the fore of the black legion stood a figure: an old human knight, his frame still bearing the echo of the blow he had just delivered.

“Is that...their commander?” the elven officer breathed.

If he was the leader of this undead legion, then that was no doubt a type of undead as well.

But no, the commander caught himself. If those skeletons were actually magical creatures, then that knight...must’ve also been magical in nature.

Though, surely, that was the last thought he should’ve entertained as the line collapsed in front of his very eyes.

Their entire strategy had hinged on one certainty: These skeletal constructs, though resilient, lacked offensive might. That was why the plan had been to throw the heavy infantry against them, confident their shields would hold. But if even a single foe existed that could break their formation, the plan would collapse.

The legion was far from defeated; not even close. Black constructs still swarmed the streets, some now even standing triumphant atop the fortress walls.

And then the commander saw it—and despair set in.

“So much for a single hole in our defenses...”

It had not stopped with the first strike. Again and again, heavy infantry were hurled aside, the wall of shields collapsing in pieces. That first blow had broken more than armor. It had broken faith. The unshakable line was crumbling before his eyes, morale splintering with every crash. Never before had this happened to those hardened soldiers in all their years of service.

And then, to make matters worse, the enemy spellcasters who had shattered the gates had seemingly finished their cooldowns, and were readying another barrage. At the same time, the knight-types that had been held back were now rotating into the front lines, bolstering the enemy’s defenses.

This was precisely what the flanking maneuver had been meant to prevent. Yet one look showed the knights attempting the side attack had lost their momentum; their breakthrough was failing.

“I want an update!” the commander roared. “Where are my squad leaders? What are they doing?!”

“Unknown, sir! I don’t see them... Any of them!”

The commander’s eyes narrowed. The squad leaders should have been at the spearpoint of the flanks. Yet not one remained in sight.

“Don’t tell me...they were cut down by that old knight?!”

There was a distinct possibility. No one had marked the old knight’s presence until he’d hurled the heavy infantry skyward. If he had hidden himself among the constructs, striking down the squad leaders one by one—surgical blows to sever the command structure—then the collapse made sense.

“Has he been...going around cleaning up his subordinates’ messes for them?!” the commander snarled.

The thought curdled in his gut. These were monsters—filthy, uncivilized things. How could they employ such tactics? He wanted to shout it, deny it outright—but now was hardly the time.

His knights, his heavy infantry, were all falling. Their armor still held, their shields had not shattered, yet the relentless press of the enemy ground them down all the same. Every blow cost them another elf, and outnumbered as they were, the losses mounted.

Overhead, magic screamed through the skies.

The situation atop the walls fared no better.

This was the weakness of their overall strength, the flaw in their military strategy: There was too much faith put in a few squad leaders, too much power concentrated in too few hands. Once a single greater force appeared—one able to strike down that leadership—the whole structure collapsed.

Had they possessed, in kind, a strength of even greater measure, perhaps they could have swung the pendulum back the other way. But here, now, in this city, there was nothing left.

Once the knights fell, that would be it for the city. There would be nothing left standing between the monsters and the slaughter. At this point, it was only a matter of time.

“Sound the evacuation,” the commander ordered. “Tell the civilians to run. Even if it is already too late.”

He drew his blade, steel whispering from the scabbard.

“Commander...?” His aide faltered, eyes wide.

“There is no reason to remain here. The plan has failed. There is no alternative. Flee, and we are executed by the king. Stand, and we die here.”

He raised the sword in both hands.

“I know what choice I’m going to make.”

And so the command staff, the commander foremost among them, took up arms, and fought until they could fight no longer.

***

Upon hearing the latest reports, Wustersche sat frozen, his mind a blank, white canvas.

“Willrav...has fallen?”

Had it been the incompetence of the region’s lord? That of the knight-commander charged with its defense?

At this point, he could scarcely convince himself of either. The truth was likely harsher and far more bitter: The city had fallen because their foes wielded a strength beyond anything he had ever deigned to imagine.

“The last transmission from the Fourth’s commander spoke of the enemy leader, did it not?” Wustersche murmured.

With a single swing of its blade, it had cast multiple heavy infantry soldiers hurtling through the air. Then proceeded to do it again and again and again. Whether it could even be harmed by their weapons remained unknown, for it had slipped past every strike aimed its way. Not that that, of all things, mattered when his knights had yet to find an effective way to bring down the common foot soldiers, let alone the commander that led them.

From the reports, whether a Cataclysm walked among the foe remained inconclusive.

This was little solace. Be it the Seventh Cataclysm or some other abomination, it mattered little if they could lay waste to Portely all the same.

“Give the order,” Wustersche commanded. “Every town from Willrav to the capital is to evacuate at once. Even that fortress city has fallen. Any resistance we might muster along the way would be no more than water dashed upon a hot stone. Our stand must be made here, at the capital.”

“In the capital, sire?” the official asked carefully, then hesitated. “Shall we enact scorched earth?”

“Nay,” Wustersche snapped. “Be they undead or constructs, such creatures have no need for food or drink. Burning our own fields would avail us nothing. Prioritize the evacuations—we dare not lose our strength by losing more of our people.”

The door clicked shut behind the departing official. Wustersche slowly rose from his seat.

As the others worked to secure Portely’s future, there was something for him to do, as well.

“The artifacts...” he muttered. “I never thought it would fall to me to wield them.”

The one saving grace was that these foes, being undead or undead-like, should’ve been highly vulnerable to the effect of the artifacts.

Even if they were magical constructs of some kind, who but a being steeped in undeath would cloak themselves in the guise of skeletons? The same logic must apply to their commander.

“To hoard them and taste defeat would be folly. Very well... I shall bring out the strongest. Even if it shatters the balance of power with the other kingdoms... Bah. What meaning has balance now? Hilith lies in ruins, and an enemy of all civilization walks the land. If this is not an age of upheaval, then what is?”

His jaw tightened. “Even if we prevail here...what future awaits us beyond?”

The thought seared him: lowering his head before a human. Yet necessity pressed. He might have no choice but to seek Oral’s aid.

Oral was, in all likelihood, the most stable kingdom in all the continent at present. Already they had offered Portely’s bandit-raided towns grain and supplies at prices far too generous to be chance. Perhaps... Perhaps their regard was warmer than he had believed.

That, at least, was some measure of hope.

***

The enemy force marched unopposed along empty roads and through abandoned towns. Within days, they stood at the threshold of the Portelian capital.

Portely was a long, narrow country that stretched east to west. For an army striking from the north, the distance to its heart was short—shorter still for one that needed little food, water, or sleep. In truth, it was almost suspicious that it had taken them this long.

“I see...” Wustersche muttered, his eyes narrowing as he swept his gaze across the horizon. “So those are the black fiends...”

Four of the kingdom’s five remaining knightly orders had gathered to meet them.

The Second was the capital’s garrison. The Fifth had marched from the east, leaving behind their station at Piacere, where they kept the slimes of Lake Umidità in check. From the south came the Sixth, who manned the frontier at Aspen, guarding against the Verdant Sea. And then there was the First—the king’s royal guard.

Only the Seventh, stationed to the west, had not arrived in time.

According to their intelligence, many among the enemy ranks were casters, working in teams to serve as makeshift siege engines.

At Willrav, the tide had only turned after the defenders lured their foes into the narrow city streets, having been overwhelmed in the open field. But here, with so many knights at their disposal, such tactics seemed unnecessary. Even without walls hemming their quarry in, they had the numbers to encircle and destroy.

It had also been reported that active skills were the most effective tools at dispatching these creatures. As luck would have it, many within the ranks of those gathered today wielded such skills—especially the First, the king’s personal guard, where every member possessed them. The First were the best of the best, the cream of the crop. Not only were they powerful knights in their own rights, but some among them were even high elves.

Wustersche balked at the thought of turning his seat of power into a battlefield. Instead, he chose the grasslands beyond the city walls. Normally uncultivated pastureland, it would certainly be lost for that use once blood touched its soil. Arrangements would have to be made to deal with that loss. But that was a battle for another day. Today they would win the fight for their survival; tomorrow they could worry about the milk.

“With this strength at our back, defeat is unthinkable,” Wustersche murmured. “Total war... So it has come to this.”

If, at this very minute, the monsters of Lake Umidità or the Verdant Sea were to stir, the towns in their path would surely be lost. Their sacrifice would be remembered. But for now, nothing outweighed the defense of the capital—nothing outweighed the artifacts.

Already they had been placed along the walls, set in key positions. Should the unthinkable come to pass and the knights falter, they would withdraw behind the walls, to fight beneath the artifacts’ curse. That curse knew no friend or foe. Their knights, in drawing the enemy beneath it, would be scourged the same. Only the commanders, their deputies, and Wustersche himself were keyed to them and thus be spared.

To invoke the artifacts was to consume the very lifeblood of the realm. They were the kingdom’s might and its legitimacy made manifest. Every use diminished both by some measure. Yet better some than none.

Down the field, the enemy advanced in clattering ranks. Soon they would clash with the Second, arrayed squarely at the center. The Second would gradually give ground, slowly drawing their foes into the path of the Fifth and Sixth, where they would strike from the right and left flanks to encircle and destroy. The First remained at Wustersche’s side, his final safeguard.

Thus began the battle for Portely.

***

A while after the first clash of blades, the battle was unfolding much as Wustersche had planned.

The Second held firm at the center, the Fifth pressed in from the right, and the Sixth advanced from the left, steadily tightening the encirclement. The trap worked as intended, and the enemy line thinned—but only beneath the strike of active skills.

At first, Wustersche had struggled to believe that part of the report when he’d heard it. Now, seeing it with his own eyes, he knew it to be true.

He had expected the knights’ overwhelming numbers to crush the foe outright. That once the encirclement closed, the enemy would collapse. But these hardened fiends absorbed more punishment than anticipated.

With only active skills able to weaken them, the course of the battle rested in the hands of those few knights capable of using them—and in their ability to keep fighting without tiring.

The enemy’s magic remained a threat, but hemmed in on all sides, their casters could only loose spells in scattered bursts. Also, with the elves’ squad leaders locked in combat at the very front, the enemy mages could not target them effectively. Thus their sorcery struck with little effect.

There were casualties, yes, most among those forming the actual encirclement. Such losses were expected. Such losses could not be helped.

Wustersche almost allowed himself a smirk. “So where is this ‘singularly powerful’ enemy commander I’ve heard so much about? I see nothing of the sort.”

The battle was slow, but it was winnable. Given time, the enemy could be annihilated—and at less cost than he had initially feared. This was an existential crisis, and so he had come down from his palace to oversee the field himself. Yet what he saw left him disappointed.

Perhaps he should have stayed above. What need was there for his presence against this sorry lot? Though, he supposed, appearances were reason enough. Against even the shadow of a threat that might topple the kingdom, a high elf lord could not absent himself. If a city fell, it was its lord’s failure. If a kingdom fell, that failure was his. In that, Wustersche was no hypocrite.

The battle dragged on in steady rhythm—until, from the melee at the front, a lone knight broke free, clutching his chest as he ran this way.

A runner? They didn’t have a specified person for that; sometimes the nearest man was pressed into the role. Or a casualty? He held his chest as though wounded...yet still had the strength to run. Strange.

If this knight thought to shirk his duties in full view of his sovereign, he would be taught otherwise. Wustersche narrowed his eyes, trying to catch the man’s insignia. The knight’s hand fell from his chest. The crest came into view, but—

“My liege, get down! That’s the Fourth’s insignia! They fell to—”

The warning from his right-hand aid barely reached him before the knight blurred. One instant he was a dozen paces off. The next, he stood before Wustersche.

Had he lost focus? Gotten distracted? Impossible. Which meant only one thing: This knight had crossed that distance in an instant.

“Did I just catch him addressing you as ‘my liege’?” the strange knight said.

The helm masked much of his face, but he was no skeleton. He had flesh, blood, the weight of a living man. Armor on bone would have rattled differently.

But that voice...

Never had Wustersche heard a skeleton speak.

“What is the meaning of—”

“Gerade-Schneiden.”

Before anyone could react—Wustersche, the knights of the First—the figure in the Fourth’s armor brought his sword down in a vertical stroke. A flash. The shriek of riven air. In an instant, the formation of the king’s guard was split clean in two.

The strike had been aimed at Wustersche, but he had managed to dodge by a hair.

As king, he had ample opportunity to glut himself on EXP. As a high elf, proud of his own refinement, he had poured it into strengthening himself. Even though he lacked real combat experience, his raw stats had given him the speed to evade the strike.

Wustersche grimaced. “Royal Guard! Cut him down—he is no knight of ours!”

The guard closed in. They were Wustersche’s personal retainers, each of them seasoned and well-fed with EXP, their strength beyond that of squad leaders. Even if this man was the leader of the skeletons, these knights should’ve been able to crush him. As long as the Fourth’s commander’s report on his capabilities had been accurate.

“Drehung-Bahn.”

The words fell. The blade moved horizontally this time. And in the next instant the royal guards were cleaved clean across the waist, their bodies tumbling apart in a spectacle both horrific and undeniable.

These were no common soldiers. They were Portely’s finest—armed in the kingdom’s proudest armor, forged from an alloy of mithril and dark iron.

Mithril alone held great affinity for magic, but its high conductivity made it poor for armor. But blended with dark iron, while the conductivity was dampened, the hardness improved. Such techniques had been carried over from the old unified kingdom, when metallurgy had reached heights now half forgotten. Rumors spoke of armor finer still, but none remained in the present age.

The strongest armor Portely could field. And it had just been carved through in a single stroke.

What metal was that blade, to shear mithril and dark iron alike? What secrets lay hidden in the knight’s skill?

“I-It’s not over!” Wustersche stammered. “I haven’t fallen yet! If we can’t surround him, then—”

“So, you are the king. Then face a strike no man can escape. I’ll send you all to the heavens—Schwert-Meteor!”

That...can’t be real, Wustersche thought, his last one before death claimed him.

With the next swing of his sword, the knight seemed to call down a blazing mass crashing down from the very heavens. It struck where Wustersche stood, and in a breath, the command post vanished. The ground buckled. Stone, earth, and men were obliterated. When the dust cleared, nothing remained but a giant, smoking crater.

With their king’s death, the royal guard collapsed where they stood.

And when the knights at the front cared to look back, they realized that no one was left standing at their command post.

***

“Well done,” Diaz said, commending the adamanscouts on another well-executed job.

They stood amid the smoking crater where the elven command post had been, Diaz still in the guise of one of their knights, the scouts laying out the spoils of their raid—the artifacts.

The scouts had been dispatched a day ahead, ghosting through the city to mark and retrieve the artifacts. The main force had marched slowly by design, granting them this head start.

The relics were bulky. Diaz would have loved to stow them in his inventory, but here, in plain sight, he dared not reveal such power. Not with eyes all around, and his master’s secret at stake.

Some knights at the encirclement line had noticed—noticed the ruin where their command post once stood. But their strongest, those who posed a true threat to the scouts, remained pinned at the center, held there by the adamanknights. It would be some time before the elves broke free. Until then, Diaz need not be troubled.

“Now then. We take the palace,” Diaz ordered. “Her Majesty, our dark lord, may not have asked for the whole royal line, but thoroughness costs us nothing.”

The king lay dead already; the rest was gravy. But Diaz, never one to pass up a helping, would see the palace fall with his own hands.

The gates were barred. No matter. The scouts could scale them, and Diaz himself could run straight up the walls.

“Escape from us is impossible. We may not know each face of the royal blood, but most will be cowering in the palace. Kill everyone on sight, and those who try to flee. The adamanknights will hold the line long enough. You have your orders. Move.”

Chapter 4: As the Queen Wills

“According to Blanc, it should be around here somewhere,” Leah muttered, gliding through the open sky.

Originally, this was supposed to be a very busy week. Filled with flames and fire and burning and revenge as she took down the Kingdom of Portely for the transgressions they’d committed against her and her people. But...something had changed all that.

Not that she hadn’t wanted it. At first, she’d been filled with every drop of that searing vengeance, ready to fold the bastard who’d sucker punched her without so much as a hint of provocation.

Then she took a peek under the hood. Saw what was really happening. And realized it was nothing more than a case of mistaken identity. The enemy’s strike had been retaliation for a bandit raid. Of course, that had been nothing but pretext—the elves of Portely were fully looking for any outlet for their anger. It needn’t have been the true culprit behind it all: Lyla.

Sure, the enemy’s artifacts gave Leah some pause in leading the counterattack herself. But the real snag was finding out it was Lyla behind the whole mess.

It was just...a little hard to keep your blood up for revenge when you realize the Portelians were just the latest victims of your sister’s antics. In a way, they were kin now, the Portelians and Leah, and any grudge she might’ve harbored against them just sort of...fizzled out.

Then, with time to kill, Blanc had pinged her—something about these newt monsters. And with nothing better to do, she figured it was the perfect chance to get started on that dragon project of hers.

So here she was, soaring with Sugaru through the skies, headed for the spot Blanc had marked.

“Ah, that must be the river.”

Just as the outline of a town flickered at the edge of her Evil Eye, Leah spotted a wide river flowing below. It was wide enough that a lone humanoid would struggle to cross it unaided. The banks were thick with grass and trees, but farther out, closer to the road that led toward the town, the vegetation thinned and patches of bare bedrock showed through.

<There appear to be life-forms in the river,> Sugaru said.

“Sure seems like it,” Leah replied. “From the glow of their LP and MP, they don’t seem like much. Maybe they’re the newts we’re after?”

It was daytime, so Leah had her wings wrapped tight around her body to protect herself from the sun’s foul rays. She could still see just fine. Both Evil Eye and True Sight could be tuned to exclude herself from view. And since these were magical skills that were sort of global modifiers—much like how Flight worked across her whole body rather than just her wings—she could still perceive everything even with her physical eyes hidden.

Spell Fusion, however, by definition, required line of sight. So in this state, she couldn’t use it. If there was to be any combat, Sugaru would have to handle it herself.

“Okay. Let’s land.”

After a quick sweep to confirm the area was clear, they began their descent. It was just for caution’s sake. It wasn’t likely anyone would be here; Blanc had already wiped out all the nearby towns. The only possibility was players farming dungeons, and there was no reason they’d bother making their way out here where the dungeon was not.

They touched down by the bank. The shapes in the water didn’t so much as stir. Either their senses were dull, or—and this seemed more likely—they’d noticed and simply didn’t care.

“Neutral mobs, eh?” Leah mused.

<‘Neutral,’ boss?>

“Neutral. Like they’re nonaggressive. Just means like passive mobs that won’t attack you unless you attack them. You know what, it’s fine, you don’t need to know.”

Mana looked very different in water than in air; Leah could still make out the signatures, but only roughly, and switching to True Sight didn’t help much either. She slipped her wings open, just a peep, but with the sun directly overhead, the glare off the water hit her like a flash-bang. She shut herself back into her dark shell at once.

“Sugaru, can you drag one up on land for me?”

<At once, boss.>

Sugaru dove in without a hint of hesitation and soon resurfaced with her haul.

Sugaru had a passive called Aquatic. Whether that was because she was queen of all insects—including water-dwellers—or because the system lumped her in with all arthropods—prawns, crabs, and the like—was unclear. Either way, Sugaru moved in water as easily as she did on land.

The monster she pulled up was a hulking lizard-like creature. At nearly two meters long, it looked less like a newt or a salamander and more like a rough imitation of a crocodile. Appraisal labeled it a Hilithian newt. That “Hilithian” tag was interesting—if it carried a regional modifier, then chances were there were other kinds of newts out there tied to other kingdoms.

Only after having been unceremoniously dragged from its watery home by Sugaru did the creature seem to recognize it was in danger. It thrashed, deftly whipping its tail against her.

Needless to say, no damage was being done here.

Sugaru, for her part, seemed to understand the importance of this catch to Leah. She just stood there, taking the abuse in silence while the creature flailed and disrespected her.

“Talk about weak,” Leah muttered. “Feels like one-star trash at best. You’d think something this pathetic would’ve been hunted to extinction ages ago, but nope, still here.”

<These creatures were living at the very bottom of the river’s deepest reaches. Humans would struggle to hunt them, I imagine.>

If humans struggled to hunt them, then players would too.

So what was the point of them? From the countless LP signatures clustered along the riverbed, they were obviously prolific breeders. Usually, species that reproduced that heavily sat low on the food chain. Here, though, they almost seemed to be an invasive pest—something that had exploded in numbers because nothing was around to prey on them.

“Still, it’s hard to imagine someone deliberately bringing them here. More likely their natural predators up and vanished instead. Wiped out by some natural disaster... Or maybe cut off by a change in the terrain?”

Were there even records about something this small, tucked away in a corner of the natural world? Leah doubted it. She could spin theories all day, but speculation wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

If they bred fast, all the better for her. She could seed them through the forests of Lieb and Trae. With all that greenery, rivers, and open woodland, they’d probably thrive even more than they did here, anyway.

“At any rate, let’s retain everything we can. We can’t assume players won’t ever stumble upon this place. We’ll move some to Lieb, and the rest I’ll summon over to the World Tree clearing to run a few experiments.”

<Before that, might I suggest paying our respects to Lady Blanc? We’re but a stone’s throw away.>

“Good point. Let’s do that.”

***

“You could’ve told me if you were going to come over; I would’ve prepared something!” Blanc grumbled.

“Sorry. Just had some free time. And, you know, when you keep telling yourself you can drop by anytime, you just end up putting it off.”

Blanc, for her part, seemed to have embraced Ellental’s new status as a five-star dungeon. Unlike Leah’s setup—where her strongest monsters stayed cooped up in the boss chamber and the surrounding areas were tiered with weaker mobs for players to grind on—Blanc’s was five-star difficulty, all day, every day. Likely, this had been due more to necessity than not, since the skeletal ghidorah physically couldn’t fit inside the boss room.

To offset the exodus of customers fleeing her domain, she’d bumped up the difficulty of nearby Altoriva to three.

That was good news for Leah. More players, more variety of players, more traffic in the region meant more business for the pit-stop town her NPCs had built near the Safe Area.

“If you run into any trouble managing your dungeons, give me a shout,” Leah said. “What’s good for you is good for me, after all.”

“Thanks!” Blanc replied. “Oh, speaking of which! It’s not much of a thank-you, but the count said we could take some lizardmen. Wanna go check it out?”

***

Blanc accompanied Leah to show her where the lizardmen lived. There weren’t many yet, she explained, so it would be a huge favor if Leah didn’t take them all. Leah didn’t mind—just getting a few lizard-type monsters was already a big win.

“So, Lealea... About this new look...” Blanc ventured as their flight-capable party glided through the air.

“Just my way of protecting myself from the sun,” Leah replied. “Sunlight’s no good for me. But only on the parts that would count as ‘skin’ on a normal person. My wings are fine. This way, I don’t have to worry about sunburn, and I can still be out and about in the daytime.”

“Uh-huh. If you’re happy, then I’m happy, I guess.”

Blanc eventually brought her to the upper reaches of the same river from before, where a towering cliff face rose overhead. On its surface, a small fissure cut through the stone. Well, small in comparison to the sheer scale of the rock wall, but in all truth, it was probably large enough for a normal-sized human to easily pass through. From that fissure, the river’s source spilled forth.

“You see that opening?” Blanc pointed at the fissure. “I made it! That’s where I came out the first time when I destroyed all those towns!”

“Oh?” Leah hummed. “Then it’s a secret passage that’s chock-full of memories. But...look there. Aren’t those your lizardmen?”

There were what appeared to be several distinctly lizard-like, man-like creatures padding around the fissure.

“Holy cow, you’re right!” Blanc exclaimed. “Did they get outside because I opened the way for them?”

According to the story Blanc had told, the lizardmen had been living in an underground lake behind the cliff. Maybe they’d been trapped in there for who knows how long. Clearly, it hadn’t been their preferred habitat, else why else would they scramble to get out the first chance they got?

Looking closer, Leah noticed they carried Hilithian newts in their arms. Their food source, then? That would explain the mystery of the newt overpopulation. If the lizardmen had been their natural predators, being trapped behind a cliff wall would’ve left the newts free to multiply unchecked until they carpeted the riverbed.

“But why would the lizardmen have been trapped behind this cliff face in the first place?” she mused aloud.

“Beats me.” Blanc shrugged. “Maybe the whole highland suddenly rising out of the ground one day has something to do with it.”

“Wait, what? Is that real? It rose up?”

“Suddenly rose up. Suddenly.”

“In any case...”

Suddenly or slowly, either way, some massive shift in the land had happened here—not over geological timescales, but within observable history.

Had it been the work of some in-world entity? Or the devs? Who could say.

“The world’s a big place,” Leah sighed wistfully.

“Sure is,” Blanc agreed.

With that, they tamed the three lizardmen outside the cliff and brought them along as they ventured in.

***

The cave was dim inside, but far more spacious than Leah had expected.

“—so then, the lizardmen were about to turn into zombies, but because I declined the system message that was going to do it to them, they turned into skeletons instead!”

“You don’t say,” Leah hummed, intrigued. “So if you hadn’t, they’d have become lizardman zombies? I wonder—if we fused them, would that make a zombie dragon?”

“A zombie dragon!” Blanc’s face lit up, then faltered. “Mmm... But that’s still a zombie. And I already have Burgundy, so maybe I’m fine on dragons for now...”

“But just think about it. You could have Death’s Balm (Actually Stinky Version).”

“Ahh, no! Enough with the stinkiness, already!”

Their chatter carried them forward until the cavern opened into a vast chamber. An underground lake stretched before them—this must have been the one Blanc mentioned. The underground cave in Lieb had a lake too, but compared to this, that one was practically a pond. By the water’s edge stood several mounds of earth, raised into crude huts. That, it seemed, was the lizardman settlement.

“Guess we should check inside each of those mud huts,” Leah said.

“Is that...safe?” Blanc asked.

“In that case, you three,” Leah turned to the tamed lizardmen. “Go in, take a look, and bring back a few more of your kind.”

It wasn’t as if a few ambushes from lizardmen could actually harm her or Blanc at this point. But staying cautious cost nothing. And complacency crept in faster than people thought.

The tamed lizardmen went ahead to scout.

As it turned out, the settlement didn’t hold many adults, but plenty of juveniles. Most likely, the other adults were out hunting—probably the exact three they’d tamed outside the cave.

“I suppose we won’t take the juveniles,” Leah murmured. “Only once they reach a certain size. And we’ll leave a few adults behind to— Actually, scratch that. I’ll just tame all the adults, then leave a few here to watch over the children.”

Could you say, the humble beginnings of Lizardman Ranch?

“Ah, I see!” Blanc interjected. “I should’ve done the same thing! Instead, I just went and killed them all!”

“Uh, but if you tamed them, they’d turn into skeletons, right? Juvenile lizardmen being raised by the walking bones of their parents doesn’t exactly sound like a recipe for healthy development.”

Though, if the endgame was to groom them into a Queen of Destruction’s future dark generals, then maybe that wouldn’t be unacceptable...?

“Not just skeletons,” Blanc said. “I can also raise them into zombies, remember?”

“...If you truly think that’s an improvement, you really are something else, Blanc.”

At any rate, Leah had managed to secure a workable number of lizardmen and Hilithian newts. She’d left enough behind of both that their populations would bounce back in time. It did feel a little off that humanoid creatures could repopulate so quickly, but she figured it was just a gameplay adjustment. After all, a game where monsters took years to respawn wouldn’t exactly be practical.

“We’re not leaving any for Lyla. Is that okay?” Blanc asked.

“Should be. They’ll repopulate soon enough,” Leah said. “Besides, I’ve left plenty of newts outside. More than enough for Lyla to gorge herself on after we’ve left.”

That is, if she could even get here easily without the ability to fly.

“Though...suppose she could always take control of one of her human retainers, use the teleport service to Velstead, and just walk the rest of the way.”

“’Kay, then I’ll let her know?”

“Thanks. But tell her she sticks to newts only—lizardmen are still in short supply.”

“Okey dokey!”

***

After that, Blanc wrangled Leah into meeting the count, since he quite literally dwelled right there, above the underground lake.

“Hey, count! I brought a friend!” Blanc called cheerfully as they stepped inside.

“A friend?” the count said. “Why, ’tis the Queen of Destruction! Blanc, I would at least like some warning!”

“Hi...” Leah said awkwardly. “Sorry for dropping in unannounced. Really, my apologies.”

The count rose from his throne-like chair and came down to greet them.

It was the first time anyone had recognized Leah as a Queen of Destruction on sight. Even if he knew of Lords of Destruction, Leah never quite thought she looked the part. That he had picked it out immediately was...impressive.

“Not at all, not at all. You are most welcome here,” the count said warmly. “Might I ask—to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, it’s nothing much,” Leah replied. “We just happened to be nearby and thought we’d stop in. I figured it was about time I put a name to a face. You should know, Blanc’s always been such a joy to work with.”

“Please, the thanks is all mine,” the count replied. “We’re grateful you’ve been so patient with our Blanc and all the...energy she brings with her.”

“What is this, a parent-teacher house call?” Blanc cut in.

According to Blanc, the count was a veritable font of knowledge, and for that reason alone, Leah had wanted to make his acquaintance.

She watched as Blanc trotted to the corner of the audience chamber and summoned a zombie over. In most contexts, parking a stinky zombie in your mentor’s house would probably be considered harassment. Here, though, it was likely just her leaving a convenient marker for her to summon herself to.

Now, Leah would have loved to use this opportunity to add the count to her friends list. But she couldn’t quite convince herself it was wise to share something like that with an important NPC. With the devs’ silence on the subject, and the fact that no NPCs before her had shown awareness of it, she could only assume inventories, friend lists, and the like were not information meant to be spread across the game world.

The fact that she’d already been bending those rules on a small scale probably hadn’t gone unnoticed. She could only imagine the devs were watching quietly from the sidelines. Better not test her luck too much lest she get slapped with a penalty.

“First, I just wanted to make it clear—I have no intentions of making an enemy of you, my lord,” Leah said.

“‘My lord,’ please,” the count replied with a small shake of his head. “There’s no need for such formality. Not when you stand above me in rank, milady.”

“Milady?! Hey! Why do you sound like a completely different person when you’re talking to Lealea?! Where’s the arrogance, the haughtiness, the— Ow!”

The count gently removed his fist from her head, smoothing his sleeve as if nothing had happened. “All the same, it is a relief to hear you bear me no ill will at present. I’d be just as loath to see us cross blades.”

“Good, good,” Leah said. “But, speaking of crossing blades, I imagine there are all kinds of other factions out there. Are there any out there that you would consider friendly toward your vampiric kind?”

“Friendly, hmm...” The count touched his chin, weighing the question. “I cannot speak with certainty of lands beyond this continent. But here, at least, no two powers remain allies forever. Alliances form and dissolve as circumstances demand. That is simply the way of those who live beneath the world’s watchful eye.”

“The world’s watchful eye?” Leah raised a brow.

“When a being with the potential to grow into something extraordinary is born,” the count explained, “a kind of...announcement is sent forth. To hear it requires a certain skill—one I, regrettably, do not possess. But among humankind, and even some highly intelligent monsters, there are those who specialize in such things.”

In other words, the announcements captured by the skill Mysticism?

It would make sense, Leah thought, that people raised in such a world—where global proclamations could be heard—would feel as if they were under the gaze of some higher power.

“However, there have been exceptions,” the count went on, his tone taking on the air of one reciting from memory. “In those dark days, when the golden dragon—Draco Aureus—came crashing down from beyond the skies at the world’s northern reach, every power upon the land set aside their quarrels. Together, they sealed it away, binding it behind an impenetrable barrier known as the Crystal Wall.”

“The Crystal Wall, hmm...” Leah hummed. “Is that some kind of skill?”

“I am inclined to believe so,” the count replied. “But the one who wove it—the Thearch, that holy queen herself—laid it down with her final breath, and the details were lost with her. Still, Thearchs are a race renowned for their gifts of defense and protection. I would not be surprised if they possessed some art unique to them, a skill meant for that very purpose.”

He paused, as if weighing the limits of his own knowledge, then added:

“I cannot say by what mechanism this occurs, but to break or dispel the Crystal Wall would require proof of power from those who lent their mana to its casting. That is, the Fey King, the Insect Queen, the Emperor of the Depths, the Therionarch, our sire—the True Vampire—and, of course, the Thearch.”

Now that was a sharp turn Leah hadn’t expected this bit of small talk to take. The way the count spoke, it sounded almost like he was listing the unlock conditions for some endgame raid.

In other words, to challenge the raid boss—the golden dragon, Draco Aureus—one would first need to meet, defeat, or claim something from the entities the count had named.

“But...some of them are already deceased...” Leah murmured.

The count shifted. “Again, I must emphasize: Only the Thearch herself knew the full particulars. Yet my own supposition is that any being with a sufficiently similar ‘attunement’ would serve in their stead. Were another Thearch to be born, for example...”

Leah had to admit, this was the first time she’d heard of a “Therionarch.” None of the lore speculation threads on the forums had ever mentioned them as part of the Six Great Cataclysms. Then again, neither the Fey King nor the Thearch had shown up in those discussions either.

Suppose, then, that these entities didn’t already exist in the world but were roles players themselves were meant to ascend into. In that case, the most likely starting point would be the Fey King. Raise an elf or dwarf to the pinnacle of their race, and one might well produce such a being. Considering the devs’ intent, then Thearch and Therionarch would almost certainly be their own “pinnacles” as well. Going by etymology, Therionarch would almost certainly be the end-form of beastfolk, and so, by process of elimination, Thearch would be the summit of humankind.

In other words, through sheer powering up or by guiding a civilized kingdom to greatness, one could bring forth one of these Harbinger-class figures. And from there, the path was simple: win their allegiance—or defeat them outright—to claim the keys needed to unseal Draco Aureus.

Now, the elves of Portely might once have been the strongest candidate to give rise to a Fey King, but unfortunately...Leah had just orchestrated their downfall. While her orders to Diaz had been merely to kill the king, knowing Diaz, his hatred of the Six Kingdoms might well push him to wipe out the entire royal line. If so, then Portely was lost as a potential source for one of these mythical beings—and Leah might as well strike it off her list.

Backtracking from that a little, there were still two of the Six Great Cataclysms that hadn’t been given any role in unlocking Draco Aureus. If we were counting it as Seven Cataclysms, that technically made three jobless losers, but setting that aside for now...

The count gave a thoughtful hum. “Though, now that I reflect on it, there is yet another faction that stands apart as an exception aside from Draco Aureus. The Archangel, who stalks the skies above this continent, has always been hostile toward all other powers.”

“Do you know why?” Leah asked.

“I am afraid I do not,” the count said with a slow shake of his head. “It, like the other, was born only recently.”

“The other?”

“The Archdemon that resides in the wealds of the southern continent. Though, the Archdemon does appear to predate the Archangel, if only slightly. And likewise dissimilarly, it does not attack everything it rests its eyes upon.”

Archangel and Archdemon. From the names alone, Leah could easily imagine some link between them. More likely than not, they were split along the same axis as Queen of Destruction and Fey King. Which meant they were two branches of the same origin race—evolutions on opposite ends of the spectrum. And if both had only appeared recently, then perhaps they weren’t native to this world at all. Maybe they simply hadn’t been around when Draco Aureus first descended.

“Humans, elves, dwarves, and beastfolk all have roles to play in unlocking the endgame,” Leah murmured. “Among playable races, we’ve also got skeletons and goblins, but—setting those aside—there’s exactly one left.”

The race of magical creatures she’d once tried to create through Alchemy but had never cracked the recipe for. No doubt it required pushing Alchemy to some pinnacle she hadn’t yet reached. A “young” race, indeed. “The homunculus,” Leah said. “Picking that race gave you no advantages, only drawbacks. Worse, if anyone recognized you, you’d be treated as a monster. It was basically hard mode. Honestly, playing as a skeleton looks easy by comparison.”

Though maybe she shouldn’t put it that way. Skeleton and goblin players didn’t exactly have it easy either. Considering Blanc had originally spawned in Sugaru’s cave, it was probably more accurate to say monster players in general were on hard mode—while homunculus players were stuck on insanity mode.

Homunculi were said to resemble human children, yet were treated as abominations. Civilized races attacked them on sight if they figured out the truth, and monsters went after them too thanks to that humanlike appearance. A true hard mode—alone against the world, with everything and everyone marked as hostile, and not even a scrap of bonus EXP to show for it.

Leah had never seen a homunculus, either in game or on the forums, so their numbers had to be vanishingly small. But if they were the race with potential to evolve into angels or demons, their value was beyond measure. If that fact ever leaked out, the paid rebirth item the devs had introduced would be flying off the shelves.

Leah looked at Blanc. “Let’s not go around telling just anyone what we learned here today.”

Blanc blinked. “Sure. But that’s easy—I don’t really talk to anyone besides you and Lyla.”

Leah gave her a wry sort of smile. “Right.”

All in all, this had been an unexpectedly enlightening visit. What began as a casual meet had turned into a full-on discussion of future events. And not just with anyone—but with the count himself, who by now Leah could only think of as this continent’s progression capstone.

He was no doubt the wall you had to clear if you wanted information about what lay beyond this continent, only volunteered to those who were ready to step into the true endgame. He was a wall Leah had, in a sense, skipped over entirely.

Though, perhaps that wasn’t quite right either. If the real requirement was earning the count’s recognition—through combat or otherwise—then maybe Leah had simply grown strong enough to meet that condition. She had become someone worthy of his respect. And that was why he had revealed what he did today.

“Thanks for everything today, count,” Leah said. “You’ve given me a lot to chew on.”

“I am simply glad if my words proved useful,” the count humbly replied. “And gladder still to have made your acquaintance.”

“By the way,” Leah added, her eyes narrowing a touch. “You’ve volunteered quite a lot of...actionable information here. What would you do if, after hearing all this, I decided to try and revive Draco Aureus?”

At that, the count lowered his gaze, a soft chuckle escaping him. “I would do little, truth be told. Even if you knew the method, there is no one alive at present with the power to break its seal. And should someone exist who could... Then that same one might well have the power to renew the seal—or to slay the beast outright.”

He lifted his eyes to the horizon.

“With the Fey King gone, none can say how long the Crystal Wall will endure. The world hangs in a sort of...ambiguity. If there were one who could resolve it, I would welcome it—even knowing it might bring about a greater calamity.”

“And you think that someone is me?” Leah asked.

The count turned back to her, his expression steady. “Yes. You—or any other of your kind.”

Yet the count’s gaze didn’t quite rest on Leah. It drifted through her, touched on Blanc, then stretched somewhere past them both.

“Your kind,” Leah thought. He must have meant players. If he truly was the most important NPC on the continent, the devs had surely planted in him some awareness of players—subtle enough not to break his role, but there all the same.

“I will certainly try my best,” Leah said after a pause. Then, softening, “Okay. Well, I probably shouldn’t overstay my welcome, but thank you for continuing to support Blanc at home.”

The count inclined his head with a faint smile. “No, no, I should be thanking you. I know she can be a handful. We are grateful for your patience with her.”

“Seriously, is this a parent-teacher conference?”

***

The sun was already setting by the time Leah emerged from the count’s castle; clearly, she’d stayed longer than expected.

Parting ways with Blanc in midair above the castle, she scooped up Sugaru—who had been waiting patiently—and the two of them set off back toward Trae.

All in all, a very productive meeting. Sure, some of what she’d taken away was her own speculation woven in with the facts, but so what? This was a game. What was a game without a little theorycrafting?

Leah was practically buzzing at the possibilities laid out before her.

She wanted so badly to beat the other players to the punch, reach the Crystal Wall first, and unleash the golden dragon. If all it took was members of the same race, she already had her stand-in for the Queen of Insects. On that front, she was at least a step ahead of everyone else.

Of course, unsealing the golden dragon would amount to unleashing the world’s doom upon it, but—

That did sound deliciously Queen of Destruction-like, didn’t it?

And no, this wasn’t revenge just because Queen of Destruction had been left out of the official endgame unlock conditions.

***

Upon returning to Trae, it was straight to work running a few experiments.

“Glad I left this clearing here,” Leah said. “I can dive right in.”

She’d only brought five lizardmen with her, so she started by powering them up as much as possible.

Feeding one a greater philosopher’s stone brought up two options: Dragonkin and Dragonborn. Since Dragonborn carried an EXP requirement, it was clearly the higher evolution. Considering how Spartoi and Dragonsteeth had emerged as evolutions of lizardman skeletons after being given Blanc’s blood, the Dragonkin were likely equivalent to Spartoi, while Dragonborn matched Dragonsteeth, just donned in flesh. Or maybe it was the other way around—the Spartoi and Dragonsteeth were just no-flesh, undead Dragonkin and Dragonborn.

Either way, there was no point in stalling at Dragonkin. Leah pushed them all to Dragonborn. The change was immediate. Dragonborn stood a head taller than lizardmen, their builds bulkier, their muscles thicker. A pair of horns swept back from their skulls, and their claws had grown heavy and vicious looking. Now, if Leah had, say, twenty-five more lizardmen to work with, she would’ve gone ahead with the next step. But with only five, rushing things now would only shortchange her later.

So, what to do? Wait for the lizardmen to repopulate? Problem was, she’d already given their location to Lyla. And since this was supposed to be a mutually shared information deal, it was only fair to let Lyla have her pick before Leah came back for seconds. Which meant it could be a while.

“So, to adapt...maybe I’ll try tossing a few newt-y boys into the mix.”

She decided to experiment with Rebirthing some newts. If they turned out more lizard- or dragon-like, they’d make decent fusion fodder. If not, she could always expand the underground lake under Lieb and dump them there. No harm done either way.

She grabbed one, fed it a greater philosopher’s stone, and it evolved into a—

“Salamander! Technically, a Hilithian salamander, but still, very cool. Though seriously, is this ‘Hilithian’ tag just gonna stick forever?”

No doubt, this was the classic fantasy salamander—the fire-aspected kind you saw everywhere in fiction. Strictly speaking, though, newts were already a type of salamander in real life. A newt “evolving” into a broader category of itself made no sense. But this was a video game, and clearly the devs were leaning on the fantasy-fire connection.

“But...no. If that were the case, these wouldn’t be Hilithian salamanders, would they? Same vibe as ‘Mexican salamanders.’ This is definitely just a regular amphibian. And since I used a greater stone with no branching options...is this the end of the line? Or are there some criteria I’ve yet to fulfill?”

For now, she went with the system prompt and Rebirthed the Hilithian newt. As expected, it simply became a larger version of itself—darker skin, nearly three meters long, its bulk more crocodile-like than anything. But one look at its smooth, featureless face and round, guileless eyes, and whatever intimidation its size might have carried instantly evaporated.

Maybe the requirement holding the newts back had to do with magical skills? She could experiment, sure, but if she started down the wrong path, it’d cost her a lot of time and EXP.

In fact...no. There was no reason she needed to handle this herself. Unlike her early days with the ants in Lieb, she had powerful, loyal allies now.

Yes... This was the perfect job for Lyla. Slip her a philosopher’s stone or two, point her toward the newts, and let her handle all the trial and error.

For the moment, though, her best lead was still the Dragonborn. They were closest in affinity to dragons, clearly; perfect for one last little test.

She had five Dragonborn in total. Blanc’s ghidorah had three heads, and Leah really wanted one of those, so she’d save three for that purpose, and work with the remaining two.

“Philosopher’s Egg. Now, I’ll need three of you to stay put. The rest of you—”

Apparently taking that as a direct order, two Dragonborn immediately rushed to the egg and got swallowed whole.

“Eager, are we? Well, no matter.”

The important thing was they went inside. Which meant fusion was on the table.

Next came the tedious work of feeding each Hilithian newt a philosopher’s stone and tossing them into the egg. The first went in smoothly—apparently, salamanders worked just fine as filler for the fusion process.

One after another, the ritual continued, seemingly without end. Finally, when Leah counted thirty, the twenty-ninth salamander bounced off the egg and flopped to the ground.

That made twenty-eight salamanders plus the two initial Dragonborn: thirty entities total, the same number that had fused into Blanc’s ghidorah. The egg itself had also swelled to about the same size, further fueling expectations.

Leah lobbed in a greater philosopher’s stone, invoked Athanor, and watched as the mass of lizards dissolved into that familiar rainbow glow.

Well—“lizards.” Leah knew full well that nothing she’d just sacrificed was taxonomically a lizard.

Also, it didn’t seem to matter that the creatures thrown into the egg had just recently undergone Rebirth with a philosopher’s stone. Like, there wasn’t a cooldown between Rebirths or anything of that sort. Maybe the egg didn’t check for that; just to see if whatever was being thrown in there was valid fusion material.

As a final flourish, Leah added some of her own blood. If there was any chance of branching paths, she’d definitely prefer the one that leaned more Queen of Destruction.

“Activate: The Great Work.”

<<Your retainer has met the conditions for [Rebirth].>>

<<Spend 800 experience points to [Rebirth] into “Amphisbaena”?>>

“Hell yes, Rebirth into the amphisbaena!”

Amphisbaena, if Leah recalled correctly, was that mythological serpent with a head at each end. But the egg had just fused Dragonborn with a heap of amphibians—nothing remotely snakelike. She supposed she could live with it if the game was going by the latter-day interpretation of amphisbaena as a dragon.

Sure enough, what burst snapping and snarling from the crystal cocoon moments later was a massive, two-headed dragon. Its scales shone black, fading to a dangerous red at the extremities—wing tips, claws, horn tips, and the like. Its neck split cleanly into two, forming a pair of heads, and even its tail forked into two distinct ends.

“Amphisbaena usually has heads at both ends of the body, if I remember correctly. Looks like the game does it differently.”

Stat-wise, the amphisbaena outclassed the skeletal ghidorah overall, the one exception being LP. Ghidorah boasted higher VIT and STR, but the amphisbaena made up for it with stronger INT, MND, AGI, and DEX. As for skills, it lacked the passive rot aura that a ghidorah carried. Honestly, that was a relief; it would’ve been a pain to work that into her broader forces.

But that didn’t mean it came without any special AoE skills of its own.

It came equipped with Toxic Breath and Plague Breath, two separate AoE breath attacks that ghidorahs did not have. The tooltips were self explanatory. One was a poison breath, the other, of sickness.

“On top of that, you also have Flight and Skyrunning. Maybe all dragons just come with those by default.”

Interestingly, it also had Unarmed Combat. When that had shown up was anyone’s guess, but Leah had understood it as a bonus to accuracy and damage when fighting without weapons. Did that mean it extended to fangs and claws too? If so, then for characters with especially sharp claws or fangs, their melee attacks might pack more of a punch than the numbers alone would suggest.

“Ugh, I wanna test that out. Same with the breath attacks. Can the Archangel hurry it up already?”

If Leah’s theory about the angels—based on what the count had told her—was right, then they were magical creatures. Which meant, like the adamanknights, there was a good chance they wouldn’t leave corpses behind when slain, but some kind of item instead. Test out her new upgrades, that of her minions, and learn more about the angels themselves—there was so much Leah had to look forward to at the next event.

One point in particular never left her attention—the apparent weakness of the angels, ranked at only two stars.

In the context of the Six Kingdoms’ military power, that rating was probably fair. If the angels had been any stronger, the human kingdoms—who relied on numbers more than raw strength—might’ve collapsed under the threat. And, considering this was an in-game event meant to drag in players of all levels without giving them a choice, this did feel like the only way to make sure lower-level players could still feel included.

That said, for the sake of global balance, the devs sure seemed to have thrown higher-level players under the bus. For anyone already farming places like the Old Hilith Capital or Neuschloss, two-star mobs would barely even register as a speed bump. With the event’s EXP bonus applying to all activities, Leah figured those players would just double down on their usual dungeons—maybe even push into harder ones, now that the death penalty had been relaxed.

“So the angels are just for the new players, and everyone intermediate or above just treats this as a bonus EXP season?”

Whether or not that was the devs’ actual plan, that’s certainly how the playerbase would take it. When the time came, Leah would have two priorities: repelling the angels, as expected, and entertaining her “guests,” as always.

“In other words, it’s going to be a three-way battle in my dungeons.”

The fact that the death penalty couldn’t be adjusted for her was a little unfortunate. But the thought of more players tiptoeing into her dungeons—spurred on by their reduced penalty and the promise of bonus EXP—more than made up for it.

As before, this would be a time when player activity hit a fever pitch.

Some might even get bold enough to come after her directly.

“How could I not be excited? But first, I really need to wrap up the Portely situation. Diaz should be wrapping things up by now, but he hasn’t checked in. If I check in myself, though, that’ll make me the micromanaging boss who doesn’t trust her subordinates, won’t it? I’ll be patient a little longer.”

***

“Your Majesty, I cannot begin to apologize for the depth of my failure...”

“Huh? What happened, Diaz? Did the king get away?”

The Hilithian royal castle. With word that he was ready to return, Leah summoned Diaz before her. No sooner had he appeared than he dropped to one knee.

“No, Your Majesty. The king lies slain. Yet...through my negligence, his bloodline still endures.”

“Oh. Pish. That’s what this is all about?”

After Diaz had destroyed the enemy command post, he and the adamanscouts scaled the walls and stormed the royal palace. They butchered the elves and high elves within, but one had already slipped away—the first prince, heir to the fallen king.

“Though it is strange that he would have fled before you even arrived,” Leah mused. “I mean, how could he have known you were coming when the plan was nothing but a thought in your head?”

She hummed in thought.

“What does that mean? That this princeling decided to take a stroll in the capital, regardless of how the battle beyond the walls might turn?”

“When a city comes under siege,” Diaz said, “it is only natural that its rulers retreat to the palace, where they are most easily protected. To be wandering the streets amid the battle raging not a stone’s throw away... Perhaps the young prince’s faith in his father and their knights was absolute?”

Leah made a face. Faith or not, if the city was under attack and the king himself had left the palace to lead the defense, then common sense dictated that the first prince remain within those walls. Someone needed to hold court in his stead—to be ready, should the king fall.

Yet to be drawn from his post despite that... What errand of such gravity, what matter of such importance, outweighed the duty to be where his people needed him most? Was it simply that this princeling had never borne the sense of duty at all?

“This almost seems to me,” Leah began, “to be a case of somebody who wanted nothing to do with politics in the first place. I mean, who knows? Maybe he simply hated the idea of inheriting the throne. The king was still spry enough to take the field himself, so it’s not like the succession was looming over him. Maybe the prince just hadn’t come to terms yet with his role. Well...like it or not, he will have to now.”

“So, by shirking the very duties that should have bound him, he alone was spared,” Diaz said, his words edged with grim irony.

“Or maybe not. Who knows? It’s possible he really did have some business of extraordinarily pressing nature in the city.”

Diaz looked bitter, but all things considered, the situation was not at all unfavorable. The goal had been met—the king had been punished with death—and though Diaz might scorn the loose end, the royal line had been reduced to a single prince. Given the elves’ slow rate of reproduction, that was likely how it would remain for some time. Portely’s population had always been small owing to their famously low fertility, as the game’s official website had noted.

Considering Leah had just imagined Portely as a potential birthplace for a Fey King, this wasn’t a bad outcome at all. Leave the princeling alive, see what came of it... It didn’t hurt to keep another option on the table.

“All in all, I’d call it a job adequately done. The hammer’s fallen on Portely.” She shifted. “Now, on to the next part of your report: the assessment of the adamant squad’s performance.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Diaz said. “On this mission, I must admit—the adamanknights’ defense was flawless. But that is the only time I will use that word. In offense, in evasion, in anything beyond simply absorbing a blow...they fall woefully short.

“Their new adamant weapons are devastating when they strike true. Yet that is precisely the problem—those strikes land far too rarely. Against seasoned foes, glancing blows, dodges, and parries are to be expected. Worse, the knights’ faith in their weapons makes them careless. For the reason their blades can cut through anything, they grow complacent. Their swings slow, telegraphed.

“The same holds for evasion. They are so used to their near-invulnerability against common attacks that they scarcely bother to dodge. So when a powerful skill does come their way—as it inevitably will—they take the blow cleanly, and fall in battle for it.”

Leah considered this. “So what you’re saying is, they’re careless. You want to discipline them. Drill some prudence into them.”

“Not exactly. Discipline has its place, yes—but training alone would be slow. Far more efficient to grant them EXP, to raise their strength directly. With greater speed, they can evade cleanly and strike accurately. With sharper minds, they can read their foes, adapt on the fly, even predict attacks before they come. Yes...a generous helping of EXP will serve them better than any boot camp ever could.”

Huh. Raising one’s stats to brute-force past the enemy and any overconfidence on their own part—now where had Leah heard that one before?

Like master, like retainer, I suppose, Leah thought, not without a touch of amusement.

Still, Diaz wasn’t wrong—the EXP dump would be far easier for her to do.

“All right, Diaz, you’ve made your point. That said, I’m not exactly liquid enough to cover the entire adamant squad right now. I just came off a big spending spree, after all. Well, it’s not like I have any urgent plans for them. We can hold off until after the next event and rake in the gains first.”

If the angels’ alleged difficulty could be trusted, the adamant squad—even as they were now—would be more than sufficient to deal with them.

“There is one other matter,” Diaz said. “It will not become a problem for some time yet, but we have not recovered all the adamas chunks dropped in Portely. Some remain there and will certainly be reused by the populace.”

“I assumed as much from the start,” Leah replied. “It’s no problem. Compared to gaining a few scraps of metal, losing their king—and by extension their royal guard—is a far greater blow. You said it yourself: The royal guard were leagues above their regular knights. Sure, they can forge the arms and armor again as long as they have the skills. But producing the talent to wield them? That’s another matter entirely.”

The elves of Portely drew their strength from their long lifespans. But that same trait was also their weakness. Fewer deaths meant fewer births.

A tragic, sudden loss of talent would take time to rebuild.

And right now, it wasn’t even certain they’d have that time—before something else entirely consumed them from the outside in.

To explain, Leah only had to consider what Portely’s remaining strategists would do now that their king and ruling class were gone.

It wasn’t hard to imagine. Portely’s only neighbors were Hilith and Oral. Hilith was no longer a legitimate country like the other two, which meant it was really only Oral.

Under the threat of an enemy right next door that could decapitate their leadership at will, it was hard to imagine any fledgling monarch of Portely being able to rebuild alone. If tomorrow the same thing happened and the king was killed again, then that really would be the end of their kingdom. To stave off that fate, they would need to turn to Oral for help.

Oral, the good samaritan. Oral, the country that had provided them grain and provisions below market rate during their bandit crisis. The people, if not the rulers, would easily mistake their intentions as friendly, and thus lean on them for their rebuilding efforts.

Whether they liked it or not, Oral would become instrumental in that regard.

At first, this might seem tolerable—so long as they still had coin to spend. But the longer it went on, the faster their reserves would drain. Dependence would grow. And once that money was gone, Lyla’s design would enter its final stage.

Total economic domination.

After all, that had been her aim from the start—ever since she’d revealed at the tea party her plan for attacking Portely with fake bandits to force trade. Leah could just imagine Lyla approaching the Portelians and saying, Hey, look at all this food you’re getting from us. You don’t need those orchards. Why not put that land toward something more profitable—for us? We’ve done so much for you already.

Portely would be nudged into producing a cash crop—something lucrative, but not life-sustaining. If Leah were the one choosing, it would be cotton or rubber. Or, still food-related but nonessential: spices, oil palm, coffee, cocoa. Assuming the game even had something like those. By then, even if Portely realized the trap and tried to claw free, it would already be too late. Their food self-sufficiency would have collapsed. Their economy would hinge entirely on selling agricultural goods to Oral. And where else could they turn? Their only other border touched Hilith.

Portely had burned that bridge; their late king had personally seen to it. Even if they reached farther afield into Hilith, found some new towns to engage with, who there would trust a nation that had butchered its neighbors over an excuse as flimsy as banditry?

All roads led to the same end. Portely would become Lyla’s prize. Worst case, Queen Cecilia of Oral might end up not just puppet ruler of her own country, but sovereign over Portely as well. Whether the game system allowed such a union aside.

“To Lyla, Portely’s attack must have seemed like an unexpected blessing. There was no way she could have foreseen something like that happening to accelerate her plans.”

Oral’s fate was already sealed. It hardly mattered how much adamas this dying country managed to gather.

“Anyhow, I suppose that settles all the loose ends before the event,” Leah said.

Diaz shifted. “There is...one last matter, Your Majesty. Nothing urgent, but worth mentioning.”

“Oh? Go on, then. No sense holding back now.”

“We managed to recover another fragment of the Fey King’s legacy before the enemy commander could make use of it. Please—this is for you.”

A large something appeared before Leah, pulled straight from Diaz’s inventory.

“What is th— Oh! A Fey King’s Heart! One of the artifacts!”

The Fey King’s Heart. The very same artifact that scrappy band of players had once used to bring Leah down. She recognized it by name because the former Hilithian chancellor, Douglas O’Connell, had called it such—back when the Hilithian king had authorized its use against her.

“What is it with royals?” Leah muttered. “The first hint of danger on their doorstep, and their answer is to throw their mightiest weapon onto the board. Decisive. Maybe even too decisive for a lot who’ve never fought a real war in their lives. But perhaps it fits. The bloodlust runs true enough in their veins. These are the heirs of usurpers, after all.”

The Heart was the most powerful kind of cursed relic the Fey King had left behind. Leah had confirmed that much during her “investigative delve” into Oral’s royal treasury. Hilith’s Heart was gone—spent on her. Oral had only the one. Which made it seem safe to assume each kingdom possessed only a single Heart. Meaning, by losing theirs on the battlefield, Portely had just forfeited a vast measure of its sovereign strength.

“I failed to pilfer the Heart from Oral, so this is huge,” Leah said. “Diaz, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Your Majesty.” Diaz bowed his head humbly.

If Diaz had stolen it, that meant the elves had carried it onto the battlefield, intending to use it. How he had pulled that heist off was a question burning at the back of Leah’s mind.

“There’s still some time before the event begins,” Leah said. “So how about it, Diaz? Not the dry report—give me the epic version. The whole saga of the exploits of Diaz the Wretched.”

Chapter 5: Ripple Effect

[IN-GAME EVENT] Large-Scale Defensive Campaign [THREAD]

0001: Amatain

Alright, the third event is here. Figured it was time for a thread.

What we know so far:

Attacks will be coming from the skies.

Everyone’s a target. (Doesn’t matter your kingdom, race, human/monster, etc.)

The event runs for 1 real-life week or 10 in-game days. (Same as last time.)

EXP gains during the event: +10%. (Same as last time.)

Death penalty: instead of EXP loss, it’s a 5% reduction to all stats for 1 hour. (Same as last time.)

Dedicated event forum will be open. (Same as last time.)

Enemy strength looks to be 2★ equivalent.

New: you can choose to stay anonymous on the scoreboard.

If I missed anything, drop it here and I’ll keep this list updated.

0002: Anonymous Elf

Thanks for starting the thread.

0003: Alonson

Yeah, thanks. I was just about to press submit on my own thread lol.

0004: Mentai-list

Attacks from the skies. That’s gotta be the Archangel coming down from its citadel, huh? Here comes another Cataclysm.

0005: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Says everyone’s a target. I wonder if that even means the Seventh. Or is there some sort of “you’re a cataclysm, you’re cool,” thing going on?

0006: Kuraaku

From the way the announcement phrased it, I would assume even Cataclysms would clash if they ran into each other...

But the seventh cataclysm is the white one with the wings, right? Does that sound kinda angelic or what?

0007: Sonote Atataka

It’s missing an angel’s trademark halo though.

Instead it has these yellow horns.

0008: Mentai-list

Weren’t they gold?

0009: Wayne

In any case, the seventh has plenty of dungeons under its control in Hilith. We just have to wait and see if the Archangel will attack there, right?

0010: Amatain

Yup.

But if the Archangel and number seven did join forces and attack together, what would we even do?

0011: Anonymous Elf

The 2-star difficulty gives me pause too. The Archangel, maybe. But the seventh?

0012: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

I feel like the devs would’ve worded it as “forces from heaven AND earth” if that were the case.

0013: Gealgamesh

Ya guys think if there’s gonna be a face-off between the Archangel and number seven, it’s gonna happen in Hilith?

0014: Clack

That would be SICK i’m omw to Hilith right now to watch that go down.

0015: Zekio

>>0011 tbh this is a blessing in disguise for casual players, the 2-star rating.

0016: Amatain

>>0011 >>0015 Considering there might also be quests for us to protect townsfolk, this makes sense, or else it’d be way too difficult for them to survive.

0017: Monkey Dive Sasuke

I don’t think we gotta worry about the NPCs.

Talked to this old dude in Hilith. Said the angels have attacked them many times over.

...

...

0051: Crystal Princess

Hey, did the event already begin? Or rather, when did the last one end?

0052: Arafubuki

Hello, Rip Van Winkle.

0053: Crystal Princess

I’m serious

0054: Miso Soupn’t

>>0053 So are we.

0055: Clack

Third event starts next week

Second event ended over a month ago.

Why?

0056: Crystal Princess

The town I was in suddenly got attacked and destroyed by skeletons!

You’re all telling me that wasn’t part of some event???

0057: Gealgamesh

Hey, calm down. What town?

0058: Mariwolf

>>0057 Willrav, in Portely.

I was also there, but there were just so many of them.

The official knights couldn’t even stop them. So what could we have done?

0059: Anonymous Elf

A town in Portely got destroyed? How?

Portely, the country where their NPCs, their elite knights and nobles are all stronger than your average player?

0060: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Yeah. And because of it, they all act like they’re better than you. Snobby knobheads, the NPCs of Portely are.

So much more authentic here in Hilith. Never going back to that place ever again.

0061: Sonote Atataka

Speaking of Hilith. Wasn’t that town that was suddenly attacked in Hilith attacked by Portely?

There was all that uproar of how they massacred all its residents.

0062: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Oh, cool. So, karma.

0063: Anonymous Elf

You mean revenge? But who would be there to carry it out if everyone was dead? And lead a whole skeleton army to do it?

0064: Gealgamesh

Guys, guys.

Portely invades Hilith.

Skeletons invade back in response.

Just think about it—who else could it be?

0065: Wayne

The Cataclysm. Would make sense if it thinks of Hilith as its territory.

0066: Mentai-list

Let’s keep referring to that one as number seven or the seventh as to avoid confusion with the Archangel.

0067: Crystal Princess

Okay, yeah, I saw that thread about that. Terrible, really. But Willrav’s knights had nothing to do with it—and me, even less so! So why are we the ones getting punished???

0068: Mariwolf

One can only assume the knights sent to do the deed were on orders from the capital.

We know they passed through Willrav on their way there.

If revenge really is the goal, then I doubt they’ll stop at Willrav.

0069: Country Pop

All I’m hearing is we’re getting the gang back together? Meeting up in the Portelian capital with naught but a hope and a prayer again?

0070: Amatain

Only difference is this time Portely are the aggressors.

0071: Wayne

Same same, but different, I agree. Especially with what we heard about what happened to that town in Hilith.

Even if we did want to go, getting there would be a problem. We can’t just directly teleport to that city anymore.

Also, if we’re talking differences, another one is that Hilith actually asked us for help that time. Portely, this time, not so much.

0072: Udonko

Okay, finally tracked down the thread after seeing someone mention they’d post what happened. Not sure why this got dropped in the event thread, but whatever.

Anyway, here with an update to say the Portelian king has just issued an evacuation order!

Oh, I guess it would help to say I’m in a town called Grano in Portely, somewhere between Willrav and the capital.

0073: Gealgamesh

Wait. I don’t know exactly when Willrav was destroyed, but if >>0051 posted right after respawning... How the hell did it all move that fast?

How’d the Portelian king already hear about it?

0074: Anonymous Elf

Not sure how they do it, but word sure goes around quick there, huh?

0075: Mentai-list

Could be some magic or skill at play...

Welp, guess we’ll never know now.

0076: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

>>0075 Already consigned them to the history books have you? lmao

0077: Mariwolf

Might be for the best. Willrav’s one of Portely’s biggest cities. If they fell, you’ve gotta wonder about the capital.

The seventh is that white-haired one with the wings, right? I don’t think I saw it around. So this might not even be them at their most powerful yet.

0078: Crystal Princess

Who cares!

I just want to know where the compensation for my lost EXP is?! I died through no fault of my own, hello???

0079: Miso Soupn’t

lol? Of course there won’t be any. The entitlement of some people who play this game...

0080: Arafubuki

If they were playing in Portely, you’d figure they’re at least mid-to-high level. And a lot less rude.

Crystal Princess. Must’ve been carried like a proper princess, indeed.

0081: Amatain

All right, let’s ease off the personal attacks.

Back on topic: it seems neither my party nor Wayne’s has any intention of getting involved this time.

0082: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Same here.

I’m just hanging around for the (potential) Cataclysm showdown in Hilith. Not about to run around and miss that, ya feel?

0083: Gealgamesh

Y’all really have it out for Portely, huh?

Well... Can’t say I don’t understand.

...

...

0134: Ikue Fumei

Okay I finally found the right (???) thread

A large skeleton army has marched on the Portelian capital.

The Portelians have amassed a large knightly force the likes of which the world has never seen to counter it. (Seriously, where did all these knights come from?)

0135: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

>>0134 Thanks for comin’ in hot with the update. Looks like the final battle is upon us.

Speaking of, where’d the rest of our resident Portelians go? You all evacuate?

0136: Crystal Princess

Yes.

0137: Mariwolf

Mm-hmm.

0138: Udonko

Yessir.

0139: Ikue Fumei

Wait-HUH?

0140: Mentai-list

Your sacrifice will not be forgotten. o7

0141: Sonote Atataka

I mean, it’s not like the battle’s a foregone conclusion, right? They still might pull it off.

0142: Arafubuki

As far as conclusions go, this one is pretty foregone, bud.

0143: Ikue Fumei

There are no knights left in the city...

Did they all head outside?

Idk if I feel safe.

0144: Miso Soupn’t

Not feeling safe. You and plenty of others. Yet you’re the only one who didn’t evacuate.

0145: Ikue Fumei

Yo! I think the king’s taken to the battlefield!

He’s surrounded by a bunch of knights in fancy armor, so it’s gotta be him!

I mean, c’mon. No way the king would be here if it were really dangerous. So we’re gonna be all right, right?!

0146: Alonson

Cue things not being all right in 3...2...

...

...

0159: Ikue Fumei

Cataclysm whipped us...

0160: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

It’s already over???

0161: Wayne

Wait. So you know it was the cataclysm?

0162: Ikue Fumei

Oh, uh, no, it’s just... Everything around the king just suddenly exploded, and that felt very cataclysmic, so.

I didn’t see what actually happened.

0163: Crystal Princess

So is the capital destroyed? Where did you respawn?

We’re partied up right now, us three. You can join us, if you’d like.

0164: Ikue Fumei

Wait, really? You’ll have me??? <3

But the capital isn’t destroyed! The town itself is actually...completely untouched. And just going purely by numbers most of the knights survived as well? I think?

Just the king and those around him were killed.

0165: Mentai-list

So, it just went for the king and his guard, eh?

Not setting foot in the capital... Maybe it didn’t care to fully destroy Portely this time.

0166: Gealgamesh

Because the capital wasn’t pretty enough for it?

Didn’t like it, so didn’t feel the need to take over it.

0167: Wayne

Oh, yeah. That was its thing, wasn’t it?

0168: Ikue Fumei

Are you serious?

Aesthetic sense...

To think that’s what saved us...

0169: Anonymous Elf

I thought the Portelian capital was quite pretty, though...

So much greenery, integrated right into the city.

0170: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

It’s probably sick of even the mention of the color green.

I know I would be if I came from a forest.

0171: Amatain

So I just checked the official site, and as of now, Portely is still listed.

Its king might be dead, but it seems its status as one of the game’s kingdoms prevails.

The casualties were the king, a portion of their knights including the royal guard, and the town of Willrav, correct?

No idea about the towns they passed through, but for now, I think we can count this whole thing as over, for now.

If anything else happens after this point, I suggest we talk about it in the Portely megathread? Considering this whole thing wrapped up before the beginning of the event, it probably was never event related in the first place.

Also, almost 200 posts in this thread before even the beginning of the event? Y’all are crazy.

0172: Country Pop

Amatain and making a thread too early, name a better duo.

0173: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Damn, Amatain do be jumping the gun like that (?)

0174: Crystal Princess

Sorry, I made the initial post. This whole off-topic derailment was my fault.

0175: Mentai-list

So... In the end, nobody got a glimpse of the seventh?

0176: Gealgamesh

It’s unclear whether the cataclysm itself was present. But if you ask me. It’s got all the hallmarks of an operation done by the Seventh(TM)

***

[Portely] Those Bastards Destroyed Bezirk!!! [Never forget]

0899: Kenken

So I heard Portely’s king was deposed by the Catalysm, so I came walking back to Bezirk just to check things out...

0900: It’s Takeshi

Damn, all the way back? That’s quite the trek. What’d you see? The knights gone or what?

0901: Kenken

The knights, the town... Everything.

0902: Vainqueur

Uh. The heck is that supposed to mean?

0903: Autumn

Bro went all the way to give an inaccurate report.

0904: Kenken

Look, you’re all welcome to come see for yourselves, but I’m serious. Everything’s gone. Nothing’s left. It’s just an empty tract of land.

0905: Vainqueur

What...could’ve happened?

0906: It’s Takeshi

Does it matter what happened? The Portelian scum already killed everyone. If they were returned to the earth along with the buildings no one was going to use anymore, I. Freaking. Welcome it.

0907: Autumn

Could it be...? Because the mastermind that orchestrated the attack died, the devs just decided to delete everything associated with this unfortunate episode?

0908: Kenken

If so, this was a hilariously slapdash job by the devs.

What’s that? The system doesn’t allow object deletion? Okay! Then just drop a freaking meteor on it.

***

Game Mechanics Testing Thread [Part 6]

0063: Blank

Ignore if I’m late to the party, but it seems natural LP regen isn’t a constant value.

0064: Professor Mori-artsy

Real?

0065: Saint Regan

>>0064 Aaand you’ve broken character already

0066: Blank

It’s actually slightly affected by your hunger.

Like so slight. I’d understand if no one’s noticed before because by the time your hunger has dropped low enough to affect it in an observable sense, you’re at the point where you have to eat something in the very next second or you’ll die.

0067: Haust

And even if someone’s hunger was that low, the last thing they’d be caring at that point is how fast or slow their LP is ticking up.

What were you doing with your hunger that low in the first place? You role-playing as an ascetic monk or something?

0068: Blank

Naw, it was just a coincidence lol.

I’ve taken to farming while on the edge of starvation recently.

0069: Professor Mori-artsy

Got it. So, ascetic monk.

0070: Blank

Naw, it’s just the town I’m in, or village rather, got attacked by bandits one night, and they torched the village’s orchards.

Not long after, some traveling merchants showed up from that nearby kingdom of whatever you call it, selling food. Thanks to them, it looked like the villagers wouldn’t starve.

Me, though? I didn’t have a single coin to my name, so I couldn’t buy anything.

With no other choice, I headed out to the lake nearby to grind some mobs and scrape together whatever I could.

0071: Saint Regan

What were you farming? If they were beast-types or fish-types couldn’t you just eat those?

0072: Blank

Slimes.

There’s actually a bigger lake a bit a ways off with a much larger town nearby, but I’m not exactly strong enough to go there yet. That’s why I’m here, farming these wimpy slimes in this backyard pond.

0073: Professor Mori-artsy

I see...

0074: Blank

So there I was, starving and fighting, fighting and starving, when I noticed my LP was regenning slower than normal.

The slowdown always happened right before starving to death, so I started timing it and watching real close. Turns out, when the hunger gauge or whatever you want to call it falls below a certain point, your natural regen starts slowing down. By the time you’re right on the brink of starving to death, you basically don’t regen at all.

0075: Haust

Because I guess it doesn’t matter how much LP you regen if you’re just gonna die in the next moment.

0076: Professor Mori-artsy

What about MP regen?

0077: Blank

MP regen doesn’t change. Even on the brink of starvation.

0078: Saint Regan

Okay, but it doesn’t matter how much MP you regen right before death either. So what’s the difference lmao

0079: Professor Mori-artsy

Well, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it.

Maybe there’s a spell out there that can conjure food for you. Or even one to top up your hunger gauge directly. Both would be perfectly cromulent uses of MP in that situation.

0080: Haust

They went out of their way to make the two behave differently. It must be for a reason. Yeah, those skills might very well exist.

***

Unofficial Forum - [BH, SC] Monster Player Thread

966:

Ey check it out. New co-op event lul

967:

Between who and who?

968:

Dunno.

Guessing (regular) players and NPCs?

969:

Probably, lul

What’s everyone’s plan for it?

970:

Watch as the players and NPCs happily fight off the event monsters together, then stab ’em both in the back.

971:

Word. In that case, better to hole up in a dungeon and do it from there.

972:

Maybe. I’m in a cavern somewhere. It’s probably a dungeon, given the traffic of players that come here.

You guys think angels will appear in caves? Feels weird given the whole coming from the sky angle

973:

Who knows.

But if being in a cave made you exempt from the event, then they wouldn’t word it like it’s an event spanning the entire continent.

There are plenty of cave-type dungeons. It’d be way too easy to just ride out the event in one if it didn’t extend to them.

974:

Then how do you suppose they’re getting in here?

Use the front door (cave entrance) like your average law-abiding citizen?

975:

Hell yeah.

Have them come filing in through the chokepoint, then just knock em dead one by one. Good luck flying in here, fellas!

976:

God that’d be so sick, lol. Easy pickings.

Too bad for me though, I live in a forest.

977:

Like, in real life? /s

But surely there are worse places to be than a forest? You could hide among the trees, use the foliage to your advantage, stuff like that.

978:

You know what? True.

Then what’s the worst place to be? A town? Grasslands?

979:

Desert players cryin’ in the club rn

980:

There are deserts in this game??? news to me lmao

981:

That said, are there more people in here now or what? Compared to that absolute dead period we had before.

982:

Makes sense. The start for monster players is basically ultra hard mode. But once you start being able to tame a few monsters, it gets much better.

Well, I say that as someone who hasn’t gotten to that point yet myself.

983:

Heh heh heh.

Y’all mind if I take this opportunity right before the next event to drop a major bombshell?

984:

Not if you’re going to be insufferable about it.

Jk, go ahead.

985:

I...have figured out how to go from goblin to kobold!

But because I don’t like >>984’s attitude I’m not gonna share with any of you how!

986:

I apologize. Please share with us o benevolent kobold master.

987:

Oh, all right. But only because I’m nice like that.

First, you need to find yourself a kobold...

Chapter 6: Arise, Heresiarch

The third event had finally arrived. But for Wayne and his crew, the long-awaited third event promised to change very little. Instead of shaking up their routine, they planned to use the bonus EXP and softened death penalty to try their luck against Ellental’s newest attraction: the bone dragon.

Before that, though, they had a bit of homework to do. The event’s special enemies—though clocking in at a mere two stars on paper—came with wings, and wings had a way of turning battles on their head. Whether they would prove a nuisance or a true threat remained to be seen. So they lingered in the inn town closest to the city, biding their time, waiting for the first wave to descend.

Gil squinted up at the sky and jabbed a finger. “Hey—there. Something’s flying in.”

Wayne narrowed his eyes. As an all-rounder, he’d taken Watcher’s Gaze. Even so, the shapes were so distant as to be mere specks.

“Or...wait,” he said. “Maybe they’re just small to begin with. Are those the angels? Really?”

“Looks like it,” Mentai-list said. “Matches what people reported on the forums.” He shaded his eyes, then nodded. “Yeah, I can make them out now. Strange as they look, they’re definitely the targets. Other towns have already been hit.”

The specks grew, resolving into winged children.

“Or babies, rather,” Gil said, grimacing. “Uh, this is okay, right? This pass the ethics board and everything? I can...hit them, right?”

“Cherubs,” Mentai-list said dryly. “Well, no one can argue they aren’t angels. Didn’t some candy company use them for their logo?”

“You’re gonna go to that and skip right over the beloved mayonnaise brand with the—”

“Gil!” Wayne barked. “Eyes front!”

The cherubs were no longer distant. They closed in fast, plump little bodies deceptively harmless—until their faces came into view. Grotesque. Inhuman. The sight of them sent a chill through every player present.

The first wave hit the town. For now, the inn town was packed mostly with players, and they managed to intercept the angels before they could reach the NPCs. But if this was only a probing strike, then soon enough there’d be far more angels than players to hold them back.

“All right,” Wayne said. “I really don’t want to do this, but Thunderbolt!” A spear of lightning shot from his hand and struck an angel midair. It convulsed, wings seizing, then crashed down in front of Gil.

Thunderbolt was the most basic offensive lighting spell. It hadn’t killed in one hit, nor had Wayne expected it to, but it struck hard enough to deal serious damage and ground the creature.

“Okay, this is seriously messed up, but—hi-yah!” Gil slashed down with his sword, ending it.

Wayne winced. He hadn’t meant to dump that job on Gil. He’d chosen the weaker spell on purpose, but now he knew better. No more holding back. If I’m doing this, I’ll end them in one strike, he thought. And with his current strength, he could.

The creature, once dead, dissolved away.

“Whoa,” Gil jerked his blade back. “It just vanished. And left some sort of item! So they’re that kind of mob. Good. I was worried for a second they’d make me carve it up.”

“Blaze Lance!” Wayne loosed another spell, spearing a second angel before glancing over. “Yeah. If they disappear, that makes this way less grim than it looked at first.”

“The forums seem to back that up,” Mentai-list added. “Making us dissect these corpses would’ve broken some guideline, I’m sure.”

“You gonna keep browsing or actually help?” Gil shot back.

“Sorry, sorry. Just a second.”

The cherubs could fly, and they were unsettling to look at, but beyond that they posed little threat. Wayne’s party cut through them with relative ease, and they could even pause now and then to reassess before pressing on.

Other players in the town had also found their rhythm, the angels’ number thinning as the fight wore on. This town was a hub for dungeons of every difficulty, so the crowd was mixed. Aside from a handful of newbies testing themselves against one-stars, most had no trouble holding their ground.

“That said, these things aren’t exactly raid bosses, are they?” Gil said. “Their movesets are simple. I’m sure they’d hurt like hell if they landed a hit, but they’re so easy to dodge... Even a newbie could avoid them, so long as they had a little game sense.”

“Only because we can track them so well,” Mentai-list countered. “That’s what AGI does—it boosts your kinetic visual acuity. Without that stat, I think this would be a lot harder.”

So far, Wayne hadn’t taken a single hit. His avoidance playstyle was polished enough that weaving through the cherubs’ attacks came naturally. Part of him thought it might be useful to take one blow, since gauging their strength was the goal, after all, but with this party’s limited healing options, any unnecessary damage was a bad idea.

Plus there was the armor. Even if theirs was built tough, it would eventually need to be repaired. And for its quality, the repair would no doubt cost a fortune. So better to keep it intact than burn through durability for no reason.

“I think that’s it. Not many left, huh?” Wayne said.

“Yeah. Must be it for the first wave,” Gil replied.

The cherubs thinned quickly until nothing remained. Normal beasts would have broken and fled long before total annihilation, so clearly they weren’t that. If they’d been commanded by a higher power to fight to the last, that would explain it. And it lined up neatly with the Hilith chancellor’s claim that they served under an archangel’s command.

Wayne lowered his gaze from the sky and caught sight of Mentai-list stooping to pick up a small red gem. For a moment Wayne frowned in confusion, then realized it was the cherubs’ “loot.”

Would they be worth anything? His mind leaned toward no. Dozens of them had to be scattered across this town already, to say nothing of the rest of the continent. If these attacks were regular, the supply would be endless. A shame, really. The stones were beautiful in their way. Like real gems, if a little scuffed and cloudy looking.

“What do you suppose these are for?” Mentai-list asked, turning the red gem over in his hand.

“I have no idea,” Gil said. “But we’d better grab as many as we can. Imagine finding out the event score depends on how many you picked up.”

Wayne nodded. “Smart thinking.”

“That’s why we keep him around,” Mentai-list said with a grin. “Guy didn’t place first last event for nothing.”

“All right, all right. Come on, guys.”

“If only we had that appraisal item they promised,” Mentai-list muttered. “We’d already know what this is. Judging by the last event, it’ll probably go live after maintenance.”

Wayne couldn’t shake the thought that it was intentional—keeping players in the dark this early.

Either way, the first wave had been dealt with, none of them any worse for wear. They lingered, scanning the skies, but no second wave followed.

It made sense, honestly. If angels poured down nonstop, villages without knight garrisons like this one would need players or mercenaries on guard around the clock, and that just wasn’t feasible.

“Well, we have no idea when the next wave’s coming,” Wayne said. “Might as well head to Ellental while the skies are clear. From the looks of it, as long as we stay mindful of what’s above us, we’ll be fine. And worst case, even if we die, no EXP loss this time, so.”

“I dig it,” Gil said. “Then let’s get a move on. After we’ve looted everything we can, of course.”

***

Wayne and his crew could still see angels on the road to Ellental. Out here, it seemed there were simply fewer players—or even monsters—to deal with them. It was daytime, so the town’s zombies had retreated into their homes, shuttered away from the sun. From the outside, however, it was impossible to say whether Ellental’s undead were resisting the incursion at all. The question of allegiance—whether Cataclysm sided with Cataclysm—remained unanswered.

“Let’s head inside,” Wayne said. “Though, if the zombies really are hiding indoors, it might not bring us any closer to the truth.”

But the truth met them at the gates.

Crossing into the town, they found the skies empty of angels. Neither were there any in the streets. What they did find, scattered across the cobblestones and alleys, were those same cloudy gemstones left behind by the angels after death. Clearly, something in town had taken it upon itself to strike down the angelic threat. If Ellental was under the dominion of the bone dragon, then the most likely culprit was the dragon itself—or one of its underlings.

“That seems to confirm it,” Wayne murmured. “The bone dragon, at the very least, sees the angels as its enemies.”

“Makes sense,” Mentai said. “Angels and undead are hardly compatible forces. But I think we can take it a step further. Say the undead dragon is the Seventh Cataclysm’s creation. Then the Archangel and the Seventh are also at odds.”

“Does that mean the Seventh is undead-adjacent?” Wayne asked. “Maybe the ‘undead angel’ theory isn’t so far-fetched after all. I guess I can see it. We humans don’t exactly embrace zombie versions of ourselves either.”

Wayne had never quite liked the “Seventh Cataclysm was just another undead” theory. For something that claimed its place on the far shore of death, or perhaps beyond it, the thing had struck him as larger than life itself.

He remembered the way it gleamed—pure white—in that dim, earthly light of dusk. How it eclipsed that fading glow until nothing else seemed to exist. That presence, so absolute, so suffocating, was something he would never forget.

The first time they had brought it down, it had seemed almost anticlimactic, hardly worthy of the terror its name carried. But when it returned, when it tore through them without granting even the dignity of a true battle—the oppression was staggering.

Its eyes had been closed at first, almost languidly, as if in disdain. Then they snapped open: a crimson iris revealed, twisting and fracturing into a whirl of impossible hues as it unleashed death and ruin upon them. Wayne had stared into that abyssal kaleidoscope, nearly losing himself to its hypnotic spiral.

But that, he reminded himself, was not what mattered now. What mattered was the conclusion they had reached: Undead or not, the Seventh Cataclysm stood in opposition to the Sixth.

If that were true, then any dungeon flying the Seventh’s banner could be expected to devolve into a three-sided conflict. With careful positioning, and with that truth firmly in mind, they might even turn the chaos to their own advantage.

“That said... It won’t be much of a three way if all the angels are already dead,” Wayne said. “At this point, it’s just the same dungeon as before.”

“True enough,” Mentai replied. “The real question is who brought them down, and how.”

“Don’t think we have to look far, guys,” Gil said. “Up there, above the town walls.”

The other two lifted their eyes—and saw it. The undead dragon, circling high above the town, trailing a black pall in its wake.

It honestly boggled the mind. How wings made only of naked bone could generate lift at all. Yet somehow they bore the creature aloft. And not clumsily either; the monster glided with the effortless grace of a living creature.

That was the only thing graceful about it, though. Everything else about it chilled Wayne to the bone.

The pall, Wayne realized, was not merely atmosphere, but the dragon’s AoE rot effect, which they’d acquainted themselves with previously, made manifest. Up close, inside the effect itself, it was impossible to grasp the shape of it. But from a distance, the miasma had formed—a murky boundary of corruption, unfurling across the sky like a stain.

Angels harried the dragons as it circled, seemingly transmuting themselves into cloudy gemstones in real time.

It wasn’t that they died the instant they touched the haze; rather, it was more they had judged the dragon to be public enemy number one, and had taken it upon themselves to attack it with a determination bordering on foolhardiness. Again and again they struck, and again and again they fell, their LP draining away until they died.

The dragon, of course, bore no wound for their sacrifice.

“Well, darn. Look at it fly,” Wayne said.

“I do believe this is the first time we’ve gotten confirmation it even can fly,” Mentai added.

“Yeah... And if that thing comes after us in the skies, I don’t see how we stand a chance. What the hell are we even supposed to do?” Gil said.

Their original plan, with no EXP loss during the event, was to throw themselves against the bone dragon, die, come back, throw themselves against it again and again until they could learn the fight and piece together weaknesses for an eventual victory. But if it could remain airborne, always out of reach, then they wouldn’t learn anything no matter how many times they ate dirt.

“Well, it’s a long event,” Wayne said at last. “If it looks doomed, we can always head to the capital, or Rokillean, or wherever. For now, let’s just wait it out. See if it’ll ever want to come down to the ground.”

***

In Trae Forest, near the heart where a solitary World Tree stood sentinel above the canopy, a lone figure waited.

The titanic tree loomed over a wide clearing, its massive roots forming the western wall around a barren eye of dirt that gazed blankly at the sky.

A dull red gemstone glinted in the figure’s—Leah’s—hand.

“A Pure of Heart, eh?” she murmured. “So that’s what you are. Rather cloudy for something supposedly pure, if you ask me—but yes, very angelic.”

The clearing was littered with the same gemstone, scattered as though sown into the earth. Appraisal had named it a “Pure of Heart.”

The name, however, was irrelevant. So too the creature that dropped it. What mattered was the purpose Appraisal had revealed:

Pure of Heart: Binds a soul to flesh.

“You know what that sounds like?” Leah mused. “An ingredient for a resurrection item.”

And she was almost certain she was one of the very few—perhaps the only—player who had pieced that together. The why was simple: Without Appraisal, the item’s true use remained hidden. And Appraisal was vanishingly rare. So rare the devs had already announced a paid item to spread it more widely. For now, the unlock rate was microscopic.

For now.

When the event ended, there would be maintenance. And more likely than not, that patch would be when the paid Appraisal item appeared.

She needed to move quickly—test the market, see what the demand for these was before the secret slipped into common knowledge.

“Ah, I know,” she said with a faint smile. “I can just ask him.”

***

<By Pure of Heart...do you refer to those murky gemstones left behind by the cursed angels?>

<The very same, Gustaf. I imagine they’ve made their way onto the worlds’ markets. What’s the general consensus?>

<That they are of little worth, I’m afraid. They are far too common. And besides, they are the refuse of those cretinous creatures—the angels.>

Cretinous, cursed—clearly, someone here nursed a vendetta against those eerie cherublike fiends. Yet Gustaf was human, bound to a human span of years. Unlike the long-lived elves, it was difficult to imagine he’d crossed paths with angels often enough to kindle such venom. Perhaps it was inherited, a bitterness passed down from some ancestor slain by their hand.

<All right, then, let me rephrase. Are there any uses—any purpose—you know of for these hearts?>

<I have heard rumors. That they can bind a soul to flesh. Because of this, they are coveted by the unsavory—necromancers and their ilk. But for the very same reason, they carry an ill connotation, and so are frowned upon by the market at large.>

Necromancy, Leah thought. Of course. That was the angle she’d forgotten to consider. It was almost silly, really, that she’d forgotten, considering how invested she was in the art herself.

Then again...maybe not? To leap from angels, purity, and soul-binding all the way to necromancy—that was a stretch by any reasonable measure. If anything, it was remarkable the NPC necromancers had made that connection. What sort of headspace did they inhabit, to jump straight to such a conclusion?

Still, tethering a soul to a corpse hardly struck her as the formula for true resurrection. At best, it was a step toward crafting some powerful undead. But raising the dead into something truly alive again—that was another matter entirely.

There had to be something missing. A crucial ingredient, without which the feat could not be achieved. Something capable of transmuting “dead” flesh into “living” flesh, of turning what was once cold and inert into something that breathed again.

If no one had yet discovered the missing piece, then a true resurrection item remained nothing more than a pipe dream of a pipe dream. How long would it take the playerbase to stumble upon it? Considering it had taken them until the second event to grasp something as fundamental as healing magic, the answer was: likely not soon.

“...Well, whatever. Resurrection items aren’t worth much to me right now anyway,” Leah murmured. “Far better to think in terms of countermeasures—how to prevent their use. If I can manage that, then it doesn’t matter if I can’t craft them myself.”

She gave Gustaf—head of Kelli’s merchant guild—his orders. Whenever players inquired about Pure of Hearts, he was to be completely open about the necromancy connection, so that their perception of the item would be nudged that way from the start.

And to be safe, he was to quietly buy up Pure of Hearts from players whenever possible—without arousing suspicion.

With that, Leah ended the friend chat.

***

“Now that that’s settled... These weak little angels didn’t make the greatest test subjects, did they?”

Prior to that earlier moment in the clearing, Leah had seized the opportunity of the first angelic assault to run her own experiments—on both her abilities and those of her new amphisbaena, whom she had christened Übel.

She began with herself. Standing still, she allowed the angels to land a blow. Their strikes were featherlight, easily absorbed by the Dark Aegises that wrapped her in omnidirectional protection. The damage to the shields had been negligible. And had they not been there at all, Leah still would have taken no damage—not through the Queen’s Dress (Immaculate) she wore. The garment boasted staggering magic resistance, and more physical defense than the armor issued to common knightly NPCs. It had the equip effect of nullify all damage below a single point. The same trait appeared, she noted, in the aforementioned knightly armor and in the Dragonborn racial trait, Dragon Scale.

From the wording, she drew a quiet revelation: The game calculated damage down to the decimal. This fractional damage never surfaced in ways visible to players, but they were tracked, and they were real.

This neatly explained why her Dark Aegises had been taking damage in such an odd rhythm—ticking down only after every few rounds of angelic strikes, rather than with each blow.

Normally, you would never notice such infinitesimal damage, because natural LP regen counteracted it almost instantly. Even if you were completely naked, the damage would vanish through regeneration before it ever added up enough to show as a visible number. Dark Aegis, however, had no such passive regeneration. And since it didn’t have the nullify fractional damage effect, those chips remained, steadily accumulating until they rounded into a whole point and cut away at the shield’s LP—falling in intervals rather than each time it was struck.

Would this knowledge serve her in any practical way? Leah doubted it. Still—knowledge was knowledge. The more the better.

However, that was pretty much all her sortie against the angels had provided her.

She’d also wanted to test Übel’s breath attacks—adjust its stats in real time, see which attributes governed its overall lethality—but that was not to be. The breaths themselves inflicted little direct damage, yet the toxic and pestilential effects they carried were potent enough to kill the angels within seconds.

It made sense, in its way. What were angels usually connotated with? Purity, cleanliness; of course they would be vulnerable to poison and disease. Their resistances were no doubt high, but once breached, the damage they suffered was magnified all the more.

Normally, one might expect resistance to poison or disease to dictate how long one could endure once afflicted. Here, however, it was more of a binary, are you afflicted, yes/no? check. Success meant total immunity, failure meant suffering the full brunt of every attached effect. And with Übel’s sheer power, the angels’ odds of resisting at all were negligible.

Leah had tried tweaking INT and DEX repeatedly during the encounter, casting breaths after each adjustment to gauge whether any measurable difference emerged. But the angels had been annihilated too quickly for her to gather anything resembling statistically significant results.

“It’s fire against water, that’s all,” Leah mused. “Strengths and weaknesses—just like how the Fey King’s curse hits harder against me. Odds are, our attributes, our alignments, whatever you want to call them, are opposites.”

By the same token, wouldn’t she and Übel be unusually vulnerable to certain “angelic” attacks? The little cherubs she had faced had peppered them with nothing but normal attacks. But in a hypothetical clash with the Archangel, that might be something to be wary of. Then again, the same would hold in reverse—their own attacks might bite harder against the Archangel.

“Let’s see... My other domains are also...holding steady. Seems the angelic assault has eased up for now.”

As she’d anticipated, the territories entrusted to her lieutenants had endured the first assault without risk. A quick sweep through the forums showed a mixed picture: some regions still fighting, others apparently untouched.

So, her own domains finished with the wave, some still embroiled, and others yet to be struck. The devs had claimed that every corner of the continent would be under attack. Taken literally, that meant every single town. If so, would that mean there was some sort of delay going on here? Like those yet to be struck were only that way because the angels hadn’t reached them yet?

Definitely. Even among her own holdings, the variation was clear. Lieflais and Hilith had been hit first, while the Great Woods of Lieb saw their incursion later.

She paused, thinking about it. How could she explain this odd time delay?

“Apparent distance between each struck location and the current position of the Celestial Citadel?” she murmured. “If the threat level of the entire angelic host is uniformly rated at two stars, then their stats are probably standardized. Which would mean they all travel at the same speed as well.”

And if that were the case...could the pattern be used to triangulate the Citadel’s position? Gather reports from the forums, chart the precise time and place of each incursion... Cross-reference that data against the crude sugoroku-board-style map compiled by the playerbase, overlay it with her own charts of Hilith and Oral—might that not reveal the Citadel’s exact location?

“Mm, no. That’s far too much work for one person. Or rather, too much for me, because I don’t want to do it. I could split the task with Lyla, but that only halves it... Add Blanc to the mix, and— Never mind. Better to abandon the idea altogether. Instead, here’s the smarter plan: wait. Some enterprising volunteer will do all the legwork for me. I’ll just keep an eye on the forums.”

Leah, she had to remind herself, was not alone in this.

Across that vast virtual expanse, that mystic digital sea, there were plenty of others with the same ambitions. Even without her baiting the waters, she’d wager someone had already followed the same line of reasoning and begun the work.

The devs wanted the players to set aside rivalries and cooperate, didn’t they? Well, Leah would do exactly that.

It was then—just as that lofty (read: lazy) ideal settled in her mind—that a message came from the queen vespoid managing her holdings in the Great Woods of Lieb.

“Oh? And what blood-crazed little party is this, marching on one of my domains when there’s a global effort underway? Did they miss the memo? And to choose Lieb of all places? I doubt anyone’s set foot there since the last event.”

To turn their backs on the devs’ call for unity and self-sacrifice in a time like this? For shame. Someone ought to teach them a lesson.

Leah herself, perhaps, as she flicked open her UI, ready to send herself back to the place where it all began.

***

It felt like ages since she had last come this deep into the forest. The last time, it had been nothing more than a pit stop, skirting the grassy outer reaches.

On a whim, she decided to take a detour to visit the cave where she had first encountered the Mountain Cats. Once, that cramped, desolate space was all she could set as her Home. Now, all of that was inverted. It was lush, teeming, and far too vast to even be able to be set as her Home. Instead, it played host to a whole forest of monsters who now called her and her alone master.

The cave itself was just as she remembered, its layout easy to follow despite the near-total lack of light. Once, she had chalked that up to a gentle concession from the devs—a kindness to help fledgling players find their way in unfamiliar terrain, but now she knew better.

She could see better.

“This place is absolutely saturated with mana...”

Evil Eye confirmed it so. But even without it, the mana was so dense she could feel it on her skin. Likely the reason she’d managed to navigate it so easily before.

“Before I sit back, relax, and watch our arrogant intruders get torn apart, maybe I’ll use this opportunity to try a little something.”

<Then I shall keep an eye on them until you are ready,> Sugaru replied.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The same message that had reached Leah had also gone to Sugaru, as per their reporting flow. And Sugaru had come as well. This was her old nest trespassed upon for the first time in who knew how long; Leah wasn’t so heartless as to leave her behind for the occasion.

Leah pressed deeper into the cavern until she reached the small opening that held the underground lake. Once, the Mountain Cats had bathed in these waters. Only now did Leah realize just how remarkable that was—for the water was frigid, biting even through her heightened resistance. She remembered all of them, Marion perhaps aside, never uttering a single complaint. In that regard, it seemed catfolk were not so much like real cats.

This lake was little more than a pond compared to the vast subterranean waters beneath the count’s residence in the Avon Mercato highlands, yet it was still broad enough to house a handful of Hilithian newts. With that thought, Leah summoned three at random and set them loose into the dark waters.

At first, she wondered whether the cave could even sustain them—as she’d never seen any living thing that would even resemble food before. But as it turned out, the lake did harbor its own peculiar life: pale, eyeless wormlike creatures that writhed in the depths.

Who knew—perhaps the lake already held all the conditions necessary for the newts’ Rebirth.

That done, it was time for the experiment. And to begin, she needed to waste a great deal of MP.

Atmospheric mana—this ambient, ever-present substance that permeated every corner of the world—was the source of the “mana points” found in people, monsters, and all else. That much Leah knew. It followed, then, that MP regeneration would be tied to the act of somehow absorbing this ambient power from the surrounding air. The thought had struck her here, in this mana-choked cave, making it the perfect place to test.

In safely and efficiently expending large amounts of mana, the best choice seemed clear: create a Philosopher’s Egg, leave it empty, and heat it with Athanor—then simply end the process. The result would be nothing but wasted resources and MP. Whether due to their exorbitant costs or the lack of any synergy when cast in sequence, neither spell carried a cooldown.

By this method, she drained half her MP. Within mere seconds, it surged back to full—a rate of regeneration far beyond the norm.

“Now that,” Leah murmured, “was a difference I wasn’t expecting. So MP regen isn’t just a fixed stat per character, but tied into the world itself. Either the system really is simulating mana as something in the environment your avatar can absorb... Or, if not that, then it’s running a formula that factors in local mana density, at the very least.”

On the forums, one inquiring mind had already established that LP regen was largely constant, with only a slight variation tied to how empty one’s hunger gauge was. If MP regen could be said to depend on the density of surrounding mana, then perhaps LP regen was bound to the condition of the avatar. Hunger was one aspect, but there could easily be other factors at play.

“Well, this is perfect,” Leah said, eyes narrowing. “Got a few players right in front of me, True Sight to roughly gauge their LP... Time for some more science, don’t we think?”

***

“This is a five-star? Nothing to write home about.”

“If this is the best it can throw at us, I’d rank it three stars, tops.”

“Bugs, bugs, and more bugs.”

“Hate to be that person, but spiders aren’t bugs.”

Leah overheard the exchange as she watched, through Ominous’s eyes, the intruders pressing deeper into the forest.

The intrepid party was a four-person outfit: two frontliners and two casters—a formation rather heavy on offense. But which of them, she wondered, served as their scout?

From the way they carried themselves in battle, it was obvious they were accomplished high-level players. At least when it came to combat. Beyond that, they seemed almost blissfully oblivious as they marched into the trees—like they were players who had poured every drop of effort into grinding EXP and sharpening their power, with little thought for anything else.

Where, exactly, was this mythical place where one could fight endlessly for EXP without worrying about traps, terrain, or any of the other hazards that usually came with the territory? Leah almost wanted to ask them herself. If such a place existed, it would be the perfect spot to send some of her less intellectually gifted monsters to do a little farming.

“They had even lower defense than the skeletons in the Hilith capital. For my money, this place is even easier to farm than there.”

“Right? I know we just came here to scout while there’s no death penalty, but honestly, we could swap here full time.”

Oh.

That mythical brain-dead farming ground turned out to be, uh, her capital.

Well... Leah had gone out of her way to change as little as possible in the capital’s streets. No traps had been set up. And because she liked the place too much to let it fall into ruin, revenants with Architecture and Masonry had been assigned to repair any damage. Not to mention the dedicated patrols of carknights that roamed the avenues, removing graffiti and sweeping litter.

Okay, yeah, fair enough. These players were the pampered brats churned out of the continent’s most meticulously maintained and civilized dungeon: the Hilithian capital.

How brave of them to step beyond their comfort zone. But this was the Great Woods of Lieb. Not a place where one could wander out in sandals and expect not to tread on glass. Leah would have to teach them that lesson—for their own good. Like a mother bird forcing fledglings from the nest. Or like someone mad their great woods were being looked down upon.

Either way, the lesson.

Leah summoned herself to Ominous’s side, dropped a little lower in altitude—had all her monsters in the area evacuate—and summoned Übel into the sky.

If the intruders happened to glance upward, they might have caught a glimpse of the vast dragon’s silhouette. But in the Great Woods of Lieb, it was the outer regions where the trees grew thickest, the canopy so dense even sunlight barely filtered through. In such gloom, even a beast large enough to blot out the heavens wouldn’t register.

Leah gave the order, and Übel began to spew out a gentle stream of Plague Breath over the players.

“What the...? I think I’m taking damage.”

“Huh. Same here. Some kind of area attack? From where?”

“Wait—guys?! My LP’s dropping! Just a little, but it’s definitely dropping! And my stats—they’re going down too! It’s a debuff of some kind!”

The debuff in question was the added effect of Plague Breath, simply called plague. Leah refrained from casting Appraisal—no sense risking detection—but from the way they staggered and fretted, it was clear all four members had been thoroughly plagued.

While afflicted with plague, the victim took a trickle of damage so slight it could almost be ignored. What couldn’t be ignored, however, was the gradual weakening of every stat, proportional to the severity of the infection.

At first, plague struck lightly. But left untreated, it worsened by degrees, climbing toward Critical. And once it reached a certain threshold, the sickness didn’t stop with its host—they became contagious, spreading it to anyone nearby.

“Plague? What the hell is plague?! None of my antidote potions are doing anything!”

“When did we even get afflicted? I didn’t come prepared for some obscure status effect like this!”

“What the—? I’m already Critical! Why am I getting hit harder than the rest of you?”

“I’m Critical too. Must scale faster on players with low VIT. But it’s just a status effect. No way a status effect alone is gonna take us dow—”

“Ants! More ants!”

“And spiders! Webbing, incoming!”

“What the—? I can’t tear through it! I just did it a second ago!”

“It’s the debuff! Once plague hits Critical, your stats nosedive even further!”

It was a vicious cycle. Lower stats meant lower VIT, which accelerated the disease, which dropped stats further, and so on in a spiral. Caught early and treated, plague was almost inconsequential. But left unchecked, it became more punishing than even the deadliest poisons.

It was one status effect Leah herself had no desire to suffer. Like poison or burning, its ticking damage ignored Dark Carapace entirely.

That said, the counterplay was almost insultingly simple—provided you had the means on hand. Immunity was something the devs had chosen to implement: Once cured of plague, you were immune for a full day. But because enemies that were capable of inflicting the debuff were rare, it wasn’t something most parties prepared for on a daily basis. And because normal NPC-run potion shops didn’t stock them; you had to hunt down an artisan with deep knowledge in Pharmacology or a dealer that specialized in such remedies.

So it was one of those mechanics: trivial if you knew about it in advance, but devastating if you didn’t. A knowledge check designed to punish the unprepared.

And Sandals Gang here, wandering the Great Woods as though they were taking a casual stroll through a park, was quite literally the definition of unprepared.

The two frontliners, bound fast in the greater tarantella’s webbing, stood helpless as beetle warriors and beetle knights hacked at them, carving away chunks of LP with each blow—and they were the lucky ones. The two casters, stricken with the Critical stage of plague, had become target practice for the sniper ants. Ordered to keep their distance to avoid spreading the contagion, the insects took pot shots at them, again and again and again.

It was a grim scene, really. Following Leah’s command, the ants avoided vital spots, only going for places like the legs, acting almost like seasoned wartime marksman—crippling their prey, letting them collapse, then waiting for allies to rush in so they could cut them down in turn. Only here, there were no reinforcements. The second caster was already on the ground, suffering the same fate. Beyond that, just the two immobilized frontliners, cocooned in spider silk, left to the relentless torment of giant stag beetles and rhinoceros beetles.

Now, Leah was many things. But a sadist, she was not. She hadn’t ordered this for the sake of some twisted thrill, nor out of petty vengeance for their trespass. No—her reasons were rational, pragmatic.

This was the “science” she had spoken of.

With True Sight active, she keenly observed the victims’ LP.

Compared to their baseline, their LP regen does seem to be ticking up at a slower rate. It’s a minute difference, but a difference all the same. Even between the frontliners and the casters, there’s an evident gap, the casters faring worse overall. I suppose I can take that as confirmation—health, overall condition—those factors directly influence LP regen.

It was not a dramatic effect. But in a battle balanced on a knife’s edge, it could prove to be the difference.

If nothing else, this encounter had been an eye-opening look into plague’s tactical value when applied in the field. And she already had an idea of how best to exploit it: Heretical Eye. Advancing farther down that tree was bound to unlock a variant that could inflict plague, or poison, with naught but a glance. Of course, that carried the inverse implication as well: Others might one day wield it against her. Best to keep that in mind.

“Precise numbers aside, I learned what I wanted. Time to end this.”

There was another reason the frontliners could no longer tear free of the tarantella’s webs. The lesser spiders they had encountered at first had since been swapped out for greater ones.

It was the most cost-effective method of culling intruders in Lieb, if not the most effective in all dungeons, period. Bait them with weaker mobs, funnel them into the kill zone, bind them in webs alongside tank-type beetles, then let the sniper ants finish the job.

If sheer quickness had been her only concern, she could have unleashed a megathairos instead—that horrifying insect that soared above the treetops. With their immense STR and VIT, they could smash through even the thickest canopies as if they were nothing more than overcooked broccoli. Alas, Lieb saw so few visitors that such scenarios remained little more than daydreams in Leah’s mind.

“You know, I really wouldn’t mind a few more wanderers stumbling in here,” she mused aloud. “Just to give my minions a kick in the pants. As it stands, they’re like legacy employees cruising toward retirement. No towns nearby, no NPC mercenaries, not even wild monsters bother with this place. Honestly? This might be the most peaceful patch of land on the entire continent.”

In that sense, the angel incursions had been a blessing. She only wished they came more often.

Suddenly, her friend chat pinged. It was Lyla.

<Hey, Leah, you free right now? I’ve got a little favor to ask. And I wanted to talk to you about something too.>

Leah’s schedule had just opened up, but...

Lyla wanted to talk to her about something? As in asking for her advice? A favor was fine. Expected, even. But asking for advice? This was rare. In the grown-up world, “I want to talk to you about something” was usually just a roundabout way of asking for a favor. So...why phrase it both ways here?

<Sure, just finishing up here,> Leah replied. <How do you want to do this? Where are you now?>

<I’m in Hugelkuppe, but don’t worry about that—I’ll come to you. How about that big clearing from earlier? Just wait there for me.>

***

“Let me guess—the reason you picked this place for our meeting is because you figured out the Rebirth conditions for the salamanders?” Leah asked.

“Well, you know,” Lyla mumbled evasively. “That is one of the favors I wanted to ask you today.”

“One favor? You have multiple favors? And this is separate from that other thing you said you wanted to talk about?”

“Duh? A favor’s a favor. Asking for advice is asking for advice. Two separate things, clearly.”

“Well...not always. Depending. Sometimes it’s nuanced.”

“Ah, you mean like when people use ‘wanting advice’ as a roundabout way to sneak in a favor. What’s the word for it—being self-effacing.”

Now that Leah considered it, self-effacing was about the last word anyone would use to describe Lyla. There was no universe in which she would be anything but blunt when asking for a favor.

“Okay, then. Anyway, let’s start by getting the favors out of the way. How many are we talking?”

“Hardly many. Just two. First one is I was thinking I’d like another one of those philosopher’s stones. Second one is I wanted your help in fusing my Oralian skinks.”

“Oralian what? Is that the Rebirth of the Hilithian salamander?”

“Hilithian salamander? Don’t you mean Oralian salamander?”

The conversation was not conversationing.

To retrace where it had gone wrong, the sisters backed up a step.

The story matched until the point where they had both brought their newts from the river. Up to then, both had Hilithian newts. But when Leah Rebirthed hers here in the Great Woods, she came away with Hilithian salamanders—whereas when Lyla did the same in Oral, hers became Oralian salamanders.

“Ah, I get it,” Lyla said. “The species name probably changes based on where they’re born. Oralian if in Oral, Hilithian if in Hilith. And Rebirth must literally mean being ‘born’ again in the eyes of the system, thus resetting their names.”

“I... Yeah, that’s the sensible conclusion,” Leah admitted. “But Hilith doesn’t even exist anymore—not officially. The game’s own site confirmed that. So how can the system both recognize Hilith and not recognize it?”

“I mean, it’s just a name, right? What else are you gonna call them? It’s like the same way we use the term Yezo shika deer or Yamato Nadeshiko.”

“The same...huh?”

With Lyla, it was always impossible to tell whether she was teasing, sarcastic, or perfectly serious. If it was sarcasm—and she specifically picked those two examples—was she really equating the Yamato Kingship’s conquest of the Yezo people with Leah’s destruction of Hilith?

“I can see that something I said is making that big brain of yours turn incredibly hard, but I assure you, I meant nothing by it,” Lyla said. “Just said the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying. Just keep it simple next time, okay?!”

Naming conventions aside, the so-called Oralian skink Lyla produced was about the same size as a Hilithian salamander—though it lacked any of the salamander’s gentle, innocent air. More like a fierce komodo dragon than anything.

Lyla had, for some reason, exactly one Oralian salamander left that hadn’t undergone Rebirth, and Appraisal confirmed its name well enough. In appearance, it was nearly identical to its Hilithian counterpart, save perhaps for a faintly lighter shade of skin? Maybe?

“Okay,” Leah said. “I’ll help you out. I’ll even listen to what you want to share. But in exchange, I get to ask a few questions of my own.”

“The Rebirth condition from salamander to skink is probably acquiring both Fire Magic and Water Magic,” Lyla explained. “They might not look it, but these puppies can breathe a pretty mean breath.”

“Like, fire?”

“No—steam. Like a superheated jet of steam that blasts out.”

“Great. They breathe hot air.”

“It’s a real attack, I promise you! It’s a water-based attack, but if you fail the resistance check you get burning applied.”

“Okay, Lyla. Is any of what you just said true?”

“Of course! I haven’t lied to you at all! Yet.”

Leah narrowed her eyes. Maybe she was being a little unfair. As unreliable as Lyla could be, she wasn’t the type to lie outright when asking for help. But afterward? Clearly another story. What was with that ominous little “yet”?

All jokes aside, though, Lyla had done exactly what Leah suspected she would: revealed the Rebirth conditions for the salamanders. That, at least, warranted her to approach this exchange in good faith.

It only slightly outweighed the irritation Leah felt when Lyla had preempted her question.

“Be that as it may... Second question: I gave you sixty philosopher’s stones—two for each Hilithian newt you picked up. What’d you do with the last one?”

Lyla seemed to hesitate before answering. “Um, truth be told, that’s the ‘ask you for advice’ bit I was kind of saving for last. We could jump there first if you want, but wouldn’t it make more sense to finish the business with the skinks before starting something else?”

Fair enough. If it was something Lyla wanted to table until later, Leah had no reason to press—yet. She could wait until they were finished with the skinks.

Yes, the investment was steep—two philosopher’s stones, and Fire and Water Magic for every single skink—but the potential payoff was immense. Taking ordinary newts, of which there was no shortage, and reshaping them into some sort of dragon-like creature? Could be huge.

“Okay, then. Here.” Leah tossed Lyla a philosopher’s stone. “Go ahead and do your thing with the skinks—we’ll talk after.”

“Thank you, thank you. Here we go, and... Oh. Crap.”

“What happened?”

“It became a Hilithian skink.”

“Ooh...”

They were, after all, in Trae Forest. In Hilith. Proving, inadvertently, Lyla’s theory correct.

Still, slipping a single Hilithian skink in among twenty-nine Oralian ones hardly seemed likely to alter the result. From Leah’s experience, the fusion system never seemed picky about details on that level. As long as the materials fit a broad qualifying formula—“a specific monster” plus “a monster of a given type,” or “one type of monster” combined with another, the system was content to accept them without objection.

The same might well apply not just to living materials, but to items as well. On more than one occasion since, Leah had followed Blanc’s example and added her own blood to the process. Yet unlike Blanc—who was a vampire—it was unclear whether Leah’s blood actually influenced the outcome. For all she knew, any blood would do. Taken to the extreme, perhaps any protein-rich liquid might suffice—soy milk, even a protein shake.

That said, protein powder wasn’t exactly a widely traded commodity. Leah had never found any, not even in Lieflais. In this world, Queen of Destruction blood was far easier to come by than protein powder.

The thought made her giggle softly.

“Huh? What? What are you laughing at?” Lyla asked, puzzled.

“Nothing. Philosopher’s Egg.”

Leah began the process, as normal.

Considering the cost sunk into each of these skinks, it kind of felt like they would produce something on a level they’d hadn’t yet seen. But when you considered the objective “weakness” of the original newts, that kind of dampened that theory. Yes, they each had taken two philosopher’s stones, but it was crucial to remember that philosopher’s stones were always, and had always been, an emergency brute-force Rebirth measure. As the newts left in the underground lake under Lieb might soon prove, the “normal” way for newts to Rebirth might be incredibly easy, and cheap.

After all, in reincarnating a goblin into a goblin leader, all that was required was a goblin corestone—no philosopher’s stone required. The cost of a philosopher’s stone to that of a goblin corestone was like gold to dirt. It was entirely possible the difference between newt and salamander could end up the same way.

“The Great Work.”

The egg grew to a respectable size with all the skinks thrown in—though not nearly as massive as it had with the amphisbaena or the skeletal ghidorah. And compared to Uluru and Übel, who loomed at the edge of the clearing—well, actually, they were so enormous they were merely off-center rather than at the edge of anything—this new creation felt almost modest. What emerged, cracking free of the crystalline shell a few moments later, was in every sense a dragon, its body clad in malachite-green scales.

It lacked proper horns, yet where horns ought to have been, finlike protrusions extended. Since those fins had visible bone beneath, it might be more accurate to call them horn-frames with fins stretched across.

Its wings were smaller than an amphisbaena’s and looked ill-suited for flight. Thick and ridged, they once again resembled fins more than wings.

The neck was somewhat long in proportion to the body, but balanced by an equally long tail, the overall shape was not especially odd. Both the amphisbaena and the skeletal ghidorah bore elongated necks as well, suggesting that among dragon-type monsters, such proportions were the default design.

“Wowee! Look at that!” Lyla exclaimed. “It’s called...a gargouille!”

“Gargouille? The legendary monster that inspired the modern-day gargoyle... Talk about obscure...”

“Hey. I don’t want to hear any talk of obscure coming from you, Miss Amphisbaena. When’d you even make that thing, anyway?”

Appraisal revealed the creature to have Flame Breath, Aqua Breath, and—despite its undersized wings—Flight and Skyrunning. Since both the amphisbaena and this gargouille had the bare amount of EXP invested into them, Leah found they could be treated as baseline representatives of their kind. On that basis, the amphisbaena seemed superior across the board, outperforming the gargouille in most metrics. Despite that, the gargouille carried its own advantages: Underwater Breathing and Submarine, making it a monster capable of thriving across land, sea, and air alike.

“That said, that makes three ‘dragons’ we’ve created so far,” Lyla said. “And not one of them is actually called something-dragon, like you’d expect. Is that just because we’ve only been using lizards?”

Strictly speaking, that was only true of Lyla’s gargouille. Both in Leah’s case and Blanc’s as well, they had used Dragonborn and Dragonstooth—monsters that already carried ‘dragon’ in their names.

“The forums do make reference to NPCs who speak of legends about dragons, so I have to assume they exist,” Leah replied. “And besides, Dragonstooth?”

“You know what they say about assuming, Leah. Just because we have a name for it in real life doesn’t mean it actually exists. Case in point: Dragons aren’t real. Yet we still have the word. Dragon’s beard is just a plant. Dragon’s tongue... The list goes on.”

On the surface, her logic sounded neat enough. Yet it took only a little scrutiny to reveal the flaw. In this game, where elves, goblins, and a host of other races borrowed straight from real-world names abounded, it was hard to believe the devs would drop the word “dragon” in at random. Every name carried meaning. Just as in real life, where the term “dragon” was chosen for those mythical beasts from the Greek drakon—“the one who glares.” What were the odds, then, that through sheer coincidence of etymology or sound, the same word had appeared in this world, empty of creatures to bear it? Vanishingly small. And with folk legends existing in game, the conclusion was obvious: True dragons had to exist.

“In any case, we can settle it by just going to look for dragons when we have the time,” Leah said. “For now, though, let’s get back to you—what did you do with the philosopher’s stone?”

“Ah, right, right, here we go,” Lyla said. “So this ties in with the thing I wanted to talk to you about. But before that, would you mind sharing the system prompt you saw when you Rebirthed as a Queen of Destruction?”

That was answer enough for Leah; Lyla had used the last stone on herself. Yet, outwardly, she looked no different—still the same noble human as always. Had she actually put the process on hold?

“I was a high elf when I did it. And I used the greater philosopher’s stone—basically the better philosopher’s stone,” Leah said. “What I got was a choice. Either go down the ‘normal’ route—fey, then Fey King—or take the ‘special condition’ path: dark elf, dark fey, Queen of Destruction. Dark elf seems to sit on the same rung as high elf, so it seems as long as you’ve met the conditions at the moment of Rebirth, the stone can shift you sideways across the ladder.”

“I see,” Lyla replied, nodding. “And when did this happen? Timeline-wise.”

“Timeline-wise... A little before the announcement for the second event came out, I think.”

“So...before you destroyed that town I forgot the name of and the Hilithian capital.”

“Yeah, guess so. Why?”

What was so relevant about her Rebirth being before or after destroying the towns? Leah thought.

“Nothing,” Lyla said. “It’s just...that last philosopher’s stone—I used it on myself. And the system message I got was: ‘special conditions fulfilled. You may Rebirth as a fallen human or a heretic.’ There was no ‘normal’ option at all. So I started thinking...if I hadn’t met those conditions, would that mean I just couldn’t Rebirth at all? But there would be no way, right?”

Leah thought about this. So basically, it would’ve been like if in her case, she could’ve only Rebirthed as a dark elf, and the fey route just never appeared?

Strange. She still had no idea what these “special conditions” were, but she couldn’t imagine it was the difference between using a philosopher’s stone versus a greater philosopher’s stone.

“Just spitballing here, but maybe, Lyla, you...fulfilled the special conditions so much it cut off your normal Rebirth route?”

Lyla nodded. “I was actually thinking the same. That’s why I asked about your timing. Unorthodoxy and Queen of Destruction all sounded very ‘evil’ to me, so I wondered if the special condition was ‘taking morally wicked actions’ in some way. Like—do something bad and you unlock the bad path. Keep doing that bad thing, over and over, and eventually the ‘normal’ virtuous path just disappears outright.”

“Morally wicked actions, as in wiping out a whole town or two—yeah, I see your point. So you’re saying I was hovering in-between—still able to go either way. But what would that even look like?”

“Maybe it’s about scale. Killing, but not too much. I skipped the first event, but you didn’t. Do you remember how many players joined in? And since you won—how many of them did you kill?”

“I...do not, but I’m sure it was quite a lot.”

If Lyla’s theory was correct, then had Leah attempted to Rebirth now, only the Queen of Destruction path would be open to her. Nothing she could test immediately, but worth remembering for the future—especially if she ever attempted to create another Fey King.

“But if simply killing is what counts,” Leah said, frowning, “then I’d already racked up more than I can count in my monster ranches back in Lieb. Not to mention the ants before that—and the players who wandered into the forest.”

The tutorial had spelled it out from the beginning: players, NPCs, monsters—the system treated them all the same. A goblin slain, a human slain, it all went into the same tally. But if the counter tracked them separately by race, then what exactly did that imply for these so-called special conditions?

“Hmm, yeah... When you put it like that... What exactly is the game measuring?”

Lyla went quiet for a moment, then spoke again—slower this time, as though piecing the thought together even as she voiced it.

“With any system of distinction, the first line is always ‘me’ versus ‘not me.’ So maybe what the game is really tracking—the condition—is how many times you’ve killed members of your own race.”

Members of one’s own race... Leah could see the logic in that. If so, then only the players she’d killed—during the event and in the forest—would count. She’d never encountered an NPC elf, but elves were popular enough among players. Who knew how many of them she had slain during the event alone?

“Which, in turn, would mean... Lyla—just how many noble humans have you killed?”

“Not many. Which suggests it might carry over from your previous race too. Makes sense, doesn’t it? How many high elves have you killed?”

“Okay, then. So you’ve slaughtered a buttload of humans.”

“I mean, you know how it is. Humanoids are more EXP-efficient than monsters.”

It seemed something noteworthy had happened between Lyla’s open beta test and her Rebirth in Oral. Whatever the details, Leah couldn’t deny the truth: Humanoids were a better source of EXP. Their higher baseline INT—even among noncombatants—made them especially rewarding targets.

“Getting back on topic, though,” Leah said, “if what you wanted from me was a method to reopen that closed-off route, I’m afraid I’m just as lost as you are.”

“Yeah? Figures,” Lyla replied. “Oh, well. We’ve got those paid items that let us reroll from the start now, but if kill count really is the factor, it’d probably stick with me even if I restarted as a human. No way around it, huh?”

At that, Leah arched a brow. If Lyla were to restart as an elf or dwarf, that would neatly sidestep her human kill count. But there was no way Lyla hadn’t thought of that herself.

Which meant...she’d killed far more humanoids than just humans.

Leah sighed. “Welp. There goes my plan of using you as my Thearch. Guess I’ll have to find another way. Thanks for nothing, big sister.”

“You were gonna use me? How awful of you,” Lyla said with a smirk. “Also, what’s a Thearch?”

“The final evolution of humans, probably. But judging by the names of your Rebirths—fallen human, heretic—you’re looking pretty disqualified.”

On second thought, Leah realized there was no real reason to keep this from her sister. It was hard to imagine their aims clashing here. So she shared an abridged version of everything she’d learned from the count.

***

“Wow, Blanc...” Lyla said, awed by the story she’d just heard.

“I know,” Leah replied. “Dying and then getting randomly respawned beneath the count’s castle almost makes it seem like she was the reason the devs adjusted spawn locations right after launch.”

Blanc really had it rough. First, her initial spawn zone had been declared off-limits because it became someone’s private territory. Then the randomizer tossed her straight beneath a raid boss’s castle. That kind of luck made you wonder what sort of karmic debt she must have been paying off in her past life.

“That said, a Thearch, huh?” Lyla murmured. “If only we could figure out what comes after noble human, we’d know if that path was even possible. I guess the only thing for me to try now is Rebirthing into a heretic, then handing me another stone to see if Heresiarch is what comes next.”

“So what are you waiting for?” Leah said.

Lyla shot her a look. “You want me to do it now? Fine, I guess. Be taking that step sooner or later anyway, not like I have any other options. Wait—I’m not going to sprout weird horns or wings or anything, am I? I’m still, like, an actual lord, you know. I can’t afford to look too...” She gave Leah a pointed once-over. “...rock and roll.”

“Huh? They’re not weird. You’re weird.”

Leah’s horns and wings were the coolest thing in existence. Sure, they could get in the way when she sat down or tried to sleep, but that was hardly a drawback. Their usefulness in almost every other situation more than made up for it. Whether they had much utility in a noble’s day-to-day life, well—that was another matter.

“Well,” Lyla said, “suppose in that case I’ll just appoint a proxy and retire from public view. Problem solved. Okay, Rebirthing.”

The system seemed to take her words as immediate affirmation of the task left on hold, and Lyla was suddenly engulfed in light. When it faded, Leah wasted no time: True Sight confirmed an increase in LP, Evil Eye sight confirmed an increase to MP, and natural sight confirmed...

“...Increased birthmarks? What are those— Oh. It’s a pattern on your skin, like a tiger’s. Or a leopard’s.”

“Pattern?” Lyla said. “What are you— Whoa? What the heck is this?!”

Midnight-black, geometric lines traced themselves across Lyla’s face. They extended down her hands as well, which meant they almost certainly covered the rest of her body. Leah hated to admit it, but...they looked pretty damn cool.

“No wings so far,” Leah noted. “Maybe those come next?” She tossed Lyla another philo stone. “Here. Has it been a full day since your last one?”

“What is this, prescription medication? I used the last one the day before yesterday. Does the cooldown start when I use the stone? Only when I resolve the task? Find out this time as I— Oh, wait. Before that, I need to change.”

Lyla set Leah’s philosopher’s stone casually on the dirt at her feet, then scampered off into the bushes.

“Really? Who just puts something someone gave them in the dirt like that?”

“There. Thanks for waiting.”

“Welcome b— What the hell are you wearing?!”

Or more accurately—not wearing! Skin. So much skin. If this had been anywhere near civilization, Lyla would have been reported to the authorities already—Leah would have seen to it herself!

“The sensible outfit when you don’t know what kind of transformation is coming, clearly,” Lyla replied. “I might grow wings, might grow horns, might end up unlike you completely and grow a tail or a dorsal fin, you never know. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“I’m telling grandma on you!”

“Hey, she might actually want to wear this herself.”

“Then I’m telling mom!”

“Nooo, don’t do that, she’ll kick me out of the house again. We good? Okay, then proceeding with— Oho! It worked. Guess that means the cooldown starts the moment you use the stone.”

“Holy EXP cost!” was the last thing Lyla said before light consumed her again.

The point about cooldown beginning upon use made sense, really. The stone dissolved the moment it was invoked; putting the task “on hold” was nothing more than declining to answer the system prompt that asked if you wished to proceed with what had already been set in motion.

The light faded soon enough, revealing a far more sinister-looking Lyla, draped in shadows—both figurative and literal. Something dark had wrapped itself around her form, bringing her earlier exhibitionism down to more reasonable levels.

“Is that...a cloak?”

Instead of the wings Leah had half expected, what emerged from Lyla’s back was a flowing cloak, the same midnight hue as the markings etched across her skin.

“Not a cloak,” Lyla muttered. “They’re...hands. Must be this Hand of the Unholy skill that came with. And it probably looks like clothing because it automatically shifts to boost my defense whenever it drops too low. Which makes sense, since my current outfit isn’t exactly full plate... Hey! Says I have Horns too. Do I? Anything sprouting from my head?”

“Huh. How about that, you do.” Leah nodded. “I was too distracted by your clothes and cloak to notice. They’re like sheep horns.”

If Leah’s own horns resembled those of a goat, then Lyla’s were closer to a sheep’s—curling back from her temples in a spiral before arcing forward again. Paired with the midnight markings etched across her skin, they lent her a very evil, very satanic aura.

Her ears had changed slightly as well, becoming something halfway between human and elf: pointed, but only slightly, much like Leah’s own.

Looking closer, Leah realized the “cloak” sprouting from Lyla’s back was actually a cluster of feelers—tendrils wrought from pure shadow. Gathered and layered together, they resembled a cloak, but depending on how far they could extend, and whether they mimicked the dexterity of ordinary hands, it promised to be a remarkably versatile racial skill.

“Oh— Huh. I have Flight. Guess it really is sort of a cape after all,” Lyla said.

If she had horns like Leah, then chances were she also shared the boosted resistance to Dominate and the other perks that came with them. And if her path mirrored Leah’s that closely, then just as Leah had unlocked Evil Eye at her ascension, Lyla should have gained something similar.

“Say. You have a skill called Heretical Eye, don’t you?”

“Oh, would you look at that? We’re matching.”

Yup. Called it.

<<An unorthodox raid boss—Heresiarch, the Unholy One—has emerged in Trae Forest in Other Territories.>>

“And there it is. So that’s how that works,” Leah murmured.

Ominous, to say the least. Players like her might have grown accustomed to such system-wide announcements, but she could easily imagine how NPCs—having that proclamation suddenly broadcast into their minds—might descend into panic.

How was that panic finding them right now, she wondered? After all, her own birth had not been long ago. This was two back-to-back “evil” raid bosses born in Hilith, and Leah hadn’t exactly done much to soften the “enemy of humanity” connotation, what with destroying Hilith the moment she arrived on the scene.

“Oh? So you heard that too, Leah?” Lyla said with a knowing smirk. “That must make you a ‘player character with the specified skills.’ Ah—that was the whole point of you taking over my church, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. I acquired the skill myself. That said, things are about to get very hectic worldwide, I think. I can put in a word with the Oralian church, but as for the rest... That’s out of my hands.”

Leah could hardly think anyone was going to muster a response to this new Cataclysm this time. The last time, Hilith had only acted because the threat had appeared in their backyard. In truth, it had been the right decision. It should have worked—had their opponent been anyone but Leah. Against her, with all her cards built for mass destruction, the human army’s main advantage in numbers had meant nothing.

But now, with Hilith itself gone, there was no kingdom willing to pour soldiers and resources into marching an army straight into the heart of Cataclysm territory—even without the angels pressing their own assault. That they were only sealed the matter further.

Leah sent off a message to the patriarch of the Oralian church: a rough explanation of what had transpired, reassurance that matters were under control, and a final instruction to panic outwardly. If only the Oralian church kept calm, players would grow suspicious. Best to join the chorus of alarm while quietly knowing the truth.

“Oh, I feel terrific,” Lyla suddenly said. “Like I can take on anything. Anyone.”

No doubt it was the rush of new stats, new organs, new skills—the heady feeling Leah knew all too well. What she also remembered was the consequences. It was that same intoxicating surge that had once driven her to march on the Hilithian capital alone—only to die for it.

“Speaking as someone who’s been through this already,” Leah said, “try not to get too carried away. You’ll die.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine! Compared to who I was a moment ago, it feels like nothing short of a miracle could take me down.”

Why is it that when someone suddenly gets power far beyond their station, their IQ seems to drop twenty points on the spot? Leah wondered. It was like staring into a mirror. Literally—they looked so alike.

Mirror or not, though, Leah was Lyla’s senpai in this whole “enemy of humanity” business. It was her duty to correct her older sister’s delusions, no matter how stubborn.

“Rather cocky for someone who still can’t successfully Appraise me,” Leah said.

“Lea.”

<Successfully resisted the effect.>

“You can go ahead and change that now,” Leah said with a fake smile.

“Sorry. I let the power go to my head,” Lyla admitted sheepishly.

Of course, there was no way Lyla had been getting that Appraisal through. It was the perfect provocation, for Leah’s part. Unlike her sister, she had already suffered defeat at the hands of a band of players, and fought Lyla herself to a stalemate—albeit stripped of skills and magic. She knew better than Lyla the danger of overconfidence.

It was why she had invested so much in herself. The lesson she’d taken from all those losses was simple: Overconfidence wasn’t a problem—if you made yourself so strong that overconfidence was always just...confidence. By that principle she had lived, and by that principle she had thrived. There was no chance a newborn Cataclysm like Lyla was going to land an Appraisal on her.

“On another note, though, this does confirm the noble human to Thean to Thearch pipeline,” Leah said.

“True,” Lyla hummed. “You can use our Cecilia for that if you’d like. But if you do, I’ll be the one fronting the 3000 EXP cost, won’t I?”

The Thearch was needed only as a quest flag to unlock the endgame content. If that was all they were going for, they could just coax one of the royal family of Wels—the last remaining independent human kingdom—into becoming a Thearch. Same goes for a Fey King or a Therionarch.

“What would be more economical in the long run?” Leah mused. “Raising a Thearch of our own, no retainers attached, so they can die without consequence—or manipulating some random free-range NPC into Rebirthing as one and then defeating it?”

“What about just retaining a free-range one of those characters outright?” Lyla asked.

“That won’t work. You, me, Sugaru—we all have traits like Horns that give us hefty resistance to taming. Taming first, then Rebirthing, that’s possible. But trying to tame someone after they’ve Rebirthed? I doubt it would work well at all.”

It was hard to picture a Thearch or a Fey King sprouting horns from their head, but Leah could only assume they had analogues that made them just as resistant. As well as the True Vampire and the Emperor of the Depths.

If the endgame had truly been designed to accommodate every kind of player, then both paths—recruiting allies or crushing them—had to be viable. For the “good” playthrough, simply gathering your companions at the appointed place would probably suffice. But for the “bad” route? Leah couldn’t imagine persuading her enemies to come along willingly. More likely, it would be resolved through combat beforehand. In that case...

“I think sowing the seeds in some NPC and coming back later to harvest is the play, after all,” Leah said.

“Ha,” Lyla snorted. “I’m just imagining you cornering some royal NPC, holding out a philosopher’s stone and whispering, ‘Want power? Take it.’”

Leah froze.

What the heck.

That was...fantastic.

Amazing.

Perfect.

The exact kind of role she wanted to play.

How could she make that happen? How could she make that happen even a second sooner? She needed to begin fattening up the royals of every kingdom now. Let them feel the shadow of mortality—but never allow them to actually die, of course.

Maybe she could establish dungeons of carefully calibrated difficulty just beyond each capital. Close enough to warrant each monarchy dispatching their personal guard to deal with the threat. That way, the knights could farm EXP endlessly on behalf of their masters. This wouldn’t be for players, so no need to make it a teleport destination, or have the system recognize it as such at all. She just needed to make quiet, convenient arenas where NPCs could grind, building power under her design.

“I’ll need the right kind of mobs...” Leah muttered darkly. Lowly. “Something with enticing loot... Or EXP-rich prey that’s easy to cull...”

Lyla watched her sister with a half-amused smile. “You enjoying yourself there, sister? Now, as much as I would like to stay, I should really get— But, hmm. I can’t exactly go back like this, can I? Bummer. I’ll have to attend my new regime’s commemorative ceremony in full armor.”

“What are you gonna do with your evil hands?” Leah asked.

“Turn them all into clothes and— Hmm, that won’t work, will it? Then I’ll just cut slits into my armor and have them hanging out back. If they want to be a cloak so badly, I’ll let them.”

“And your horns?”

“Cut two holes in my helmet, call them decorative and have them be part of my— Gah! This is turning into such a pain. You know what, screw it. I’ll just kidnap some farm girl and have her be my body double.”

Leah nodded her head. Trying to design a convincing excuse for those horns as “ornaments” would be difficult. Finding a body double would be much simpler.

***

For a while afterward, they experimented, testing the range and versatility of Lyla’s unholy hands, poking at nodes in the Heretical Eye tree to see what they unlocked, et cetera. Leah half expected her sister to stumble across some kind of capstone—an “Unholy Principle” skill, mirroring her own—yet no such thing appeared.

“Well, I think that’s about as far as we’re gonna get today,” Lyla said. “Crazy how much these retainer-boost skills of mine boost my retainers’ stats, huh? Only on mobs with ‘human’ and ‘unholy’ in the name, but hey, most of my retainers are human or noble human anyway.”

Heresiarchs, as it turned out, came with a suite of skills aimed squarely at empowering their retainers. Leah would be lying if she claimed she didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy. But when she thought about how those skills would apply to her—likely boosting only “elf-somethings” or “dark-somethings”—and the fact that she had none of those in her service, she no longer felt too strongly about it.

“Imagine if you could make an ‘unholy dragon’ to take advantage of all that?” Leah said.

“Ooh, sister, I like the sound of that. Catch a few more newts and try it out for me.” Lyla grinned. “Well then, that’s everything I came for—save for a few unexpected side jobs cropping up, I guess. Time for me to take my leave.”

Something bristled in Leah. Just because Lyla had finished her business, she thought she could simply walk away? The least she could do is stay a little longer and repay the favor.

But then something in the sky caught her eye.

“Hey, Lyla.”

“What?”

“Since opportunities just come knocking, why not take that new body of yours for a test-drive?”

“What do you...?”

“Look up. The second wave of angels cometh.”

***

“Is it just me, or is that a lot of angels? Like, more are flocking to this forest than ever showed up in town?” Lyla said, staring at the mass in the sky.

“No idea how it went down in your town, but this is definitely more than what came earlier. Maybe it’s one of those events where the mobs are weak, but the waves just keep piling on.”

From that, Leah gathered that Lyla must have been in Hugelkuppe during the first wave, overseeing the defenses there.

Even at a glance, she could tell this swarm might have doubled the first. But honestly, it could’ve been triple, quadruple, whatever—the power gap was so great that no matter how many angels descended, she and Übel could sweep them aside. The EXP yield would be negligible and their item drops were yet to be proven valuable, so the whole exercise would amount to little more than a waste of time.

“Yeah, no. Something’s off with these angels,” Lyla murmured suddenly. “This isn’t normal. As far as I can see, no other towns or dungeons are getting hit again. At least...nothing on the forums.”

Leah glanced to her side. Lyla stood perfectly straight, eyes closed in a posture so composed she might have been mistaken for asleep on her feet. But in reality, she was browsing the in-game forums.

Leah allowed herself a small, private grin. Even if Lyla had technically been kicked out, they still shared the same upbringing—discipline drilled so deep they could never allow themselves to look slack or inattentive, even when their focus was elsewhere entirely.

“So, what—you’re saying this is an irregular angel attack?” Leah said. “Targeting here, and only here? Hmm. Maybe. Last wave, Lieflais was struck before this forest... And right now, none of my other domains have reported any angel activity either. Just what is going on?”

“Leah, dear—you haven’t done something, have you? Like something...aggressively attention-grabbing during the first wave?”

“No, I mean I... Wait. That’s it. I didn’t do something—you did something. The announcement of a Heresiarch’s birth—the angels must have heard it, and now they’re here on the boss’s orders.”

“Hey, don’t pin that on me. You’re making my back prickle.”

What, was it the unholy hands squirming around or something?

Leah briefly wondered if the number of those hands would increase the further Lyla advanced down the skill tree... But that was beside the point right now.

“If the angels came after the announcement went out, then someone in the Archangel’s camp definitely has Mysticism,” Leah mused aloud. “And if they came here, that means they even heard the part about Trae Forest, which would imply the Archangel either has Mysticism on par with a patriarch—or commands someone who does.”

Lyla stepped up beside her. “And supposing this ‘Celestial Citadel’ can move freely through the skies, then we should expect it to come directly to us. It’d be easy enough for them to find their way here. Hard to miss a landmark that size.”

By “landmark that size,” Leah assumed Lyla meant the World Tree. Fair enough, it was a big tree. But...

“Why do you say supposing?” Leah asked. “Seems pretty clear it’s a free-moving fortress, considering the Archangel controls the damn thing.”

“Does it, though? Where have you heard that, aside from the humanoid kingdoms claiming it to be so? Who’s to say it isn’t just a floating platform—like a continent on rails, circling the land on a fixed path?”

Leah...couldn’t argue against that.

Then suppose they would just have to wait and see. Either the Citadel arrived, confirming the free-flying theory, or it didn’t, meaning it was tethered to its route—or that the Archangel judged Heresiarch Lyla unworthy of shifting an entire castle just to deal with her.

If it was the latter...then whoever thought sending more weak-sauce angels was an adequate answer to the birth of an entity so powerful it deserved an instant global proclamation seriously needed their head examined.

“Oh, well. Not my problem,” Leah said. “Übel—mop the floor with them.”

“Abigor—you’re up, as well.”

Leah flicked her head to the side. “Abi-what? Is that what you named your gargouille?”

“I actually wanted to name it Eligos at first, but the game wouldn’t let me,” Lyla explained. “Maybe that name’s already taken by a race or an important NPC or something.”

Leah blinked in thought.

She herself had managed to name her World Tree World Tree, so it was clearly possible to borrow a race name... But if Lyla had tried and been stopped, then either you weren’t able to double an NPC’s name, or you couldn’t name one race after another. Blocking all NPC names seemed like an absurdly limiting thing to do, so perhaps it only applied to key NPCs.

She could test the second possibility right away: just name a Hilithian newt “Oralian skink” and see if the game allowed it. Normally, she wouldn’t want to saddle one of her regular minions with something so confusing, but if it was destined for fusion soon anyway, there was no harm done.

Übel and Abigor took to the skies, and the angels valiantly diverted from their path to meet them. They had no weapons; their attacks were limited to little more than flying kicks, bare-handed strikes, and desperate grappling. As such, none of them ever reached striking distance; each was vaporized by breath attacks long before they could land a blow. This wave might have been twice the size of the first, but at this pace it looked like it wouldn’t take much longer to clear.

“Wait a second,” Leah said, tearing her eyes from the battle to narrow them at Lyla. “I said this test-drive was for you. What are you doing passing it off to your lackey?”

“Hey, Abigor needs to be taken out for a spin too,” Lyla replied, utterly unbothered. “More importantly, you named yours Übel? Is that German?”

“Yep. Dope, right?”

“Just wondering—do you know this player named Justise?”

Leah paused, thinking. “I think I... No, yeah. That definitely rings a bell.”

That felt like a name she’d seen on the forums before...

Übel meant something like “evil” in German. Justise, on the other hand—or more accurately, Justiz—meant justice.

“Nice enough kid, in Oral. Hugelkuppe, actually,” Lyla said. “Wants to become a knight. Wants to serve as one of my personal retainers.”

“Oh?”

Now that raised an interesting possibility for Leah.

If a player were tamed by another player, would they be able to realize their master was not an NPC?

The first obvious stumbling block was system prompts. Obviously, if it were an NPC doing the taming, then whenever the player wanted to Rebirth or unlock a special new skill, it would process automatically—no delays, no visible hand in the matter. A player-master, however, would need to manually respond to each and every one of those prompts.

Yes, they could try to mask the difference by reacting quickly, minimizing any lag. But how long could that deception really last before the retainer caught on?

Players logged out of the game. That meant stretches of time when they were effectively “asleep.” NPCs slept too, of course, but theirs was handled seamlessly by the system. If a player wasn’t logged in to receive a prompt when it came...what would happen then? It almost seemed inevitable to Leah that the player-retainer would start to suspect something was off.

Pulling herself back from that train of thought, Leah looked at her sister. “You gonna do it, Lyla?”

“’Course not,” Lyla replied instantly. “The risks are too big for no payoff on my end. But I could have one of my retainers retain them. Like that potential body double I mentioned recruiting. Maybe Rebirth her as noble, then have her retain Justise.”

The process itself was whatever to Leah—Lyla could fiddle around however she liked. What snagged in Leah’s head, though, was the naming. Justise. Almost like a rival to Übel. She vaguely remembered seeing it on the forums before, but had forgotten until now. Though, not that she made it a point to track the handle of every single player that flashed by in that endless churn.

Übel radiated—was the personification itself—of all things darkness, sorcery, and vile. Pretty much the walking antithesis to the shining knight of justice. The kind of foul beast that existed just so the knight could slay it and be hailed as a hero in some tale of valor.

“Hey, Leah,” Lyla suddenly said. “If I end up getting Justise under my command one way or another, let’s have a little fight. I’ll sic her on you—in a little quest to vanquish the evil dragon.” A smile flitted onto her lips.

Leah smiled back. “If you want. I won’t hold back, though.”

“Nor would I want you to. Not like there would be any consequences if I lose. Just a...dinner and a show, you know what I mean?”

Leah had always wanted to organize some sort of mock fight with Lyla. Just to settle things. After all, their last scuffle in Hugelkuppe had ended in a stalemate, a condition that had persisted to this day.

Having Übel and Justise duke it out in their stead wasn’t the worst idea ever.

***

Leah and Lyla lingered for a while, but no floating castle appeared in the sky. With that possibility off the table, Leah shared her earlier theory about triangulating the Citadel’s location—only to be met with a distinctly unenthusiastic response.

“You calculate the Citadel’s location, then what? You planning to march in and defeat them yourself?” Lyla asked. Then she paused, reconsidering. “Well... I’m sure part of the playerbase would love a great kaiju showdown. If you’re going to do it, save it for the end of the event. By then someone will have roughly determined the location anyway, just like you said. No need to rush, right?”

“Who you calling a kaiju?” Leah shot back, narrowing her eyes. “But fine. You’re right. With bonus EXP active, I might as well leave the angels alone for now and farm some players in my dungeons.”

“Try again. Why do you think the devs went out of their way to emphasize co-op play for this event? From the way they phrased it, you’d expect that to be the very basis of the rankings.”

Leah mulled it over. True enough—she had found it odd how deliberately the devs had worded their announcement. But what she hadn’t yet untangled was this: How exactly did they expect “co-op” play to happen in the first place?

She frowned in thought. “If I recall, the devs called this a time to set aside ‘rivalries.’ But what does that even mean in practice? Racial divides, sure—that’s obvious enough. But alignment? Faction? Ideology? How are they measuring that? You can’t exactly ‘set aside rivalries’ with your allies—that makes no sense. So it must mean working with those you’d normally consider enemies. Yet there’s no party system, no clan framework that would make that clear. NPC AI is one thing, but for players? The devs can only use our thoughts insofar as to control our avatars. Brain wave reading for any other purpose is strictly illegal. So what exactly are they leveraging?”

Lyla tilted her head, lips quirking. “This isn’t exactly my field of expertise, but there are ways to sort of...pull that from the noise, don’t you think? There’s this old-timey technology—I’m sure you’ve heard of it—targeted advertising, where they take everything about a person—the terms they searched, the sites they visited—throw it all into an algorithm, and out came a profile of that person’s personality and interests?” She gestured vaguely at the air, as if to encompass the entire world around them. “The devs could do the same here. They have a complete log of every action we take. No law against analyzing that. Even without reading our minds directly, they could still get a pretty accurate picture of what we’re thinking.”

Leah blinked, then nodded. “Ah. That makes sense. And it would explain why the game seems to know Blanc’s zombies count as Diaz’s allies, so they aren’t affected by his Miasma.”

Who you associated with, the choices you made, whether with NPCs or other players—all of it was logged by the great computer, analyzed, and used to determine the system’s response in moments of ambiguity.

“Now then, if we’re all done here, I think I’d like to go home,” Lyla said.

“Yep. Safe trip. Say hi to Justise for me,” Leah replied.

“I’ll pass the word on to who actually associates with her. Spoiler alert: It won’t be me.”

***

After Lyla left, Leah had the ants collect every last Pure of Heart the angels had dropped. That Lyla hadn’t taken any—perhaps she saw no use for them? Well, her loss. Even without Necromancy, the effect of binding a soul to flesh could be useful in extending the post-death window for resurrection. Then again, without the current knowledge to craft such an item, its value would be—

She stopped herself mid-thought. “Extending the post-death window, huh...”

It was by design that when a retainer was defeated, they automatically respawned after one hour. The lore framed it as the time a soul remained tethered to the body before fading entirely. But from a gameplay perspective? More likely it was a deliberate safeguard—to make sure resurrection-type skills and items still had their place.

Because unlike players—who could choose whether or not to respawn—NPCs had no such agency. If the respawn timing for retainers had been random or too short, then resurrection would have become impractical, even pointless. Hence the fixed, uniform one-hour timer.

So if the Pure of Heart bound souls to flesh, and flesh with a bound soul could not respawn, then did that mean using one on a dead retainer might actually extend the time before their automatic return?

It wasn’t a detail Leah could see most dev teams implementing, but this one? Judging from the way other processes—like MP regeneration—had been woven seamlessly into both system and lore, it was clear the devs had gone to lengths to make the game world internally consistent. Which meant the possibility couldn’t be ruled out.

“That said, I doubt it’s something I’ll ever have the chance to use. I’ll just file it away in the back of my mind—maybe test it if I ever have the time,” Leah muttered.

With that settled, her purpose in Trae was more or less complete. For no particular reason, she let her gaze wander across the clearing. First, to the World Tree—the juggernaut of her domain, its vast boughs straining skyward as if to pierce the heavens themselves. Then to the idle living temple—Uluru—stationed before it. Finally, to the guardians flanking the temple: the amphisbaena on one side, the gargouille on the other.

She rolled her eyes. <Lyla? I think you forgot something.>

The reply was immediate: <Oh no, I just thought I’d leave it there for now. No room over at my place, you know how it is. Don’t worry, though—Abigor’s housebroken.>

And it was as inconsiderate and flippant as always.

That said, housebroken?

An interesting turn of phrase. Leah could only take it to mean Lyla had added the beast to her friend list. She liked it. A clever bit of code. Maybe she’d steal it for herself.

At any rate, the clearing was beginning to feel a lot more cramped now—Uluru, Übel, and now Abigor all crowding the space. She ordered the World Tree to widen the clearing and, to balance it out, extend the forest’s outer reaches as well.

With that last bit of housekeeping squared away, it was time to return her attention to the event.

The angels, truth be told, were hardly a threat at all. If the official announcement held true, then these flimsy little cherubs would be the full extent of the week’s incursion—barring some dramatic twist.

“That said—co-op play, huh? I mean, it’s not like I came into this event with any intention of ranking in the first place...”

Leah had opted out of the name reveal. In that light, even if she did rank, it seemed unlikely her name would display properly.

“And wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth to anyone actually trying? Losing their spot to some guy called ‘Anonymous’?”

The thought reminded her of an old prank from long ago. Back when admission to higher education was decided purely by test scores, there had been rehearsal exams—so-called mock tests—and in the nationwide ones, it became something of a fad to register under fake names and see them splashed across the rankings. Names from whatever anime was popular at the time, for instance.

Hardly dignified behavior, but compared to your average petty vandalism, it felt like a cleverer kind of mischief. After all, to pull it off, you had to perform at a top national level academically. That meant putting an immense amount of effort, just for a little kick.

Leah smiled faintly. “Not a bad idea. Suppose I can just...keep the skies over Hilith clear when the ‘official’ second wave comes.”

Depending on how things played out, this might be her opportunity to step into the open without reservation.

The Seventh Cataclysm, standing guard over Hilith against the angels—that was the sort of image that would silence any thought of another kingdom making a move against Hilith again.

***

“No strict schedule, but about five to six hours between waves,” Leah observed. Or four, if one wanted to go by real-world time.

She had to admit, it was a smart cadence for an event of this scale. Frequent enough to keep the world’s NPC knights engaged, but not too frequent as to be overwhelming. And if players chose to add their strength alongside them, so much the better.

That said, it lacked a certain spark for the playerbase’s upper crust—something to keep them engaged.

“I don’t know if I can give them exactly what they’re looking for,” Leah murmured, “but I can at least give them something worth talking about.”

She summoned Mister Plates from the capital, and slid right back into the enchanted suit of armor like she’d never even taken it off. Then she rallied every beetle capable of flight in Trae and sent them soaring skyward. She dispatched the same command to Lieb and to Rokillean: All airborne troops were to leave their woodland nests, scour the skies of angels, and converge on the Old Hilith Capital.

The sight was like a locust plague. From forests scattered across the eastern half of Hilith, swarms upon swarms of insects surged forth—a vast, living tide flooding the heavens, tearing through every angel in their path as they streamed toward the fallen capital.

Any Pure of Hearts dropped by the angels could be left where they fell. If Leah ever needed them, she could rely on the good people at Orban Trading Company to buy them up on her behalf. And if word spread that a Hilithian outfit was purchasing Hearts under the guise of some fictitious “angel attack relief fund,” merchants would flock to Hilith in droves. Money might flow out of her domain because of it, but in its own way that was still economic stimulation.

Leah herself joined the slaughter as she made her way toward the capital. There, outside the city walls, a handful of players had already gathered. Fighting in the open, rather than within, was the smarter choice—this way, the battle would not devolve into a chaotic three-way melee between themselves, the angels, and the adamant and carknights within. If just reaping angels was the plan, then all the better to do it outside—and even better to do it here, in a fallen capital, where there were no NPC knights to share in the spoils.

Looking closer, Leah recognized a few familiar faces among the crowd. Much as she would have liked to greet them properly—with all the “warmth” they deserved—she had come for another purpose. One they were more than capable of helping her accomplish all the same.

“Behold, my loyal kin!” Leah bellowed, her voice booming unnaturally loud thanks to the wind-wrought art of Amplify Voice. “From on high they slither down—these repulsive, loathsome, sagging sacks of meat! They dare stain the streets of our hallowed city with their profane tread. Arrogant, as though the heavens themselves grant them rite of passage!”

She threw out her arms with a flourish, reveling in her own theatrics. “Tell me—how shall we answer this blasphemy? With trembling silence, or with righteous ruin?”

The response from the players was instant.

“What? Is that the Seventh Cataclysm?!”

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on? It’s going to engage the angels? They’re enemies?!”

“Oh, thank goodness. For a second there, I thought we were going to fight a two-front battle against the angels and the Seventh.”

“Um... Hello? Is no one going to mention the freaking dragon?!”

Their heads all snapped upward. Their mouths hanging open like fools was indeed a sight that brought a smile to Leah’s face.

But then, beneath the clamor, a few quieter voices drifted to her ear.

“I mean, technically speaking, we’re also kinda trespassing on its turf. So...maybe we should be talking about us too?”

“‘Repulsive, loathsome, sagging.’ Not trying to defend the angels, but that’s still a hell of a thing to say. The Seventh trying to win this fight through sheer arrogance or what?”

“You know, in some circles, the Shiba Inu-sized insects are, by far, the more deserving of the ‘loathsome’ modifier.”

The group was not without its share of smart-asses. They talked quietly, but not quiet enough to escape Leah’s enhanced hearing.

If she’d taken a moment to respond, she might’ve pointed out that of course there was a difference—the players were striding properly through the city’s gates as was intended, while the angels flitted in from whatever direction they pleased. That was disorderly. Uncivilized. And besides, her carknights couldn’t even fly—yet another insult to her predetermined order of things.

As for the “arrogance” jab... Well, they weren’t wrong, and Leah wasn’t about to argue. Villain role-play needed some arrogance—it was half the fun. And judging from the way the players spoke, they expected this from her.

So she doubled down, turning onto the gathered players with silent menace. “You there—outlanders. You show courage, shielding the capital in my stead. But make no mistake: Your courage does not spare you. Keep proving yourselves useful, and when the day comes, perhaps I will choose to kill you last.” Then, she turned back toward her forces, her voice swelling through the amplify skill. “Now, my kin! Unmake these carcasses and cast their scraps to the wind! Show them the terror that comes with bearing my mark—the terror of being a child of destruction!”

At Leah’s command, the giant flying insects, the carknights on the ground, and the dread dragon Übel all surged into action, hurling themselves at the angelic host. As ordered, they unleashed their flashiest abilities.

It was pure shock and awe. From below, Leah caught the sounds—breaths drawn sharp, whispers of disbelief—exactly the reaction she’d hoped for. No doubt, before long—or perhaps even now—those same players would be rushing to the forums to gush about what they had just witnessed.

When the last angel fell and the wave ended, Leah dipped low, leading her forces in a deliberate flyover that skimmed just above the players’ heads before turning back toward Trae.

Back in the forest, she gave herself a little debrief.

“Hmm. If we have to sortie from the forests every time the angels attack, we’ll never make it in time. Maybe I should establish some garrisons or something of that sort on some vacant land.”

The sun had already set, but that actually worked to her advantage.

Through the night, she swept across Hilith, summoning elder treants and lesser treants in secluded places to raise small groves—makeshift outposts for her ants and beetles.

Thus, from the second day of the event onward, the skies above the former kingdom became a magnificent spectacle—battles between insectoid monsters and cherubic invaders flaring wherever the eye could wander.

***

And so it came to be known, over the course of the first two days of the event, that the Archangel and Seventh Cataclysm were hostile toward one another. And thanks to that hostility, the former Kingdom of Hilith could count itself as the region that had so far suffered the least physical damage.

In place of ruined towns, however, Hilith’s skies swarmed with giant wasps and stag beetles. The constant patrols took their toll in nerves rather than lives—a more mental type of strain, but a more preferable one all the same.

After a few angelic incursions, it quickly became clear that the Celestial Citadel—whatever it was—was not a stationary object. Each attack struck different towns or dungeons at different times. Whether it drifted freely or followed some hidden path, one thing was certain: It was always on the move.

“I guess it would technically be possible to track every incursion, plot the positions, and try to chart its course, but...man, do I really not want to be doing that right now.”

It would be a tremendous amount of work. Done without the certainty that the Citadel was on a fixed course, no less.

By the second morning of the event, more and more players were beginning to opt to camp in Leah’s dungeons instead of participating in the event. It wasn’t really by choice. In Hilith, the clashes between cherubim and insectoids happened high up in the sky, leaving the only things they could interact with event-wise murky gemstones and bug corpses. Unwilling to waste the event’s bonus EXP and reduced death penalty, they had little option but to dive into the dungeons.

According to the forums, Hilith now boasted the highest concentration of high-level players of any region. For Leah, this was doubly good news. Their presence meant less competition for her on the event leaderboards, and far richer pickings in terms of EXP. Not that the former was super important as she wasn’t aiming to rank in this event or anything.

What surprised her, though, was how these players handled her dungeons. They weren’t playing efficiently, despite the EXP boost. Instead of farming safe mobs and maximizing gains, they charged recklessly ahead, veered down unassuming detours, and probed every corner as if determined to stamp their footprints on the entire map.

The real draw, it turned out, wasn’t the bonus EXP but the removal of the death penalty. With nothing to lose, they treated the event as a free pass to explore, eager to chart the dungeons in full for future use.

Rokillean was the exception. Its shifting labyrinth discouraged mapping altogether, so the playerbase abandoned the idea and simply dove straight for the depths. They hurled themselves at boss mobs and heavy hitters, testing strategies in the hopes of finding something that would stick later on.

Of course, their progress still lived and died at the mercy of the resident queen arachnias—that was to say, it was impossible to make it even close to the deepest depths they aimed for. Even so, Leah couldn’t help but admire the passion on display.

But what else she couldn’t help but admire, perhaps more than anything else said so far, were the fat, fat piles of EXP rolling in, courtesy of a reckless playerbase freed from fear of death, and sweetened further by that extra ten percent boost.

One thing that stuck out as a thorn in her side, however, was the sudden appearance of Wayne’s party in the Old Hilith Capital. They had abandoned their obsession with Ellental and marched all the way here. Compared to other groups, their defenses and physical strength stood head and shoulders above the rest. In the capital, sending carknights against them barely slowed them down; only forces bolstered with adamanleaders had any chance of bringing them to heel. Their gear was formidable enough, but the real problem was that they were starting to grow into it. By now, they could easily be counted among the strongest players in the entire game.

“At this point, they’re probably tough enough to claim a four-star dungeon as their own. I can keep them in check for now by cranking up the local difficulty to five stars, but once they outgrow the adamanleaders, I’ll have nothing left to throw at them.”

Fortunately for Leah—the aforementioned piles and piles of EXP. What she was sitting on now rivaled even the hoard from when she’d flattened the Grand Army in the streets of Rokillean. Events. Truly a beautiful thing, she thought to herself.

“Maybe it’s time to give our adamant boys the upgrade they deserve. But, not like I’m swimming in a bottomless pool of philosopher’s stones... If I could, say, fuse two into one and swap in my blood for the missing piece, that would be nice.”

It would’ve been nice. But a quick test showed the Philosopher’s Egg refused her adamant constructs. They couldn’t be used as fusion material, which left her with no choice but to Rebirth them one by one, the old-fashioned way.

If only her grave shortage of philosopher’s stones hadn’t been just a figure of speech. It was frustrating because she had nearly every material required. Cinnabar and iron she had in abundance in Lieb and the base of Uluru’s volcano home. Acid from her ants was nigh unlimited. Same went for the World Tree and treant ash. It was just that pesky monster’s heart that was being the proverbial bottle’s neck.

Harvesting hearts meant taking lives, and setting up an endless supply of those lives wasn’t easy. If only she’d thought to grab some hobgoblin hearts back in Neuschloss. Being retainers of that Deovoldraugr player likely made them infinite in number. But alas...

If only there were a place where monster hearts lay littered on the ground like ginkgo nuts on a ginkgo tree-lined street...

“Hmm? Wait a second. I feel like there’s a reason I used that specific figure of speech...”

Because she’d seen something that had reminded her of it just recently.

She looked inside her inventory; it was brimmed with Pure of Hearts, the spoils of her efforts in repelling angel incursions in Trae. Now this was just her loot from one place of incursion—if she gathered the loot gathered across all her holdings, how great would her hoard be? No reports from her subordinates had suggested otherwise, so she could only assume the other incursions had all been handily dealt with. That meant tons of hearts for the taking, so long as they didn’t just disappear randomly, which as far as she knew, they didn’t. If these could serve as “hearts” for the purpose of the recipe, then her philo stone supply problem was as good as solved.

“Definitely worth a shot. What, am I supposed to believe the devs slapped ‘heart’ in the name for no reason?”

But her stocks of cinnabar and iron were all stored in the artisan’s district in Lieflais, so to test the theory she had to head there. Borrowing Mali’s body, Leah arrived in the district with Lemmy in tow. Two birds, one stone: Not only would this be an experiment with the Pure of Hearts, but also a test of the capabilities of the town’s artisans, who were now all Lemmy’s retainers. She left the work to them, and sure enough...

“A philosopher’s stone,” Lemmy announced, holding it out toward her.

“Hmm... So even with World Tree ash, it still came out as a normal philosopher’s stone,” Leah mused.

The result suggested the problem lay with the Pure of Hearts themselves—their low rank, a reflection of the weak monsters they dropped from.

“But, eh, that’s fine,” Leah said. “I’ll take the chance to mass-produce even normal stones any day of the week.”

“At least for the duration of the event,” Lemmy corrected gently. “Shall I proceed with mass production?”

“Please. It might even turn into a not-half-bad source of EXP. For context, Übel can kill ten angels or more and still net me less EXP than one of your artisans creating a single stone.”

Of course, that was more due to Übel’s overwhelming destructive power than anything else. With such a gulf in level, the angels yielded but pittances. But because the enormous dragon served as such a good billboard, it was still sent out in the skies above Hilith to advertise Leah’s efforts for all the world to see.

In any case, the future of her philosopher’s stone supply was finally looking bright. If this kept up, she could start popping them like candy again.

***

In a field outside the Great Woods of Lieb, Leah set about upgrading her adamant constructs.

They assembled upon that grassland, under which the ants had dug a vast subterranean chamber, in which dozens of skeletal warlords and giant corpses lay in wait. Their time hadn’t yet come, but it would. One grand day where Leah would strut them out into the light of day for all to see.

Or rather, maybe she shouldn’t phrase it like that because the light of day would be rather inconvenient for her undead friends.

In any case, there on that field, above their slumbering bulk, Leah began Rebirthing her adamant constructs, one after another.

Adamanleaders became adamanduxes.

Adamanknights became adamanarma.

Adamanmages became adamanscientias.

And adamanscouts became adamanumbras.

“So, let’s see... In words you and I can understand, that would be adamant general, adamant arms, adamant knowledge and adamant shadow. Not bad. I like it...”

While not much about the appearances of the adamant constructs had differentiated them before, the differences stood out clearly.

The duxes bore bodies of black metal trimmed in gold—a regal, commanding palette that radiated “powerhouse” at a glance. Leah couldn’t think of a more fitting look for a set of generals.

The arma, by contrast, had sharpened and menaced up in design. Silver accents now gleamed along their armored frames. Once they carried both swords and shields, but now they bore only sword. Since neither weapon had been part of their base form—they were equipment Leah had provided—she couldn’t help but feel a little cheated that the transformation had simply decided to do with them as it wished.

The scientias shed most of their armor altogether. What remained was a set of shoulder plates, beneath which robes of lustrous cloth flowed.

As for the umbras, they were slimmer than the arma, and carried shorter swords and bore trims of black instead of silver, making for an all-black look. Side by side, they were the mirror image: the arma the warrior’s body, the umbra the assassin’s shadow.

Since the duxes were the only ones that required extra EXP to Rebirth, it seemed the rest of the upgrades were less raw power boosts and more “sidegrades”—changes in stats razor-focused on their roles. The scientias, for example, lost STR but gained a hefty boost to INT and MND. The arma, on the other hand, bled INT and MND so much it was almost alarming. It was as if they’d decided to embody their namesake—mere “arms”—and become little more than tools built for harming.

Whether this shift proved a true upgrade over their previous forms came down entirely to leadership. But with the duxes stronger across the board—paid for in extra EXP cost—things looked promising.

By Leah’s early reckoning, even a single upgraded adamant squad might be enough to completely shut Wayne’s party out. That said, there was still the player named Mentai-list to account for. With his soul-binding stones and Enchantment magic, he could easily debuff the low-MND’d arma and turn them into dead weight if they weren’t careful.

But of course that, along with everything else, would come down to combat experience. It would come down to the skill of their commander. And in the duxes, Leah had high hopes.

With that, Leah drew a tentative line under the strengthening of her adamant-men. Any further, and each Rebirth looked like it would demand extra EXP, making the cost-to-performance ratio less appealing. She would have liked to do something for Mister Plates as well, but with the duxes having drained most of her reserves—and with his next Rebirth shaping up to be particularly expensive, in all likelihood—she decided he would have to wait a little longer.

That left Leah with little else to pursue, either for the event or for future-proofing.

Which meant, perhaps, it was time to turn her focus to a little “hobby project”—one that might carry weighty implications down the line.

“In creating a Thearch, my best bet would probably be...the Kingdom of Wels. Well, more like my only bet, seeing as they’re the last de facto human kingdom still standing. Now, Wels—wasn’t that where I sent Hakuma and the wolves not too long ago? Wow, has it really been that long already? Guess I’ll pay them a visit.”

Chapter 7: La Pucelle de Wels

The Kingdom of Wels bordered Hilith to the north. But due to the Avon Mercato highlands and various monster domains sitting squarely between them, the two kingdoms were fairly isolated despite their shared border. Well, they had been isolated. With Hilith’s fall, Leah wasn’t sure exactly how things stood anymore.

Wels’s main industries were those of timber and agriculture. Then again, with inter-kingdom trade and exchange as limited as it was, it would perhaps be true to say agriculture was a main industry of every kingdom. Better stated, the specific agricultural niche Wels had carved out for itself was animal husbandry.

They raised livestock and sold it to their neighbor, Peare. They harvested timber and—through Peare—sold it further on to the Kingdom of Shape that bordered Peare on the other side. In a world crawling with monsters and hostile terrain, Wels’s determination to keep commerce moving was almost admirable. Their trick was simple but clever: Livestock were hitched to haul the timber to Peare, then sold along with the timber in one go. From there, Pearesian merchants resold the wood to Shape. A neat, self-contained little system. The livestock in question, as it turned out, was a certain kind of domesticated monster. Kept in regions where nothing but low-level monsters appeared, they faced little in the way of danger.

That tidy arrangement, however, had unraveled in recent times. The destruction of Neuschloss and the tensions flaring between Peare and Shape had frozen trade. With Wels dependent on passage through Peare to reach Shape, their economy was at the mercy of their neighbors’ quarrels.

“So, Lyla has been busy buying up all the lumber Wels has been unable to sell, has she?” Leah murmured. “If word gets around that selling timber to Oral pays better than selling livestock to Peare, farmers might start switching over. And if that happens, Peare’s food supply could be in jeopardy, sparking a trade dispute and all the mess that will bring. Oh, Lyla...you really are never up to anything good, are you?”

Like the newts and lizardmen, trees in this world reproduced and grew at an accelerated pace. Not so fast that a full-grown tree could sprout in mere weeks, but fast enough that a shift from livestock to timber wasn’t nearly as far-fetched as it sounded.

From up above, Leah studied the capital of Wels, and found a pretty normal capital city.

Hilith’s capital had its beautiful circularity. Oral its rigid angularity. Wels, by contrast, sprawled out across the ground like an amoeba, perhaps a reflection of its national identity.

At the city gates, she noted the guards on duty. They didn’t seem particularly alert, nor eager to question anyone passing through. The walls were clearly meant for monsters first and foremost; as far as criminal deterrence went, they weren’t the be-all and end-all.

Then again, Leah could fly—so why was she even worrying about gate security?

“Ah, that must be the cathedral,” she said at last, spotting a grand building not unlike the one she’d infiltrated in Oral.

Perfect. The more similar the better—for her second go around.

The influence of religious organizations shifted from country to country, from age to age. But here, with the church occupying sprawling grounds in the capital’s prime district, their buildings looming large, and their clerics swaggering down the main boulevard with pride, clearly, they commanded real social standing.

To be a member of the clergy was to, by virtue of title alone, unconditionally command the trust of the flock.

And to be a member of the clergy, one only had to prove they had the necessary skills, which was laughably simple in a video game built with a skills system. Demonstrate you had access to certain skills, and that was all the certification one needed. The stronger and broader the skills, the higher the rank bestowed.

In other words, if Leah could bend the pillar of public trust that was the church to her will, influencing the kingdom’s royalty would hardly pose a challenge.

***

“—And that’s why I intend to raise this kingdom’s royal family to even greater heights. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.”

This church takeover had gone far more smoothly than the last.

Leah had simply appraised every NPC that might’ve looked the part, picked out the one that had obtained skills like Mysticism and Suggestion at a high level, and retained him. Once the patriarch was under her control, she Rebirthed him into a noble human, and had all the bishops come before him to be placed under his retainership. Finally, the whole gang was gathered in the chapel for a heartfelt sermon slash orientation—which had just concluded, bringing matters up to the present.

“Summon: Kelli. Summon: Amalie,” Leah intoned. Before her, the two appeared.

“Yes, boss?”

“Here, Your Majesty.”

They both dropped to one knee.

Leah presented them to the assembly. “This here is Kelli, and this is Mali. They are my trusted retainers, and they will be calling your city home for the next little while.”

Leah had brought Kelli in to seize control of part of the city’s merchant firms. The aim was simple: secure a steady, reliable flow of information. It was either that or the Mercenary Guild, but the guild practically reeked of developer meddling. One wrong step and she risked drawing their ire. The last thing she wanted was to be teleported into some dim chamber, face-to-face with a hooded figure asking, Do you know why we brought you here today?

So—business it was. And Kelli, with Gustaf at her side as retainer, had more experience than most in such dealings. Leah was counting on that expertise to see things through.

Besides, once Lyla finished with Portely, she’d almost certainly move to dominate this kingdom’s economy. Better to have a foothold ready, something Leah might twist into mithril or other rare goods if the chance presented itself.

“As for you, Mali, I think I’ll have you take up life here at the cathedral for now. All expenses covered, of course. I think I’ll... Yes. I’ll Rebirth you as a Thean, and arrange for the church to proclaim you a saint—or whatever works to establish you as their idol.”

Not the singing, dancing kind of idol. The idolatry, worship-y kind of idol. Though, maybe the singing, dancing kind too? Unless...?

Leah’s orders followed: Mali was to make rounds through the city’s poorest and unsafest quarters, handing out alms. The costs would be covered by Leah’s living expenses fund, but if anything beyond that was required, Kelli’s soon-to-be-subjugated firm could always be leaned on for “charitable” contributions.

When Mali was to go to an unsafe quarter, she was to find and place under her retainership the local underground boss. That boss would then be used to stir up trouble on the streets—trouble that Mali and the church would step in to handle. After several clashes between saint and syndicate, the plan was for the boss to be “moved” by Mali’s purity and conviction, eventually turning their efforts toward helping the church transform the district into something better.

At least, that was the script on paper.

An old Japanese term surfaced in Leah’s mind for this kind of arrangement: match-pump. Light the fire with your own match, then douse it with your own water pump.

As the first touch to set the entire plan in motion, Leah pressed a philosopher’s stone into Mali’s hands and watched as she Rebirthed into a Thean.

On the surface, she looked much the same as when she had been a noble human. But a few subtle shifts drew the eye. Her blonde hair now carried a glasslike sheen, catching light at the crown until it traced the outline of a halo that wasn’t there. Her eyes had turned to molten gold. To look at her too long was to risk seeing a radiance spilling from her body itself.

“Your Majesty,” Mali began. “If I am to appear in town engaged in such conspicuous activity, and am recognized by those players I encountered in Neuschloss, I fear it may give rise to rather unsavory rumors about whether I am, in fact, one of them.”

She wasn’t wrong. Back then, Leah had wanted Mali to be seen as a player—that was the entire point of having her open her inventory before them. But if she doubled down on that path now, turning “Mali the Player” into the saint of an entire church, the moment it was discovered she’d be facing a tidal wave of questions. Why had none of this been mentioned on the forums? Why the silence? Among other, equally annoying probes.

So what was the move here? Hide her face? That hardly suited a paragon of truth and virtue.

“Then maybe not the whole face?” Leah mused aloud. “If we just covered the area around your eyes, maybe that would be enough to pull the wool over theirs. We can always pass it off by saying you’re blind or something.”

“Blind, why?” Mali said. “If I can’t see, how am I supposed to fight?”

There are ways, Leah thought. Ways she had already proven.

“You’d be surprised what a little True Sight and a rag for a blindfold can do. For now...” She caught the hem of her dress and gave it a sharp tug, tearing free a long, narrow strip of cloth.

To be honest, Leah hadn’t been even sure that had been possible right up until she’d done it—ripping a high-armor piece of gear with her bare hands. But there it was, tearing away like it was nothing more than ordinary cloth.

On second thought, maybe this was an allowance on the system’s part. She’d have to test it, but it probably flagged her action as a kind of “production” or “crafting” attempt, letting her make a “Blindfold” out of her “Dress.” Of course, her skill in that particular craft was low. Or rather, nonexistent—because really, who had a skill for blindfold-making out of a dress?—and the result was a shoddy, rough scrap at best.

Even so, despite the “Quality: Poor” modifier slapped on it, Leah still had confidence in its armor and magic resist. It was woven from the finest queen arachnian silk, after all.

Leah’s dress, on the other hand, seemed to have registered something had been lost with the removal of material from it. Visually, it was just a shortened hem. Stat-wise, its armor and magic resist had plummeted to that of a common cloth gown.

Oops. Looks like the queen arachnia will be getting a request for a replacement very soon.

“Well, I hope you can make do with this for now,” Leah said. “I’ll put in a word with the queen arachnia, have them spin you a proper—”

“No, this will do just fine,” Mali cut in. “To use something bestowed upon me by Her Majesty herself... I believe that will only lend more weight to this title of saint.”

Lend more weight?

Leah wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that, but if Mali was satisfied, then so be it.

That settled, Leah unlocked a few marksmanship skills on Mali’s tree to reach True Sight, then unlocked that for her as well. Mali, it seemed, had no experience in archery or any form of marksmanship, but Leah herself had once been fond of kyudo. Whenever time allowed, she could step into Mali’s body and imprint some of that muscle memory directly.

However, the “sight” granted by True Sight was nothing more than the ability to “see” LP—that is, the presence of living beings. It was useless for inanimate obstacles, structures—or even certain camouflaged monsters for that matter.

Leah wondered about that last part. It wasn’t as if simply camouflaging into one’s environment removed one of its LP or MP, yet true enough, neither True Sight or Evil Eye had been any help in spotting boulder-disguised rock golems or treants disguised as trees. But whatever, she filed that away as just a video game idiosyncrasy about how all that worked.

The point was, relying on True Sight alone to navigate a city wasn’t practical. Leah assigned Mali two “seeing-eye” priestesses. She Rebirthed them into noble humans and boosted their combat parameters until they could comfortably hold their own against angels or threats on that level.

It was then that Leah realized, perhaps belatedly, that not a single member of this so-called holy church possessed Healing Magic or even Treatment. The realization brought another with it, that clergymen in this world weren’t the powerful, light-infused holy types found commonly in fantasy at all. They functioned more like scholars. In particular, historians. While that might have sufficed in the old days, in this age—when undying players had appeared across the world, when enemies of humanity were born one after another, when angelic incursions seemed to strike with increasing frequency (Leah suspected as much; if they were an event, of course they’d come back quickly)—mere scholarship wasn’t enough. To keep faith alive, the clergy needed power. Knowledge preserved the past, but it couldn’t keep anyone breathing in the present.

So, as a last-minute patch to her plan, Leah granted Treatment and Healing Magic to the patriarch and the clergy now under his control. To the elite, she added Light Magic. Hardly the optimal choice against angels, but something about a holy church using Dark Magic to mow down angels didn’t seem like quite the right look.

The same applied to her saint-to-be. Leah told Mali she couldn’t use Dark Magic, but anything else was fair game.

Then, as if on cue, the bells of crisis rang again. Leah looked up and smirked.

“Ah, speak of the devil... Or the angel, rather. They’ve come once more. The perfect stage to display the power of their new saint—and the noble intent of their reborn church.”

***

Leah had intended to stay hidden for the duration of the incursion, watching idly while Mali and her holy church did the work. But the angels had other plans. Even with Camouflage rendering her completely invisible, they still came flying straight at her.

She had a theory as to why that was, cast Appraisal on one of them, and confirmed it: Every angel came equipped with True Sight. Not only that, but they seemed programmed to prioritize the entities with the highest LP. Sure enough, their focus order was clear—first Leah, then Mali, then Kelli.

That was a problem. If the angels gunned for her, the incursion wouldn’t serve as propaganda for the church at all.

With no choice, Leah joined the fight. She flew loose circles in the sky, invisible but deliberately drawing their attention, until she had a whole pack on her tail. Then she dragged them down in front of Mali, who promptly annihilated them with sweeping, flashy magic.

It was a strange role to play. Like a lamp drawing moths—or one of those blazing deck lights squid fishermen use to lure their catch. The image made her smirk.

Still, it worked. The fair-faced saint, standing tall before an angelic horde and scattering them with brilliant spells, was a spectacle. And the townsfolk responded in kind—cheers, shouts, and wild applause echoing from every street.

To boost Mali’s saintliness, Leah had poured ample EXP into her Light and Holy Magic trees, the latter only having appeared after unlocking the former. Leah recognized this progression from her own experience. It seemed the condition was tied, at least in part, to having evolved into a race equal to noble human or higher.

Whether a fallen human or dark elf could also unlock Light Magic remained uncertain. But the fact that Mali hadn’t been offered Shadow Magic—despite already wielding Dark Magic—was enough to suggest otherwise.

In other words, to wield both Holy Magic and Shadow Magic, one would’ve needed plenty of experience walking both paths: the righteous and the heretical. Leah had stumbled into that by accident. Lyla, too, somehow.

Meanwhile, the incursion wore on. Leah swept up clouds of angels, dragged them into the grand avenue where all could see, and let Mali and the church cut them down. Rinse and repeat. Until at last, what was likely the final wave of the second day ended—the perfect stage debut for Wels’s very own saint.

By then, even the kingdom’s own knights had abandoned their pursuit of the angel swarm Leah had been leading. Drawn to the boulevard, they arrived just in time to witness Mali’s dazzling heroics—and found themselves cheering her on with the rest of the crowd.

By this time tomorrow, Kelli’s firm would already be spreading the rumor. And not long after, there wouldn’t be a soul in the city who hadn’t heard of the miraculous appearance of the saint.

As for the kingdom’s statesmen—its king included—they were likely to hear even sooner. The knights had witnessed everything firsthand, and they would surely deliver their reports without delay. Judging by their reaction, those reports would be glowing. Whether the king received them with the same positivity, however, was another matter entirely.

After all, what sovereign in their right mind would welcome the sudden rise of a powerful, popular figure like Mali? By any measure, that was the first step in undermining both his hold on the people and his claim to the throne.

And this wasn’t a case of just any populist challenger. In a world where nobility and royalty were literally different races—where authority itself was bound by the Retainer system—no ordinary human could ever hope to usurp power. But Mali wasn’t ordinary. She was a Thean. On a purely racial tier, she stood above the noble humans that made up the ruling class. To them, she wasn’t a curiosity, but a threat.

True, the royalty still had another pillar supporting their rule: the artifacts of the Fey King. But those relics were a tightly guarded secret. Only the royal family and a sliver of the nobility even knew of their existence. Did they really expect the impassioned masses to bow before items that were half legend at best?

It was an intriguing thought experiment: What would the king do if the people began to venerate the saint over the throne, and the winds of change shifted in that direction?

You’d think the answer would be simple. Just eliminate her, or else bind her under the royal banner. But step back, think bigger picture, and a better path appeared: compete with her openly, surpass her—and become something even greater than she.

And what stood higher than a saint, even a Thean? Why, a Thearch, of course. And who better to assume that mantle than the king himself?

Leah could almost feel the restlessness gnawing at the king’s heart as Mali’s star rose brighter. The unease. The anxiety. Pressed to the edge, he would eventually move—try to kill her, try to claim her—and inevitably fail. That was when Leah would step in. She would stand before the king, whisper of a power greater than Mali’s, dangle the possibility of ascension before his eyes, and he would take it.

If it all unfolded as she planned, she would gain two prizes: the role of the shadowy villain pulling the strings she’d always wanted to play, and one more piece for the team required to revive the golden dragon.

Yes—toward that end, she needed Mali to play her part in earnest. To become Mali, la Pucelle de Wels.

Wels’s very own saint.

***

How long ago had it been since Leah sent Hakuma and the wolves out to Wels and ordered them to establish control over a monster domain? Too long, having left them here without even setting any conditions for reports or check-ins. Just before arriving in Wels, when she finally reached out, all the wolves had said was that they were “in a forest somewhere.” And that had been that.

So it had only come as a surprise when Leah summoned herself to Hakuma’s side and found herself greeted by a mass of wolf monsters and monkey monsters, all bowing their heads low.

The wolves were all ice wolves, no doubt shaped by the snow and ice-choked forest they called home. Born and raised in this environment, they had naturally acquired ice-based skills and spells, adapting into what they were now.

The monkeys were unfamiliar to Leah. She cast Appraisal on one and the name popped up: snow baboon. White-furred, long-armed, short-legged, they were an almost perfect monster-model of the real-world hamadryas baboon.

Among them stood one larger than the rest. Another Appraisal revealed its unique race: hihi, pronounced hee-hee. Leah recognized the name as that of a yokai of Japanese lore, and incidentally, the very root of the Japanese word for baboon.

“So...what’s going on, guys?” Leah asked the wolves.

<Long time no see, boss,> Hakuma replied. <These are the wolves from our old pack, along with the monkeys that drove us out of this forest in the first place, back when we lost the territorial dispute.>

Hakuma and Ginka took it from there, giving her the broad strokes of how things had unfolded.

When the wolves first left Hilith, they had headed north in as straight a line as instinct allowed. At the time of their exodus, they’d been nothing more than ice wolves with low INT, so retracing their path back to their old home wasn’t exactly easy. Leah had once heard that real-world dogs never forgot their homes, but apparently the system didn’t share that logic. On their march through Wels, they harried random monster domains along the way, still pushing ever north. Only when they reached the deep conifer forests blanketed in snow did their memories return—memories of the forest where they had once lived.

When they arrived, they found it still lorded over by the same monkeys that had driven them out, no trace of the other wolves to be seen. Naturally, they seized the chance for revenge, crushed the monkeys, and reclaimed the territory. However, none of the wolves possessed Retainer. So while they held the forest in practice, it still counted as monkey-owned territory. In other words, they had reduced it to a monster ranch—subjugation by brute force alone. A job well done, as far as Leah was concerned. While waiting for further orders, they passed the time hunting down players that strayed into the forest. It was then that their old brethren, sensing some shift in the balance, began to return—warily at first, but eventually folding back into the pack.

When their story wrapped up, Leah asked a question that had been gnawing at her: “Wolves don’t use Retainer. So how do you decide who’s the alpha?”

<Once a year, before the season arrives, we hold ranking battles for dominance. It is decided there,> Hakuma explained. <In Lieb, I was only the provisional alpha, since there was no one to challenge me.>

Oh, cool. Same as regular wolves, then, Leah thought. “The season” had to mean their breeding season.

It was an alternate social order—one deliberately built without Retainer. It was a system that ensured the pack stayed strong, never stagnating—but it was one that had just run its course.

After all, Hakuma and Ginka had already avenged their pack’s humiliation at the hands of the monkeys. In doing so, they’d proven themselves monsters several tiers above both the monkeys and ordinary wolves. If there was a singularly strong boss mob, there was no need for yearly dominance matches to decide leadership.

So Leah granted Retainer to both Hakuma and Ginka, and had them bind every member of their former pack. She hadn’t specified any way on the matter, but Hakuma claimed all the males, while Ginka took the females—splitting the pack along gender lines. Apparently, each fancied themselves the “alpha” of their own sex. Leah didn’t really care either way, so she let it stand.

As for the monkeys, it seemed they already had a hierarchy with the hihi at the top, so Leah simply retained it. With that, the conifer forest officially came under her control, and with it, a new home base in Wels where she could launch operations from.

“I’ll need a name for you, won’t I?” Leah said, eyeing the hihi. “Let’s see... Hanuman. Nope, that didn’t work. Vali. Darn—not that one either? Ah, whatever, I’ll just call you Monkichi, then.”

Maybe Hanuman and Vali are already the names of important NPCs somewhere.

Leah turned next to Hakuma and Ginka, issuing their updated missions: They were to continue to spread their influence across Wels’s monster domains. Spare the bosses. Farm trash mobs and players for EXP.

<In that case, boss, I’ll take the...eastern half of the kingdom to be my playground,> Hakuma said.

“Fine by me. Then I suppose that leaves the west to you, Ginka.”

<Suppose it does,> Ginka replied.

According to the forums, the playerbase had taken quite a liking to the wolves, dubbing them “special roaming bosses.” If that was the case, if people were enjoying them that way, then Leah was more than happy to keep sending them out. Their numbers had grown quite a bit in the time since, but that shouldn’t be a problem. If anything, their newfound numbers were an asset given their popularity. If the playerbase liked seeing them out and about, the more the better.

As for Monkichi, he would remain guardian of this wood, a role he and his troop were well suited for. As a matter of fact, a regular snow baboon was already larger than the average human. To say less of the hihi, Monkichi. He stood nearly three meters tall despite his forward hunch. Add to that the fact that they had defeated the snow wolves for control of the forest, and their prowess spoke for itself.

Still, they were a race Leah knew little about. And stronger was always better. So she handed Monkichi a philosopher’s stone, curious to see the result.

<<Your retainer has met the conditions for Rebirth.>>

<<Spend 800 experience points to Rebirth into “shojo”?>>

A shojo? Leah blinked. Those mythical sea spirits were usually assumed to be a type of orangutan—primates, yes, but not monkeys. Not that it mattered; here she was again, nitpicking details.

She confirmed the Rebirth. What emerged was still a hihi, only like it’d run a five-point gym program and come back jacked.

As far as mythical interpretations went, shojo were supposed to be heavy drinkers, forest sages, or spirits of the sea. Looking at the handsome gorilla standing before her, Leah couldn’t quite see him fitting any of those molds.

“Oh, wait a second. Your INT’s pretty high. So maybe you’re the wise sage of the forest? Hmm. But so’s your strength. Well, it’d be weird if it wasn’t built like that.”

For the modest EXP cost, Leah had gained a unit on par with her Queen-class lieutenants. Though to be fair, part of that might’ve been grandfathered in from this shojo’s long tenure as pack leader. Hard to say if the race itself ranked that high, or if it was just Monkichi.

“Anyway, that’ll do for now. Let’s see if you can hold the line until the wolves return. If you can, that means you’re already as strong as you need to be.” Leah turned to leave—then paused. “Though that does raise one question: Why did you lot come here in the first place?”

Monkichi explained that they had migrated from far to the west. Which meant Peare. Which all but confirmed it as their homeland. They had driven the wolves out of this forest only because they themselves had first been driven out. The culprits, as Monkichi made clear, were humanoids. Beastfolk, to be specific. Peare was the majority beastfolk kingdom, after all. While elves were known to favor fruit in their diets compared to humans, beastfolk had a taste for meat. It was precisely why they imported so much livestock from Wels.

“You’d think if beastfolk encroached on your forest, it’d be for hunting,” Leah mused aloud. “Does that mean they were hunting...and eating...you?”

Even as she said it, she dismissed the thought. The psychological hurdle of eating something so close to humans was one thing—but the real barrier was strength.

As mentioned, snow baboons were massive, with the STR and VIT to match. They’d be a nightmare for any NPC without specialized hunting experience. Maybe a coordinated hunting pack could surround and take one down—but baboons were pack animals too. The odds of finding one isolated in the forest were slim at best.

If hunting and food weren’t the reasons the beastfolk had encroached on the forest, then what else? Vast underground riches, like the ground beneath Lieb? Possible, but unlikely. The humanoids of this world had never shown a tendency to carve into monster-infested domains for resources. It just didn’t fit their behavior patterns. Timber was the only alternative Leah could think of—but even that raised problems.

For one, Peare bought timber from Wels to resell to Shape. If they had their own timbering operations, they wouldn’t need to.

“Guess I’ll look into it when I get to Peare,” Leah murmured. “I’ll be heading there anyway to check on the Therionarch.”

Once she finished in Wels, Peare was next. Of all the entities tied to the golden dragon effort, the Therionarch was the most shrouded in mystery. The count had never explicitly stated that the beast-king was dead, which left open the possibility it was still alive—lurking in some forgotten corner of the world. But instead of hunting for it, the faster route would be to go where the wild things roamed and birth one herself.

Rebirthing the Mountain Cats was one such option. A costly option, though. She knew nothing about their specific Rebirth conditions. They had already evolved from catfolk into another strain of beastfolk, but whether that was a true leap—like noble human or high elf—or just a lateral shift was unclear. The lack of Retainer as a racial bonus, however, suggested the latter.

If she could pin that down, and learn more about Peare’s nobility and royalty in the process, she might finally uncover the elusive Rebirth conditions. And once she had them, she could use that knowledge to push the Mountain Cats to their next stage of power.

“Then after that’s done, it’ll be on to the dwarven kingdom, Shape, next, eh? Though if a Fey King is the goal, I could just leave that to Lyla and her efforts in Portely and forget Shape altogether...”

Given the precedent for the Fey King, a dwarf made the most sense. But on the flip side, if another dwarven Fey King sprang up, who knew if they wouldn’t start spam-crafting strange relics with annoying debuffs and strewing them across the land. Not to mention, the Fey King, like the Thearch, seemed a natural enemy of a Lord of Destruction. Leah preferred to keep such foes where she could see them—under watch and contained. Better yet, tucked between two realms already under her and her friends’ influence: Portely.

“Dwarves—famously stubborn and crotchety. Honestly, the world might be better off if they ended up like Hilith did. I’ll scope them out before the next event. If I don’t like what I see, I’ll just lop ’em off at the head.”

Dwarves, like elves, were long-lived, which made their nobility unusually powerful for NPCs.

Perhaps that was something her newly wrought skeletal warlords and giant corpses would like to handle.

***

After seeing the wolves off, Leah summoned a queen vespoid to begin work on a new underground base beneath the conifer forest.

But what happened next was...not at all what she expected.

The ants seemed almost...reluctant to go ahead with the project. Leah puzzled over it for a moment, before eventually coming to the conclusion...that it was simply too damn cold.

Here was the problem: Leah had made sure to give Queen-class insects every school of magic, plus enough EXP into those trees to unlock their respective resistance skills. But engineer ants were classified as noncombat units; they had no resistance skills. Which meant the frigid climate was punishingly hostile to them, so much so that they could no longer function.

That was unfortunate, so Leah turned her mind to alternatives. Beyond the ants, she had her human artisans back in Lieflais. Between the two of them, they handled all her faction’s construction and crafting needs. But thinking more closely, would noncombat humans fare any better than ants in this climate? Strike an ant with an ice spell and it would drop instantly. Strike a human with, well, any spell and the result was the same.

That was even more unfortunate. That left Leah with no viable builders for this frozen forest.

“And it had shaped up to be such a promising base,” she muttered, disappointed. Then she paused. “But wait—why was I so fixated on building my base in this forest in the first place? Why can’t I just build directly under the cathedral in the Wellic capital, where I’ll be up to all my shenanigans anyway?”

The Wellic capital was far warmer than here. She could have the ants dig a subterranean chamber, then send in the Lieflais artisans afterward to refine it into something livable.

Technically, it was impossible for him to refuse, but even so, Leah decided to request the patriarch’s permission. She summoned herself over to Mali to get started.

***

“These angels suck! I don’t like this! Get me out of this B horror movie where I’m being chased by killer dolls!”

The halls of Ellental Manor echoed with the petulant screams of its master.

This was supposed to be the co-op event—the one the devs had hyped with gusto, the one Blanc had actually been looking forward to. The skies will rain terror! Band together and fight your common foe! And what did it turn out to be? A grotesque, grimy, downright yucky disaster.

The playerbase now found themselves up against a flying horde of murder dolls. Straight out of the third entry in a horror franchise—the one where the director had completely lost the plot and decided to pivot into a half-baked disaster flick. The fourth would be a war movie, of course, and in the fifth there’s aliens for some reason.

“Well, suppose this is the third movie,” Blanc muttered. “This is the third event, after all. Which means next time should be war... Wait, no, that was the last one. Then...angels versus monsters! Perfect! Everyone loves a monster-vs-monster flick!”

Though depending on how you looked at it, this event already checked that box.

The moment Blanc saw the angels, she’d decided not to fight them herself, and promptly dumped the responsibility on her underlings.

The first wave, she’d sent out Azalea, Magenta, Carmine, and Burgundy to intercept. Turns out, Burgundy himself was more than enough, so the three Laestrygonians promptly returned to join Blanc for tea. And really, “more than enough” undersold it. “Gratuitous overkill” was closer to the mark. The cherubic horrors couldn’t so much as scratch Burgundy. Long enough exposure to Death’s Balm, and they simply keeled over.

The skies above Ellental turned into free entertainment. Monster versus monster, everywhere you looked. In Leah’s territory and in Lyla’s territory it was probably the same story. Angels getting pummeled into the dirt without restraint, while Blanc sipped tea in her manor.

Between angel waves, the occasional brave player party would still attempt an incursion into Ellental, looking for holes in Burgundy’s defenses or trying to find countermeasures to his perpetual AoE rot. They weren’t getting anywhere. But that didn’t stop them in this no death penalty environment from continuing to try.

Blanc didn’t mind. She was too busy getting oodles upon oodles of EXP for their efforts.

“How could this be... Third movie in and we’ve already burned through the war and monster-vs-monster angles? This franchise has no future, I tell you—no future!”

“Lady Blanc,” Weiss said stiffly, “I must confess I’ve had no idea what you’ve been talking about for some time now.”

“Nothing, Weiss. It’s nothing...” Blanc replied, wistful.

Day one of the event, and Blanc had already lost all motivation for it.

***

<Huh? A Heresiarch, Lyla? You became one?>

<That’s right. I’m not telling you because you need to do anything with the info—just because if I don’t tell you, who will? We all know Lealea never talks about me.>

<Ah, I see. That’s not true, though. Lealea talks about you all the time!>

<Huh? Oh, really, now...>

First the Queen of Destruction. Now a Heresiarch. The sisters kept producing humanity’s finest problems like it was their day job.

Heresiarch.

Queen of Destruction.

Fancy titles, but really, Blanc preferred to call them the Headache Sisters, because that was what they really were. One enormous, collective migraine for every humanoid ruler around.

<Does that mean you’re going to become a shut-in now, Lyla?> Blanc asked.

<What now?> Lyla said. <I mean, by the letter of it I guess I can’t show my face in public anymore, so yeah—technically a shut-in. But what do you mean by that exactly?>

<Oh, nothing. The count once said the old Heresiarch was a shut-in, so I figured you might follow suit...>

And not just any shut-in. The old Heresiarch had been so reclusive that they had even skipped out on the sealing of the golden dragon, that world-ending threat.

But on reflection, that didn’t mean Lyla would follow the same path. In this whole wide world, there were both shut-ins and not-shut-ins. That is to say, just because you are of the same species, that didn’t mean you shared the same behavior pattern. All the more true for higher-intelligence races, like humans, or Heresiarchs.

Take insects, for instance. They don’t worry. They don’t worry because they know exactly what they must do, and exactly the extent to which they must do it. They’ve evolved into millions upon millions of species, each honed by evolution to do their one task better than any other, making them one of the most diverse forms of life on Earth.

Humans, on the other hand, went the opposite way. One single species with endless possibilities, endless worrying. Because of that, they became the most versatile species on Earth, capable of pulling the entire planet under their sway.

Blanc wasn’t about to declare one mode of life superior. But she would note this: It was because of humanity’s capacity to worry that they were capable of both failure—and success.

Of course, there were times when people were thrust into circumstances beyond their control, compelled to act in certain ways. Yet even then, the outcome would not be dictated by circumstance alone. Faced with the same situation, different people would still choose to act differently.

“Freedom,” is what most people would call that.

The freedom to be a shut-in Heresiarch—or the freedom not to be.

<I see. So there’s another Heresiarch,> Lyla said.

<Yep, yep. Definitely seems like it,> Blanc replied. <The count made it sound like he knew a little something about them. Not sure if they’ve ever met, though.>

<I see. Well, am I glad I decided to reach out to you, Blanc. This has been thoroughly enlightening. Now if you’ll excuse me, something just came up.>

<Oh, okay. Bye-bye, Lyla!>

Something just came up, huh? Blanc tilted her head. To borrow Leah’s phrasing, it was probably another one of those “no-good” things Lyla got up to.

A stiff voice spoke from behind her. “I assume that was your ‘chat’ ending, Lady Blanc. What did Lady Lyla say?”

It was Weiss. He’d taken an odd interest in Blanc’s social life lately. Meanwhile, the Laestrygonians were too busy stuffing their faces with tarts to care. Honestly, what was Weiss—her mother?

“Not much,” Blanc said breezily. “Just a quick update. Apparently she’s become a Heresiarch.”

“I’m sorry?” Weiss’s gaze dropped in thought, then snapped back up. “My apologies, but an errand just came up. I shall return in two, maybe three days.”

And with that, he departed. On his way out, though, he leaned down and whispered something to the Laestrygonians. Whatever it was made them tug at their lips and bare their teeth in that classic taunting gesture at his back as he walked away.

Huh. That was new. Blanc was pretty sure this was the first time she’d ever seen someone pull that look outside a daytime soap.

“Is it just me, or have we been losing a lot of people lately?” Blanc asked. “You guys don’t feel lonely?”

“A little, with the departures of Lord Diaz and the queen beetle, but...”

“Not Weiss.”

“Shall we summon a few lesser vampires for company?” the three Laestrygonians chimed in, one after another.

That wasn’t what Blanc meant, but she appreciated the thought. It was just...things had gotten quiet. Too quiet. Even the occasional brave player parties that used to take a crack at Ellental had stopped coming. Which left little to break the monotony between angel waves.

She glanced out the window. Burgundy was sprawled in the plaza, snoring away, while giant corpses and flesh golems sat around him, cross-legged like oversized schoolchildren.

“Look at ’em, just wasting away,” Blanc sighed.

“Well, they are dead at the end of the day, master,” Azalea offered.

“A healthy undead would rather waste away than not, wouldn’t they?” Carmine suggested.

“A healthy undead? Now you’ve said something insane,” Magenta added.

Blanc nearly snorted. Pointless chatter. All well and good, but still—she felt she ought to be doing something.

She just had to.

Or she’d lose her edge.

“All right. It’s the big event and all—I’m going to attack a town and bring it under my control!” Blanc declared.

“Huh?” The Laestrygonians froze.

“Hold on.” Magenta wore an uncertain smile. “Before you go off and do something of enormous consequence, maybe check in with Lady Leah or Lady Lyla first?”

She had a point, Blanc admitted to herself.

But Blanc had one of her own: She was going to show the two of them just how much she’d grown. Tired of being led by the hand like a child, she wanted to pull off something huge on her own and leave them speechless.

“It’s A-okay!” Blanc said. “I can take on a whole human city by myself, easy! I can take on a whole kingdom by myself, easy!”

It was too late to stop this runaway freight train. In her head played only victory, nothing of the grind or the risk, just the image of Leah and Lyla showering her with praise.

“Um, you all know I wouldn’t be caught dead saying this—but maybe wait at least until Weiss gets back?” Azalea was desperate.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Blanc, on the other hand, was nonplussed. “I’m sure the count would praise my can-do-it-iveness too!”

Back then, the count had laughed—almost raucously—when she’d told him about her efforts in aiding Lyla to overthrow the rulers of Oral. The thought of making him feel that much joy again filled her with enough motivation to move mountains.

First things first, she unfurled the map Leah had given her. The goal was to take over a town—but it couldn’t be any town. Hit the wrong place and she might accidentally step on someone else’s toes. Leah had Hilith. Lyla had Oral. Everyone else was out playing on kingdom-sized fields while Blanc was still stuck in Ellental and Altoriva, playing little league.

The thought hardened into a single, bright desire: I want a kingdom of my own.

“Let’s see...the nearest kingdom is—ah—Wels, right?” The map was only of Hilith, so details were thin, but the border was clear enough. By flight she could cross the Avon Mercato highlands where the count’s castle sat and be there soon enough. Since she wanted to surprise the count, she decided not to drop in on him first.

“Eh, we can save all the details for until we get there. Let’s see...by air I can only bring Azalea, Carmine, Magenta...and—no, not Burgundy. He has to hold down the fort. So it’ll just be the four of us this time.”

She did want to make use of the giant corpses and flesh golems loafing about the plaza, but figured she could summon them after clearing the highlands. Then, she’d use them to flatten the nearest human town. Beware! The march of the giant undead has come for thee!

The playerbase had the event; the angels were no doubt the only threat on everyone’s minds—including NPCs. Angels attacked civilizations and monsters alike. Nobody would expect the undead sucker punch coming at a time like this!

“As the old saying goes, ‘if fields and mountains alike are all full of cowards, be the fool—buy rice!’”

“Huh? What was that? Ri-ce?”

“Famous words left behind by legendary gamblers! There are other versions like, ‘When everyone walks the same path, take the other trail and you’ll find the bloom on the mountain.’ Basically, it means if you’re stuck doing the same thing as everyone else, you’ll never win!”

Leah and Lyla were proof. Both had gone entirely off-script and were reaping the rewards. Blanc wanted a slice of that success.

“Um, okay, you might not realize it—but master, you’ve already won—”

“All right! What are we waiting for? Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Ah—I’ll bring that sword Leah lent me. Time it earned its keep instead of just hanging on my wall.”

Chapter 8: It’s Raining Meat and Bone

[IN-GAME EVENT] Large-Scale Defensive Campaign [THREAD]

0302: Sonote Atataka

Sooo, has anyone else talked to a NPC clergyman recently?

0303: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Old Hilith Capital doesn’t have any clergyman, or any other living human being for that matter so can’t say I have. Why, what’s up? Something happen?

0304: Wayne

By clergymen you mean those ministers and priests of the holy church? If you’re talking about them...did another divine revelation go out?

0305: Gealgamesh

Divine what now?

0306: Wayne

Back during the last event, when the seventh cataclysm event boss was born, the chancellor in Hilith said it was someone called the patriarch of the Hilithian church that delivered the news to him.

It got me thinking that maybe holy men in this game have some sort of role of taking dev announcements and relaying them to the world in a lore-friendly way.

0307: Gealgamesh

Oh that, yeah.

Well, technically, it’s not like the devs announced the birth of the cataclysm so I get it but it’s not quite what you’re saying.

0308: Mentai-list

Maybe they’re just not in the habit of straight up announcing things like that. But they inject it into the world for you to find yourself.

0309: Sonote Atataka

Um, anyway. I play in Shape, and we just got a joint proclamation from both the Shape holy church and the Shape government.

“An enemy of humanity has been born.” Just like before.

0310: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Uh... You sure they’re not just like really, really late to the party?

0311: Country Pop

They said “just like before,” so obviously this is referring to a new occurrence.

So what, the eighth cataclysm has been born?

0312: Sonote Atataka

Location is Old Hilith, place called Trae Forest

0313: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

And Hilith claims another one! Okay but I’ve never even heard of Trae! Where the hell is that?!

0314: Wayne

Trae? That’s that forest a ways north of Lieb, right?

It’s a 5-star dungeon.

0315: Amatain

Trae Forest, huh...

If I remember correctly, that was the place where the chancellor said they weren’t sure if the monster activity going on there was related to the Cataclysm, right? That is, the seventh.

The Seventh commands undead and insects, but the town of Llyrid that was closest to Trae was swallowed by the forest... Or so I remember Wayne telling me.

0316: Mentai-list

Then maybe the eighth is a cataclysm that controls plant matter?

If it was already swallowing up whole towns by the last event, and nobody went to deal with it, maybe it just kept growing and growing until finally, it became a full-blown Cataclysm?

0317: Gealgamesh

Dude... Not cool...

Wait, in that case, do you think Neuschloss is also at risk? I mean, going from pure geography, that place has nothing to do with the seventh or eighth, and I heard the monsters showing up there are just goblins or whatever, but who knows...by this event, or maybe the next, that place might end up spawning the ninth.

0318: Amatain

I can’t say that’s not possible. Just what are we supposed to do about it even if it is.

0319: Takuma

Just coming in to say the boss in Neuschloss has been defeated already, once.

It revived and came back looking more gnarly than ever.

0320: Gealgamesh

Bro... Equally not cool...

Though...that sort of feels like deja vu.

Yeah. When we defeated the Cataclysm last time, it immediately came back much stronger to beat the everliving crap out of us.

0321: Mentai-list

Hmm, I see...

Maybe it’s the thing where certain bosses can only be defeated a certain way or under certain conditions, else they just end up coming back stronger.

0322: Amatain

Could be...

And it also could be that the eighth became the eighth through this very mechanism.

But who would be able to defeat something like that...? Had to have been somebody, or else it couldn’t have come back stronger.

0323: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

You mean, who would besides the one most capable of doing it.

0324: Wayne

I see... The Seventh!

0325: Mentai-list

Interesting. Because something else extremely powerful was poised to spring up in its own backyard, the Seventh tried to nip it in the bud before it could become a threat.

0326: Gealgamesh

In the end, only accomplishing what it set out to prevent in the first place.

0327: Takuma

Can NPCs do stuff of their own volition like that?

0328: Mentai-list

I’m not sure if I would phrase it as volition, but sure enough if it’s programmed to react with hostility to anything that’s not counted as its own forces.

At least, the angels seem to behave that way.

0329: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

That’s right. The angels.

Did we end up figuring out if they’re also hostile toward the seventh?

0330: Wayne

Oh, crap. Totally forgot to update everyone, but yeah, we think they are.

We saw the bone dragon shooting down angels over Ellental.

0331: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

For real? Then soup’s on, boys!

0332: Gealgamesh

Is the soup truly on, though.

If things are liable to turn into a three way between seventh and eighth and archangel?

0333: Sonote Atataka

H-Hey, let’s not write civilization out of this. It’ll be a four-way battle, thank you very much...

...

...

0411: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Uh, anybody else seeing this battle for the skies over the Hilith capital between angels and hornets right now?

Is it happening? Is the cataclysm v cataclysm showdown finally happening?

0412: White Seaweed

Already happened once before in the skies above Rokillean

0413: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Then say something next time, that’s important information!

0414: Kuraaku

Could be because the capital doesn’t have any insect-type forces.

The undead can’t fly, so if the Seventh had to dispatch its aerial forces from the woods to deal with the angels, it makes sense the response was delayed over the capital.

0415: Mentai-list

>>0414 Since when were you under the impression that undead can’t fly?

0416: Gealgamesh

There’s a biggun in the skies all right. Over Ellental.

0417: Country Pop

Ellental? You mean the bone dragon? That thing can fly?

0418: Anonymous Elf

Wait. It flies?

0419: Wayne

Didn’t I mention it a while back?

Yeah, it flies. It was shooting down the angels midair.

Well, that would imply it was actively attacking them whereas in reality, it was more like it was just flying around them. The cherubs went after it, got too close, and died to the mysterious DoT damage.

0420: Anonymous Elf

You’re kidding me...

0421: Haruka

So what, if it flies then all melee players are just shit out of luck?

0422: Wayne

There might be a skill of some sort that lets you run in the air and get close. We saw those red skeletons doing that a while back.

0423: Lampu

An ability that lets skeletons soar in the sky. Hope we don’t have to be as light as skeletons to do the same /s

0424: Kurumi

Hey, just go on one of those diets you love so much. You do it all the time in real life, why not in game?

0425: Mentai-list

Uh...

0426: Gealgamesh

Well, most of the time it stays coiled on the ground, right? I don’t think it’s like impossible to fight for non-fliers. At least I can attest that when we tried our hand at it when angels weren’t around, it fought us on the ground normally.

0427: Anonymous Elf

Oh, you attempted it.

How’d it go?

0428: Wayne

It went.

The rot damage seems to go straight through defensive gear. And while not angels or anything, we still take hella damage just by being around it, so it doesn’t seem possible to win a drawn-out fight.

We could damage it, but not nearly enough in the short time necessary to take it down.

0429: Gealgamesh

Not that this is proof that boss monsters of that size have natural LP regen, but the second time we attempted it, all the signs of damage we inflicted the first time had disappeared, so it probably does.

If true we would need a whole lot more DPS to take it down. Like 10 times the amount of DPS players or more.

0430: Mentai-list

At any rate, I’ve taken all the notes I can of its normal fight mechanics, so that if we put together a raid or something, we might actually stand a chance.

Though I have to wonder, if we were to recruit for a raid, just how much interest would there actually be?

0431: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Yeah, I dunno. I’m down to wipe over and over to learn mechanics and all, but given the possibility of watching a cata v cata showdown, maybe not til after the event.

0432: Country Pop

But once the event is over and the death penalty is back, you won’t be so keen to wipe over and over.

On the other hand, spending the entire event doing something completely unrelated to the event is also a little...

I haven’t ranked in an event yet, so I’m just focused on grinding that out right now. Protecting townsfolk and all, y’all know.

0433: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

The townsfolk have knights to protect them, sooo not sure how you think you’re getting them points.

0434: Anonymous Elf

The new inn towns popping up in Hilith have no knights so you can actually do quite a bit of good there.

That said, founding a new town is tough business, so all the townsfolk there can hold their own. That, and I think there’s a NPC-led hometown militia kind of group keeping order there, so...

0435: Lampu

Speaking of that militia group. Y’all see that cute catgirl that’s a part of them? She’s so girl-next-door. Kinda makes me wish I rolled a beastfolk instead of an elf.

0436: Mentai-list

Yep, as I thought, doesn’t seem like we’ll get a raid forming anytime soon.

Just as well. We’ve already jumped ship from Ellental to the Hilith capital.

0437: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Right? Thought I saw you guys hanging around here somewhere.

0438: Wayne

Not sure where Country Pop is grinding out points for the event, but in Hilith at least, I don’t think anyone’s having any luck getting any points from defeating angels this wave.

The insects are snapping up all the kills midair.

0439: Clack

Hey, look up! What’s that in the sky, doing battle with the angels?!

0440: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

I see...insects?

0441: Clack

No, not insects! Well, also insects, but no! Where are you guys anyway?! If you’re in the Hilith capital then look up!

0442: Wayne

...what in the

0443: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Holy moly! what the heck, is that a freakin’ dragon???

0444: Mentai-list

And not just bone.

It’s got meat on it too.

0445: Gealgamesh

Way to make it sound like a bone-in tomahawk LOL.

I see two heads too. Must be a different type of dragon than the one in Ellental.

0446: Kuraaku

It’s fighting in tandem with the bugs. So, that’s another of the Seventh’s pawns? Way to pull that one out from absolutely nowhere...

0447: Mentai-list

You know what? I’d say that isn’t just part of the Seventh’s forces—it is the Seventh. Given its first form was that of a suit of armor. The second was that angelic visage, this might be its third form.

0448: Wayne

No, I don’t think so. If you don’t have enhanced vision you might not be able to see it, but the dragon’s holding a suit of armor or something in its talons. That’s the Seventh.

0449: Kuraaku

Well, I’ll be...

0450: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Come on, where you at, archangel! You’re getting killed out here!

0451: Mentai-list

By the way, I’m just curious, Mr. Peel, but if the showdown between archangel and seventh did come to pass, who would you be rooting for?

0452: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

The one with the bigger boobs!

0453: Wayne

>>451 That would be the archangel then.

Even though I’ve never even met the guy, but...yeah.

0454: Gealgamesh

Yep.

Never met the guy either but...yeah.

...

...

0510: Alonson

The Eight and the Archangel seems to be all every kingdom’s NPCs (aside from Hilith) are talking about. Though nobody’s heard or seen a peep from the eighth aside from that initial blip.

0511: Anonymous Elf

Hm. Maybe it’s just keeping to itself in Trae or whatever name of the forest it came out of is.

0512: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Hey, somebody go confirm

No death penalty so this is the only chance you’ll have, go, go, go.

0513: Country Pop

Glad you volunteered yourself, Mr. Peel.

0514: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Not me. Tis my lot in life to sit with my butt planted here in the capital awaiting the great cataclysm showdown

0515: Kuraaku

And what makes you so sure that a showdown is going to take place in the capital? Both the seventh and the archangel could be heading to Trae right now to perform a joint takedown of the eighth.

0516: Tough and Doesn’t Peel

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

0517: Amatain

So, that reminds me—while the holy church keeps doomsaying in the streets, shouting about how dire the threat is and how dangerous these back-to-back births of humanity’s enemies are, the monarchy itself doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything to prepare for this so-called “danger.”

I’m just wondering, for anyone else in other kingdoms, how are they taking it?

0518: Youichi

Oral had the holy church issuing warnings on the first day too.

But here they’ve actually shifted toward working with the knight orders and keeping the people calm instead.

Something about how Trae Forest is far away, so there’s no need to worry about any immediate danger.

0519: Monkey Dive Sasuke

What a difference in response. Must be a cultural thing at play. For elves and dwarves, they can just throw a single member of the nobility at the threat if push comes to shove—they’re just that strong. But for humans, they need to be united to have any hope of surviving.

0520: Anonymous Elf

Anyone know how Wels is doing?

0521: Beam-chan

The reaction in Wels is somewhere in the middle, I think. The church was making a fuss for the first day or two, but then they started to calm down and asked the people for calm too.

Though, to be fair, I think the new Cataclysm is the last thing on the church and the knights’ minds right now.

0522: Clack

Ah, I think I saw that thread. You’re talking about the advent of their new lady saint, eh?

0523: Monmon

Yep.

She’s got a blindfold on, so you can’t really see her face. But even then, you can tell—she is pretty pretty.

0524: Farm

Shit’s unfair, man...

She’s got the perfect shade of platinum blonde that I wanted when creating my character, but the CC didn’t let me. Color’s probably reserved and not available to players.

At least let me swipe for it eventually!

0525: Clack

A blindfolded saint, eh? You think that’ll get censored? Depending on your IP address, they remove her blindfold or close her mouth or something?

0526: Beam-chan

Hey, sometimes they don’t touch the blindfold.

They just shrink the chest instead.

0527: Monmon

Wait, which card game are we talking about?

0528: Beam-chan

In any case, the Lady Saint arrived and started cutting down angels left and right. It’s all anyone in the Wellic capital can talk about at the moment.

0529: Hasera

Lots of people who were in totally different cities came flocking all the way to the capital just to get a glimpse as well. Case in point, me.

0530: Gealgamesh

Well, good for them I say. Ain’t nobody who’s ever had to cut down an angel has said, “holy cow, this is so much fun and totally not disturbing at all!”

0531: Country Pop

Wait, I thought it was...

0532: Mentai-list

>>531 Yes officer, this man right here

0533: Alonson

If I remember correctly, when the Seventh was born, not a day went by after the church made a fuss did the first town get destroyed, right? Thinking of it that way, the Eighth is really rather docile by comparison. Or quiet.

0534: Amatain

True, true.

And it’s not like cataclysms automatically get along, as seen by the whole angel vs insect war.

Maybe it’s not acting out on purpose so it doesn’t draw the ire of the Seventh and get immediately smacked down for it.

0535: Clack

For all we know, maybe the Seventh already beat it down.

Chapter 9: Litter at Your Peril

Leah was once again struck by the sheer wonder of in-game skills.

In less than a day, an expansive underground chamber had been carved out beneath Wels’s cathedral. The engineer ants did the digging, piling up the soil they excavated, which the Lieflais artisans then shaped into bricks to line the walls.

To guard against collapse, rows of stone pillars braced the space. They made the chamber feel a little cramped, but the reality was far larger than it appeared.

“This will do perfectly for a local base of operations,” Leah said, surveying the work. “The ceiling isn’t that high, so jumbo-sized monsters are out of the question, but...”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I can hardly imagine we will need such creatures here anyway,” Mali said.

And she was right. If Leah wanted to station oversized monsters, she could just keep them in the wilds. A hidden base inside the city was better reserved and tailored for retainers whose skills lent themselves to more urban work.

“We’ll put up a few walls, partition this space into rooms. I could go without one, but both you and Kelli should have your own spaces.”

A treasury would also be necessary. Inventories were useful when it came to storing items securely and conveniently, but less so when it came to resources meant for the group to share.

“Well, then. That covers everything I needed to do in Wels. I’ll probably return to Hilith,” Leah said. “If anything happens, you know how to reach me.”

Time to head back and check on the players still tirelessly grinding away at her holdings, and see how her other projects were coming along.

***

Wayne’s party, having migrated from Ellental, was in the thick of yet another fearless trespass into the heart of the royal capital. They weren’t the only ones. And as Leah recognized them somewhat, they were likely among those who had once defeated her in this very capital.

This was a fortuitous circumstance. And since she had time to spare, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to settle the score with them from back then.

They could thank Wayne and Gealgamesh for it. With their clever little forum remarks, they’d earned every ounce of what was coming. It seemed that no matter how much time passed, the internet never stopped being a graveyard for humanity’s dignity.

Leah considered how she wanted to savor this. In the end, she chose to take the field herself, leaving Mister Plates at home.

For sheer intimidation, she brought forth Übel. The dragon normally walked on four legs, but it could rise onto two, its wrists as supple as a man’s—able to flip palm up. There, in its vast open claw, Leah lounged like a queen at court, waiting for Wayne’s party to come into view.

When they finally did, she tilted her head, her voice honeyed with malice:

“Day after day, you hurl yourselves at my dominion with such tireless resolve. And yet—when the loathsome sky-children rain ruin across the whole of this continent—you come here. To me. Do you not have other bastions of your kind to defend? Use that instant travel of yours for something useful.”

The group froze in their tracks.

“The Cataclysm!”

“Huh. So it recognizes that it’s protecting the people of this kingdom.”

“Continent?”

The last word was muttered by a skeptical Mentai-list, but Leah’s enhanced hearing caught it.

Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said that.

If they thought she was an NPC with monster roots, then calling this place a “continent” was unnatural. That word implied knowledge of seas, islands, and other continents beyond. Anyone born and raised here would naturally call it “the land” or “the world.”

Too late to walk it back now. Trying to patch it over would only dig the hole deeper.

This was why nothing good ever came from talking, Leah thought sourly. If she’d known she was going to make a slip of the tongue, she might’ve stayed silent, perched above, letting Übel’s breath and her own magic scour them from existence, unsatisfying as that revenge might have been.

On the off chance anyone ever pressed her, suppose she could claim that she’d once been an ordinary human or whatever NPC of some kind before twisted by experiments into what she was now. Convenient enough.

Except for the part where Lyla was her sister, already turned monstrous herself, and that would almost be silly from a plot standpoint, two sisters being captured and turned into test subjects. In the original version of the backstory, she’d meant to say she’d been trailing west, in search of her homeland. A homeland that was lost, even in fabrication, but...

Perhaps this was all just idle rehearsal. Players rarely stopped to examine an event boss’s motives too closely, it seemed.

“Now, I’m sure you all know this,” Leah said. “The skies here are under my protection. Angels, at the very least, will find no purchase where I hold sway. Which means—you lot are purposeless here.”

“But you’re the one who destroyed the capital!” someone shouted.

“Destroyed? Hardly. I merely...arranged for a change in residents. Though yes, if you want to say I culled the humans who lived here, that much I’ll own. But tell me—did any of you ever stop to wonder why I did it? Perhaps you don’t know this, but the kingdom raised an army with the sole purpose of annihilating me. I didn’t want to be destroyed, so I had no choice. I had to destroy them first. As I did in that town upon the hill, whatever its name was.”

She said it, knowing the real truth ran backward. The Hilith capital had always been her target, army or not. But like with the Lord of Rokillean, they didn’t need to know that part.

Wayne’s glare didn’t falter. “Then how do you explain Erfahren? You attacked that town before you ever faced the Grand Army.”

“Wayne,” Gealgamesh muttered at his side. “This whole mess was a clash between the top brass at the kingdom and the Cataclysm, right? NPCs against NPCs. As in, just how the game’s plot was written. Not sure what you’re trying to prove. Besides, it’s entirely possible the chancellor didn’t give us the full story.”

“Erfahren,” Leah cut in. “That town beside the forest where I was born, wasn’t it? The same town from which you staged raid after raid, slaughtering your way through my beloved ants? And you would pin its destruction on me? You can’t be serious.”

She said it, knowing full well she had orchestrated events to fall that way.

In hindsight, it was interesting to note that every so-called act of “aggression” she’d taken could be reframed as retaliation. And yet, in a system where growth demanded EXP—earned only through combat and crafting—perhaps the outcome had always been inevitable. Players sought targets either to kill or to raid for resources for crafting. Monsters struck back. The cycle of violence was written into the rules.

Of course, that “retaliation” argument unraveled fast if she dragged her current project and her schemes with Lyla into it. “Retaliation” hardly covered what they’d done together.

“Not to mention,” Leah went on, “what business have you here but to defile my beautiful, beautiful city—day after tiresome day? You draw crude graffiti across my walls, you litter the streets with potion bottles and food scraps. Such desecration cannot—will not—be forgiven.”

“Wait, what? Which one of you did that?”

“N-No, wait! That wasn’t us!”

“Even if it wasn’t,” Leah said coldly. “You’ll serve well enough as messengers for the rest. When you crawl back, do make sure they get the message.”

With that, Leah moved to begin the encounter. She poised herself to make full use of her advantage in the skies. Übel’s Plague Breath would open the slaughter.

“Wait!” a new voice shouted, halting her. “Forget all that noise! Cataclysm! Aren’t you going to fight the angels? What about the Archangel?”

The speaker was the man not from Wayne’s party that Leah partially recognized. There was only one forum-goer obsessed enough with her ties to the Archangel to bring it up here, and that was Mr. Tough and Doesn’t Peel.

And alongside the presumed Mr. Peel, there was another member in the group, one Leah didn’t recognize at all. Someone who hadn’t taken part in the raid against her.

“What’s it to you if this...Archangel and I do battle?” Leah snapped. “If it truly is the power behind those loathsome sky-children, fine—bring them to me and I shall face them. But if I don’t even know where they hide, how am I meant to fight them?”

Mr. Peel... Leah’s mind seethed. If Wayne and Gealgamesh had earned them this beatdown, then Tough and Doesn’t Peel was instigator number one.

<Übel, cast Plague Breath using your right head. Do you know what right is? The hand holding me is your right.>

Übel’s jaw unhinged, and from the indicated head flared a dark, ominous glow—the spell effect erupting all at once. There was a difference in how it could be cast: Exhaled slowly, the breath was a mere status-inflicting haze, annoying but not damaging. Forced out with this kind of violent pressure, though, the blast struck with enough impact to deal real damage alongside the plague.

“Hng!” Wayne flinched. “That doesn’t hurt so bad, but... Wait! I failed some kind of resistance check!”

“It’s plague!” Gealgamesh shouted. “Mentai, where’s the cure?!”

“Here!” Mentai-list called back. “Just give me a sec!”

Huh, Leah thought, mildly surprised. They actually had the cure on hand.

Truth was, plague wasn’t exactly an esoteric, endgame status effect; players could actually come into contact with it quite early. It was just that players who cut their teeth farming EXP in forests and grasslands might never have run into it. But anyone who’d ever taken a sewer-cleaning quest, or hunted down rat- or slime-type monsters in the filth below a city, knew to watch out for it. Sometimes, on occasion, even cave bats carried it.

Of course, at Wayne’s party’s current level, failing a resistance check against rats or bats was laughable. So either they’d bought the cure in advance for a quest and never needed it, leaving it to sit forgotten in their inventory, or they were simply the type who overprepared—hoarding every possible potion and antidote because the system’s inventory let them.

Whatever the case, Leah had no obligation to sit back and let them recover. <Übel, left head this time. Toxic Breath.>

“Another one incoming!” Gealgamesh shouted. “Different type this time!”

“No sweat, it’s a toxin! Cure Toxin will take care of it!” Mentai-list snapped back, already moving.

Toxic Breath applied Neurotoxin. As a Deadly Toxin—an advanced form of toxin—it applied not just paralysis (its main effect) but damage over time as well. That was the trick with Deadly Toxins: two effects stacked at once. Anyone relying on items had to pick which antidote to take first—stop the damage, or stop the paralysis. Hesitation in that moment could mean death.

But if you were Mentai-list, with access to Cure Toxin, then it was no sweat off your back. The spell wiped both effects in one go. Of course, it wasn’t guaranteed—success hinged on the strength of the debuff, and curing a Deadly Toxin demanded high stats. The fact that Mentai-list managed it cleanly spoke volumes about how much he’d invested in recovery since they last crossed paths.

Leah narrowed her eyes. Last time, he hadn’t struck her as the type to pull off healing with such ease. Clearly, he’d poured points into it since then.

Well, that should be obvious, she thought. I’m not the only one getting stronger around here.

Leah smiled inwardly, grim and small. She’d underestimated him. Mentai-list had always had strong Enchantment magic, but she’d shrugged that off before as she was mostly immune, not to mention the real damage dealers in the party had always been Wayne and Gealgamesh. Mentai-list had been a supporter; she’d paid him little mind.

Never again.

The five-man party shook off the debuffs and the damage they’d taken, and re-stanced against Leah. But a group that had come all this way to fight earthbound carknights in the capital had no way to hit a target in the sky.

Leah readied her finisher—Dark Implosion—to give them another taste of the blow that had ended them last time—when Übel stretched its neck instead, sliding its head in front of her. Realizing what this was, Leah let herself half smile. “Someone’s very motivated today.”

The dragon seemed soured after Mentai-list had cleanly countered its breath twice. Most targets Übel had hit from the air with its breath had perished; seeing one group come out unscathed was a first.

“Very well,” Leah said. “If you want the glory, you may have it. But see those people over there? I hold a little grudge. Kill them—only after they’ve suffered. Especially the one who just countered your breath, and his two friends flanking him.”

Leah didn’t care if they cheered the angel on over her.

But the reason for it... Ohhh, they’d pay for that one.

“Now, go forth, Übel. Show them that wasn’t the limit of your strength.”

A piercing shriek tore across the skies, heralding the breath that followed—a torrent so vast it rolled over the ground like a living storm. Leah had never seen it unleashed with such force. It wasn’t enough to topple players of Wayne’s caliber, but for the fledgling ones already struggling against angels, it was overwhelming. They crumpled to their knees.

“Low-LP players, hide behind the tanks! Even if it doesn’t kill you outright, the DoT will have you flatlining in no time!” someone yelled.

Übel then swung its head wide, scattering fresh status effects across the crowd. The fact that Mentai-list had stocked countermeasures for plague was impressive—astonishing, even. But no one else could be expected to prepare with that kind of pathological thoroughness.

“M-Mentai!” Gealgamesh yelled.

“I’m trying—but it’s too much!” Mentai-list yelled back.

And so it seemed, for the great Mentai-list and all his obsessiveness, he still couldn’t counter that many status effects forever. His resources were finite. Technically, so were Übel’s. But as their target had the LP and MP pool of a massive dragon, this battle of attrition was one Wayne and company could not win.

“Hmm?” Leah murmured. “Satisfied your breaths finally found their mark? Then we move to phase two.”

The successive breath attacks had already culled the weak. Safely nestled in Übel’s claw, Leah felt the dragon hurl itself earthward like an artillery shell, slamming into the ground and crushing one hapless player beneath its weight.

“Whoa?! It came down!”

“Okay, that thing is way bigger up close.”

“And here I was thinking the Seventh just got smaller!”

Übel, apparently having taken that last line as an insult to its master, scythed its tail across the battlefield. The speaker was flattened, and so was anyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby.

“Cocky little—! I’ll show you what happens when you land where I can reach you!”

One player seized the opening created by Übel’s tail swipe to dart past its defenses. Their target was the Cataclysm in the dragon’s palm. It was a sound tactic—target the boss.

At least, sound on paper.

“Cocky?” Leah echoed, her lips curling. “Once, perhaps. But not anymore—thanks to all of you.”

The blow rebounded harmlessly off Dark Aegis, hurling its wielder back with bone-cracking force. Übel caught the flailing body midair—and promptly crushed it in its claws. The player dissolved into motes of light—yet their blood remained, dripping thick and red from between the talons.

The survivors froze, horror-struck. Their comrade had stood beside them only moments ago. Now his blood stained the battlefield. And Übel, relishing the terror, stalked among them—slow, deliberate—crushing each one beneath its feet.

***

“Now then,” Leah said. “Do remember what I told you earlier—make sure to go and pass the message along to all your little friends.”

The last survivor was Gealgamesh. Leah fixed her gaze on him, and with nothing but her glare, unleashed Dark Implosion through her Evil Eye, putting an end to the encounter.

It didn’t matter if his armor was forged from adamas. Even Leah’s adamanduxes hadn’t withstood that spell. No matter how unbreakable the shell, the inside was always soft—and that was all it took.

She noted with satisfaction that the EXP gained was lower than before.

Good. That meant the gap between her power and theirs was only widening. They wouldn’t be catching up anytime soon.

***

On the evening of the third day of the event, Leah received a system message: The three newts she’d left in the cave beneath Lieb were ready to be reborn.

Into Hilithian salamanders.

She’d originally left them there as an experiment, hoping they might naturally trigger Rebirth and spare her a few philosopher’s stones. Of course, this was before she’d discovered the Pure of Heart method. Now, she had no need to scrimp on stones anymore, and honestly, she’d completely forgotten the newts had even been there.

She’d left the newts there the evening of the first day of the event, meaning it took two full in-game days for them to Rebirth.

Since she’d placed them on the first evening of the event, that meant it took a full two in-game days for the Rebirth to complete. In terms of efficiency, that was abysmal. So much could be accomplished in two days of playtime, and all she got was one tier of evolution. On the other hand, it had happened entirely on its own, with zero effort on her part. Hard to complain about free progress.

“I’ll just let the Rebirth go through,” Leah decided. “Then I’ll let them be. Maybe if I wait long enough, they’ll evolve into skinks on their own and save me a fortune in EXP.”

To become skinks, salamanders had to learn both Water Magic and Fire Magic. Mass-producing gargouilles that way was brutally expensive. Ten gargouilles meant three hundred skinks, each requiring those skill investments. And that was before factoring in the EXP cost of the Rebirth itself. Leah hadn’t confirmed the number with Lyla, but if she went by the amphisbaena’s requirement—around 800 EXP—that came out to 8,000 EXP for ten gargouilles. Enough to buy her another World Tree and a Fey King.

“Fulfill a side quest and a dream by raising my own squadron of dragons...or actually stay on track and spend my EXP on a Fey King? What to do, what to do...” Leah tapped her chin. “Well, if I really want a Fey King, I can always rope in what’s left of the Portelian royals. So—dragons it is.”

The caverns below Lieb swelled with dense mana. It was a long shot, but letting that go unused would be criminal. Just for the heck of it, Leah decided to pack the place full of newts.

“Oh, that reminds me. While I’m at it...”

There was something else she’d been meaning to test in Lieb’s cave. For that, she needed Lyla’s gargouille—last she remembered, still left behind in Trae. With that in mind, Leah fired off a quick message to Lyla to ping Abigor, then shifted over to Trae herself.

***

“Hah. Perfect. And with that, I won’t be dying so easily anytime soon.”

Leah had just wrapped up testing a way to mitigate her risk of death in the caves under Lieb, when a message from Mali arrived.

<Your Majesty, it’s an emergency—I think. I don’t know, though.>

<Holy mother of vague, Mali. If you worded it that way on purpose to grab my attention, then congratulations, it worked.>

***

“—Which is why I have reason to believe the one leading this attack is none other than Lady Blanc.”

That was the last thing Leah expected to hear upon teleporting into the Wellic capital and catching Mali’s report.

“Huh? Blanc is? Why would she do that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Your Majesty. But at present, Lady Kelli and the knights of the church are outside the city walls, holding back a force of giant undead. If you’d please take a look.”

Leah tapped into Kelli’s vision, and sure enough, she saw a force of giant undead that looked very familiar. No doubt those were the very giant corpses and flesh golems she had once raised for Blanc in her own backyard.

Yes, there was technically a nonzero chance this was some natural phenomenon. But if huge undead had been wandering the countryside, the forums would’ve been buzzing nonstop. Instead, silence. And no destroyed towns in the process despite the threat posed by the forces. Which meant the only real explanation was...

<Hello? Blanc? What are you up to right now?>

<Ah! Hi, Lealea! What am I up to? It’s a secret!>

<Just a shot in the dark here, but...you wouldn’t happen to be near a certain capital—say, Wels’s—leading a massive undead army with designs on smashing it flat?>

<Huh? Whoa! How’d you guess that! Are you a mind reader?>

<Aha. Call it a hunch...>

Yep.

It was Blanc.

Leah had no idea what Blanc was thinking coming here—but then again, Blanc didn’t know what she was doing either.

It wasn’t like Blanc had crossed any lines. True, the three of them had loosely agreed to cooperate, but nobody had laid out firm intentions toward Wels. If anyone had, it was Lyla and her “bandits,” stirring up trouble here the same way they did everywhere else, but that hardly counted as staking a claim.

Really, it was just coincidence. Around the same time, both Leah and Blanc had set their sights on Wels—Leah from the inside working out, Blanc from the outside working in. Their plans had collided, pure bad timing.

<Truth is, Blanc, I’m actually kind of in the city right now.>

<Huh?! You are?!>

There wasn’t a rule stating they had to report every move in advance. Letting each other know after the fact was more than acceptable. Leah had planned to do exactly that. Apparently, so had Blanc.

<Oh, I see...> Blanc replied again. <Well, I mean you got here before me, then, I guess... What should I do...? You want me to leave? I’m sorry.>

<No, no. It’s not your fault. Um, hold on a sec. You can keep up the attack.>

Angel attack. Sudden appearance of a saint. Now an army of giant undead. The poor people of Wels were being slammed with crisis after crisis. Leah could only imagine the pileup of reports hitting the desks of Wels’ leadership, clogging their chain of command.

Even so, the damage was done. Ordering the undead to vanish on a whim would only look suspicious—everyone would assume they’d been called off, and that would raise more questions than it answered.

Instead, it was time to make lemonade. If the undead were going to leave, they’d do it in the most spectacular, miraculous way the people of Wels could hope for. Angels and undead at once? Fine. Let their new saint—ordained by the gods—be the reason the town survived.

The Wellic church was used to it at this point. It was time again to solve this (unintentionally) manufactured crisis.

<While you attack, I’ll tell you all you need to know,> Leah said. <Right now, what I’m trying to accomplish in this town is...>

***

The walls that protected the capital city of Wels were towering, imposing structures.

And yet, so massive were the undead currently besieging the city that they could nearly reach the parapets if they just outstretched their hands.

This was the capital. The most well-protected city in the realm. Its knights were both numerous and elite, trained to stand against threats like the angels, who had once again unleashed continent-wide assaults, striking towns indiscriminately.

But this time, their strength went untested. For Wels had found a different kind of salvation.

The holy church called her a saint—a radiant maiden wreathed in light itself. She swept through the angelic hordes, cutting them down in acts of dazzling heroism. Once, twice, again and again, each time the enemy descended.

And so the people came to believe in one thing:

That their city—no, their entire kingdom—was under the personal protection of the gods.

And yet, one day, the city faced a new terror: undead of a kind no one had ever seen before. Towering abominations marched on Wels, crushing everything in their path as they advanced on the walls. Knights rushed to intercept, only to find themselves overmatched. The undead weren’t strong enough to fell a knight in a single blow, but their sheer size gave them an overwhelming advantage.

The defenders struck again and again, yet the giants absorbed every assault. Their health was simply too high, their bodies too durable; nothing the knights did made a meaningful dent.

For the moment, the walls still stood—thanks to the combined efforts of bishops from the Wellic church and mercenaries on the payroll of the merchant guilds. But it felt less like a defense and more like a delay. The breach was inevitable.

Then, as if to pour salt in the wound, reinforcements arrived for the enemy. The undead rotated their front lines. The battered giants withdrew before they could be destroyed, replaced by fresh hulks that pressed the attack with renewed force. The knights’ morale cracked, and the people watching from within the city looked skyward, their collective hopes collapsing into despair.

***

A sword slipped from numb fingers and clattered to the ground.

“It’s over... All of it... This day, Wels falls.”

The knight that dropped it fell to his knees, the crash of his poleyns against cobblestone ringing in the street.

“H-Hey! Don’t you dare fold now, you useless tin can! If you give up, who’s left to guard us?! Who’s supposed to hold the walls?!” A civilian, frantic and pale, rushed to the fallen knight. He seized the armored shoulders, shaking with all the strength he had. In truth, he wanted to drag the man upright by the collar, force him to stand, but an ordinary man could not haul up a knight encased in full plate, nor was there a collar to grab even if he could.

The knight stared up at him, struck by a mix of awe—and pity.

So weak.

This was a man who had braved to come here, a stone’s throw away from where the enemy loomed, to protect his family—his city. And yet he was powerless, unable to rattle by the shoulders so much as one single knight.

But...maybe that was the point. Maybe what he wanted wasn’t to lift the knight’s body at all—but to press upon him, to carve his own desperation into the man’s soul. To compel the knight to rise, to fight, and to protect, where he himself could not.

The knight’s voice rasped. “Forgive me, but you must flee. The city is doomed. But your life may yet be spared. I’ll hold the line, even if my bones grind to dust. I’ll fight—so that you may live!”

He staggered to his feet, swaying, then righted himself.

For what reason had he become a knight? He couldn’t remember. But he knew this much: It wasn’t to sink into despair, not even against an unwinnable foe. People were still counting on him. That alone was reason enough to fight until his final breath.

And for a knight who had sworn fealty to a lord, their final breath was not one given lightly. He resolved himself. Even if a giant crushed him flat, he would rise again, run back into battle, and help one more soul escape unharmed.

He stooped, retrieved his fallen sword, and faced the monster. “Despair still weighs upon me. Hope does not blaze before me. But neither is reason enough to lay down my blade and yield!”

As if to answer his resolve, the giant lifted a titanic foot.

With a burst of speed, the knight shoved the civilian aside. “Run! Save yourself! I’ll... I’ll—!”

But courage could not banish fear. Undying or not, pain was still pain, and the looming shadow locked his limbs in place. Even so, he drew comfort from one thought: He had pushed the man to safety. Whatever befell him, he had saved a life. Eyes closed, he braced for fate.

“That’s right. You’ve no cause to yield.”

But for some reason, in those last, adrenaline-flooded moments, he heard a woman’s voice. He wasn’t a poet, never had been—but if he were to describe it, he’d say the sound was unbearably sweet. A voice that carried beauty enough to be seen through sound alone.

He darted his gaze around. No woman in sight. Only the man he’d shoved to safety, staring skyward, mouth agape. Well, who wouldn’t, with a giant undead foot poised overhead? But speaking of giant undead feet poised overhead, how come one wasn’t coming down at him right about now?

“Your despair—I shall sweep it away.”

The voice again, this time he could tell it came from above. He looked up just in time to see it: a brilliant stroke cleaving downward, severing the massive limb in a single radiant arc.

And there she was.

A lone woman descended, landing with quiet grace. She flicked foul ichor from her blade and lifted her voice, clear and commanding, echoing across the street.

“And if it is hope that which you seek, then follow me! Together we shall cast aside the darkness. Together, we shall let the light of Wels burn bright once more!”

The saint.

Her hair shone even in the dark of night, glimmering with a brilliance that cried out the word “hope.” As it streamed in the wind, the knight could only stare, overcome by a single thought.

Until this moment, he’d been skeptical of the so-called saint. He hadn’t seen her repel the angels with his own eyes, and his lord had spoken of her with open disdain. Surely it was nothing more than common folk exaggerating a tale, as they always did.

But now—seeing her in person, witnessing the impossible feat she had just performed—every trace of doubt vanished.

This was a saint. One sent down by the very gods themselves to save Wels.

The giant, robbed of its foot, toppled. Before it even struck the ground, the Saint was already moving, her blade flashing with another skill as she delivered the finishing blow. She wasted no time savoring the kill. Sword drawn, she pressed forward to the next enemy. And the knight—compelled by something he couldn’t name—followed. Was it duty to his city? Obedience to her call to “follow if you seek hope”? Or was it that he had already, hopelessly, fallen in love? Perhaps none of the above. Perhaps all of the above.

Around them, more knights and mercenaries surged to join her cause. With the Saint at their head, the tide turned. Inch by inch, they pressed forward, until every last undead giant within the town was cut down. And then, as if sensing that the city was now free of undead (How? She could not see), the Saint vaulted effortlessly onto the battlements with a single leap. Before anyone could react, she had already hurled herself past the walls into the open field. A flash of Divine Magic lit the night, and a fresh giant—one of the untouched reinforcements—was blasted apart in a single strike.

What that showed everyone was yes, the Saint could fell a giant undead with a single spell.

Magic, however, was not all-powerful.

A spell, once cast, was unable to be used again for a period of time, in what was known as a “cooldown.”

But even that truth, it seemed, encumbered the Saint no more than dust upon her cloak.

She scaled another giant as easily as she had the city walls, leaped from its shoulder, and plunged her sword down through its skull. The instant the blade pierced, its head erupted as though struck by more Divine Magic, and the monster crashed lifeless to the ground. The dust had barely settled before she was already gone, flowing from foe to foe. One clean beheading, then another, and another—each strike precise, unstoppable, like water cutting its path through stone. By the time the reinforcements lay in heaps, the remaining undead seemed to sense it: The battle was lost, and they turned, retreating into the night.

The undead threat repelled, raucous cheers rang through the capital’s streets.

Hope.

This woman was hope incarnate. Out of the darkness of night, she shone like a single ray of light, a miracle made flesh.

Knight, mercenary, and priest alike cast aside rank and duty, surrendering themselves wholly to the surge of elation.

***

“And that’s a wrap. Good job everybody. Another happy ending.”

Leah let out a final puff of air as she, in tandem with Mali’s sword strike, fired off a Divine Magic spell to blow off the head of her last giant corpse she had summoned for the occasion. With that, the little charade came to an end, its objective reached. The city was abuzz, and the Saint’s fame soared higher than ever.

It had been the perfect opportunity, what with Blanc’s giant undead just happening to come across the city. But because Leah couldn’t bring herself to harm her ally’s forces for the sake of her scheme, she brought in her own giant corpses as stand-ins and let Mali cut them down. By the time Blanc’s undead saw the hopelessness of the situation, they lumbered back into the darkness of their own accord. Natural-like, organic-like.

<Woo-hoo! Great job, Lealea, that was awesome!> came Blanc’s message.

<Good job yourself,> Leah replied. <And sorry about dragging you into this. I’ll make it up to you, promise.>

<Nawww, don’t worry! I was the one who decided to poke around here without asking anyone. It’s on me!>

<When you put it like that, then we’re both guilty. Still...if it’s a scrap you’re after, and you don’t care where it happens, maybe give Shape a try. Nobody’s paying much attention to that place right now.>

Not entirely true. Leah had thought plenty about Shape. But it was far from Hilith, difficult to watch closely, and it’d be great if Blanc did something about that for her.

<Sure! I’m fine with anywhere! Then I’ll be going!>

<Wait. You’re going right now? Well, fine, I guess. Just ping me when you get there. Once I’m done wrapping things up here, I’ll swing by and see how you’re doing.>

<Rodger dodger! But man... How cool was that...? That Mali—was that her name? The beautiful Saint of Wels, swooping in with that gallant entry, saving the day, like pew! Bap! Boop boop!>

<Uh-huh. Yep, I’ll, uh... I’ll talk to you later, Blanc.>

No civilians had been harmed, the situation having ended before the undead breached the city walls. A few knights had been injured, and sections of the walls themselves had crumbled under the assault, but both problems were already being addressed.

The church handled the healing. As soon as the knights recovered, they were rotated to help with repairs at the wall, where craftsmen under Kelli’s merchant banner were already hard at work. Thanks to the accelerated pace afforded by skills, the restoration moved far faster than it ever could have otherwise.

With the threat repelled, relief spread through the Wellic capital like wildfire. Joyous voices filled the streets. Despite the late hour, tavern owners and food-stall vendors began hawking snacks and drinks, eager to cash in on the celebratory mood.

But even that, this sudden surge of food and drink, wasn’t just coincidence. It had been Leah’s order, carried out first by the vendors already under Kelli’s control.

To make money? No, not for such simple reasons. Leah had staged the whole thing so people would remember, plain and simple, who’d saved them when it mattered most: the holy church.

Because memory is fallible. No matter how strong a feeling was at the time, it would eventually dull and fade with time. Something someone just saw or heard? That would go as easily as anything else. But throw in a street celebration? With food and music and smell and touch? An experience that hit all five senses would stick much more strongly. Though, this did all hinge on the supposition that the NPC AI in this game actually had something like memory that worked like a real human being’s. In fact, it was entirely possible, now that Leah thought about it, that AIs couldn’t forget anything.

Well, even then. She hadn’t lost anything by doing it.

The streets of the city below thrummed with energy. From her invisible perch in the sky, she could hear every voice, and they all praised Saint Mali and the church. Even the rank-and-file guards seemed to watch them with a softer eye, if not the knights who served directly under lords and kings. Despite what their masters might think, they appeared grateful for the church that’d tended their wounds.

Leah snorted. “Bet some noble’s thinking right now, ‘Better had they died and respawned than to live and owe this favor to the church.’”

It also seemed, from Leah’s observation of the streets below, that nobody in town was observing her back. That might seem obvious—she was, after all, invisible—but that had not been a guarantee.

When Mali had “bounded up the city walls in a single leap,” she hadn’t done it on her own. She’d used one of Leah’s Dark Aegises as a launching platform. At first, Leah herself had been meant to serve as the platform, but Mali had flatly refused. In the end, Dark Aegis became the compromise—a compromise that was only possible because Mali could see the otherwise invisible floating shields.

Dark Aegises had LP, which meant they were observable through True Sight. In other words, had there been anyone with True Sight in the crowd below tonight, and they looked up, they would see a strange cluster of overlapping LP hanging in the sky.

And this wasn’t just supposition. As the archer who had once shot at Leah in the Hilith capital proved, there were players out there who possessed True Sight. And as the angels proved, so were there NPCs. To them, had they been here tonight, the sight of Leah floating invisibly in the sky would’ve no doubt caught their eye.

“Invisible or not, I’d better keep out of sight as much as I can,” Leah muttered. “Though...suppose it can’t be helped. In fact, maybe I could use it to my advantage. Quickly weed out anyone with True Sight.”

The party raged on. By the time things started to calm down, the message from Blanc came: She had arrived in Shape. At the same time, Leah’s giant undead had respawned under the grasslands in Hilith. Maybe she could offer them as a token of apology—lend them to Blanc for her assault. She was already thinking about marshaling skeletal warlords and giant corpses to aid in her friend’s kingdom conquering efforts when—

“Nope! Don’t need them!”

Blanc jauntily denied the offer the moment Leah arrived before her.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be polite, you know?” Leah pressed.

“I’m sure, I’m sure!” Blanc replied. “Truth be told, Lealea, I kinda started this whole thing because I wanted to destroy a kingdom all by myself! I wanted to surprise everyone! So, even now that you know, I still want to do as much by myself as I can, you know what I mean?”

As a matter of fact, Leah absolutely did know what she meant.

Throwing yourself fully into something—giving it absolutely everything—and walking away with the sense you’d done it yourself was the kind of victory that could make someone tangibly feel their own worth for the first time.

Leah had felt this firsthand. For her, it had been a long road growing up overshadowed by a flawless mother, a formidable grandmother, and an older sister who seemed capable of anything. Confidence had never come easily. But later, when she stepped out of that household of giants into the wider world, she discovered—wait a second, I’m actually really strong, and I’ve never lost to anyone. The pendulum swung too far back in the opposite direction. She’d become too confident. A prideful child. But that was beside the point.

“All right, Blanc,” Leah said. “If that’s what you want, then I’m all for it. But at least let me give you some words of advice?”

“Nawww, that’s okay, I’ll—” A sharp, unified glare from the three Laestrygonians across from her silenced her. “Um—okay! Sure! Hit me with it!”

“Okay, then. First, Shape is a kingdom with majority dwarves. So much so that it would, in fact, be prudent to call it the dwarven kingdom. And dwarf NPCs, well—they’re stronger than your average human NPC. Members of their nobility, especially. They are not to be taken lightly.”

“Really?” Blanc asked. “But in creating a character, humans and dwarves didn’t seem all that different. A little gap in the beginning, but not a lot!”

“That would be for an NPC-specific reason. Elves and dwarves have long lives. Though a human and a dwarf might look to be at similar stages in their lives, the truth is the dwarf might’ve lived three times as long. Think about someone who’s been playing the game since the open beta, and a player who just started today. There’s a big difference in the amount of EXP they’ve accrued, right? NPCs are the same. The longer they live, the more EXP they can get. That’s why your average dwarf is a fair bit stronger. The nobility? Well, they have all their underlings hoovering up EXP for them, so they’re even stronger.

“If I would add another thing, it’s that if dwarves are anything like elves, in that their final evolutions are Fey King or Lord of Destruction, then they are a race far more suited to builds favoring their own strength rather than the strength of their retainers. Basically, don’t think this is going to go as smoothly as your attacks on Ellental and Altoriva went. Go into this expecting each enemy you face to be on the level of your average player, or even stronger.”

As Leah finished her lengthy explanation, she could feel the Laestrygonians giving her looks of gratitude. You three have your work cut out for you, Leah thought wryly, before arriving at a different but associated conclusion: Could it be that Sugaru and Diaz and all the rest are just as worried when it comes to me?

But she shook the thought off. Not a chance. I’m me, after all.

“I see,” Blanc murmured, taking it all in. “If the enemies are all going to be on the same level as players, then maybe all the forces I brought right now aren’t quite enough. Hmm... But Burgundy has to guard Ellental, so what can I do?”

“If you’d like, I could swap in Übel so you could bring in Burgundy for the time being?” Leah said, then corrected: “Oh, Übel is the amphisbaena I created. It’s like a two-headed dragon. Should be a good replacement power-wise for your skeletal ghidorah.”

It was something Leah had planned on doing anyway. Quite a bit later down the line, but no harm to push it up to now.

Blanc lit up. “Wait, really? You’d do that for me?” But then she wilted a little. “Wait... But wouldn’t that mean taking a member of my forces and replacing it with one of yours? Your Übel or whatever? If that happens, won’t the difficulty in Ellental drop drastically? Despite there being a huge dragon in the streets still? Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Now that you mention it... Wow, I can’t believe I overlooked that.”

That was a reality check. Leah had envisioned doing all sorts of things with the interchanging and substituting of all three of their forces. But as Blanc had just proven, sometimes, that wouldn’t be feasible.

“Aw, that’s okay!” Blanc said. “For now, I think I’ll just attack the first town I come across. Same strategy as last time—send the giant dead people lumbering their way! See if it works, and if it doesn’t, we’ll just retreat!”

Quite the safe, low-risk plan, Leah thought. Had Blanc come up with some foolhardy backup plan like sending in the Laestrygonians should the initial assault fail, then Leah might’ve said something, but this seemed more than reasonable. And it seemed the Laestrygonian trio agreed. Out from the corner of her eye, Leah could see them breathing a collective sigh of relief.

“I mean,” Blanc went on, “that would suck if it happened, and I don’t want it to happen, but if it does, then it just means I’m not ready. But that’s okay. I’ll just shake it off, gather more allies, and move on to the next.”

“On to the next?” Leah quirked a brow. “You’d continue on to the next town?”

“Oh, no, sorry, that was more of a figure of speech. But I do mean it when I say I’ll get more allies. And for that part, I might need your help, Lealea. Like...if you would prepare a whole bunch of zombie-dragon-type monsters, or something.”

If philosopher’s stones or EXP were no object, then yeah—Leah could see newts coming together to fuse into a zombie type dragon of sorts. Considering the capabilities of each of their dragon-like creations so far, even a single one would be a huge help.

Of course, the addition of one new monster alone wouldn’t make the difference to go from failing to take over a town to obliterating an entire kingdom—but it did close the gap more than one would think.

It beared repeating that Leah’s battle with the entire Hilithian army at Rokillean, or Diaz’s clash with nearly all of Portely’s knights at the capital were exceptions, not the rule. Wars—especially wars of conquest—were rarely decided in such singular, sweeping encounters. Most of the time, they unfolded from town to town, with only a portion of one side’s forces pressing against a portion of the other’s. If you had the strength to win those smaller fights—grinding away at the enemy’s resources piece by piece—then, in the long run, victory was inevitable all the same.

Indeed, it should be taken that all of Leah’s victories in that way were actually exceptions. Or should she say—actu-Leah exceptions.

“Pfft,” Leah failed to suppress a laugh.

“Whoa! What are you suddenly laughing to yourself about?” Blanc said. “Dirty thoughts?”

“No,” Leah locked in quickly. “Ahem. Anyway, where were we? You were going to attack the first town you came across?”

To Leah, Blanc’s biggest “advantage” in terms of her kingdom conquering efforts was her ability to fly and summon her forces at will. This almost guerrilla style of fighting would prove to be a hard problem for any defending entity to solve, much less one that existed in a world with such limited modes of transportation.

In fact, such was this gap in speed and response that Leah wagered that it was entirely possible for Blanc to attack one town, and by the time the report had reached the powers that be, for her to already be on the other side of the kingdom, attacking another. All the better if she did the legwork and pre-dropped her forces all around the place beforehand.

Leah said all that to Blanc—half to make a point, mostly to shoot the breeze—but she didn’t expect Blanc’s awed, slack-jawed reaction.

“You know, I thought the same thing when listening to Lyla too, but where did you guys learn all this stuff?” Blanc said. “Is ‘kingdom conquering’ a thing they teach in school nowadays?”

“Well, it’s not like I learned it, exactly. I didn’t, like, get that taught to me specifically.”

As if Leah would know what they taught in school these days.

From what she could tell, she and Blanc should’ve been about the same age. But Blanc spoke like someone who hadn’t set foot in a classroom for a while. And in that way, they were similar.

“Ah, okay. So it’s like a family thing, then,” Blanc said. “What kind of family did you grow up in, anyway?”

Leah almost smiled. It was true her family had been about as far from normal as you could get. “At any rate, I’m just glad I could be of help,” she said instead.

“You didn’t just be of help! You were help! Listening to you was like reading a How to Overthrow a Government for Monkeys book or something.”

This time Leah really did smile. Overthrowing a government for monkeys... Now there was a thought.

Maybe he could do it. Maybe Monkichi could really pull it off. Though Leah would certainly have to pour him some extra EXP for him to have a chance.

With Shape left to Blanc, Hilith and Oral under her and Lyla’s control, and Wels and Portely being only a matter of time, that left just the one: Peare.

All they needed Peare for was information on the Therionarch. After that—or even not after that—Monkichi could have his moment.

Monkichi was supposedly from Peare. If that was true, sending him back would be another glorious homecoming—like when she’d sent Hakuma and Ginka to reclaim their home in Wels.

“It’s funny. It’s almost like I’m a...great rewinder. It’s like I take all these things that have happened for whatever complicated, unstraightforward reasons, and I wind them back to their original state. Like karma—if karma visited retribution that was rather disproportionate to the original sin.”

“What’d you say?” Blanc asked.

“Nothing, Blanc, nothing. Just talking to myself. Good luck with your attack on Shape, yeah?”

Epilogue

“Might I present Her Unholiness, Lyla the Heresiarch.”

So intoned the butler, Weiss, as he ushered the unexpected visitor into the reception room, where Count de Havilland awaited.

The count drew a steadying breath. The new Heresiarch had chosen to present herself in person—already a departure from the last, who had hidden themselves away deep beneath the continent. Perhaps this one was simply more sociable. Or perhaps she only wanted to secure ties with the vampires. Either way, she was less predictable than her predecessor—and therefore more dangerous.

Terrified as he was of this first meeting, the count still began with civility.

“You treat Blanc with great kindness, and for that, I owe you thanks. Ah—and those ‘fruit tarts’ she shared with me were your creations, were they not? They were excellent. You have my compliments.”

Others often mistook him for frivolous, owing to his unchanging appearance. But in truth, only his looks had remained youthful. The man himself had lived several lifetimes. An adult, he was capable of gratitude when it was due, and praise when it was deserved. And this time, at least, his words were genuine. He meant them to carry weight.

The reply, however, left him faintly dissatisfied.

“I am glad they suited your palate, my lord. Merely something I baked as a diversion. If you liked them, I’ll be sure to bring more the next time I visit.”

It was not what he had hoped to hear. Instead of receiving his compliment with grace, she diminished it—making light of her effort, and by extension implying that his taste must be questionable if he thought so highly of it.

A prick of irritation touched him. Yet he mastered it. Some cultures valued humility above all else, and perhaps this was simply one such custom standing before him. It was only a single exchange, yet it aligned with the image Blanc had painted of her. So he chose to believe there was no backhanded slight in her words—that it was merely a reflection of her upbringing. Perhaps she had had little opportunity to engage across cultures, or her upbringing had been strict to the point of severity. Either way, the truth stood: She was young. As young as she looked. As young, perhaps, as the new Queen of Destruction. Or Blanc.

“I am grateful to hear that,” the count said. “I shall look forward to what you bring next time. And please—no need for such formality with me. Now then, to what do I owe the honor?”

“Well, as you can see, I’ve taken up the mantle of Heresiarch. Since we were already acquainted—if only through Blanc—I thought it proper to introduce myself directly. Beyond that, I understand you’re familiar with the existence of another Heresiarch. I’d hoped I might trade for some of that information. And let me be clear: I’ve no intention of using what you share against you, nor of making an enemy of you.”

The count weighed her words. That last assurance—why, it sounded almost like déjà vu.

All the same, he told himself her request posed no trouble. He was not forbidden from speaking of the Heresiarch. What he knew was, to most, no more than trivia. He could share it, if he wished, and nothing would come of it.

In truth, part of him wanted to share it. He wanted to be the one to peel back the veil, to place in her hands the knowledge that might set some great change in motion. It was not duty that tempted him, nor the ancient covenant that bound him, but the thrill of being the spark that prompted him to speak.

After all, if there was anyone capable of taking what he knew of the old Heresiarch and making something of it, it was surely this new one.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I am not opposed to sharing what I know of the Heresiarch. As well, if you’d like, I can tell you of its peers—the ones who journeyed to the far north to find the golden dragon and— What’s that? You’ve no need of that story? Very well, then...”

***

“Darn. So I’m going to get more of them, huh?”

“I do believe so. The Heresiarch I knew had them as well—though only when employing a skill. Under ordinary circumstances, I expect you’ll more or less resemble your present self.”

“Mmm... Then I guess that’s acceptable.”

The count allowed himself a private smile. Women, he thought, were far more preoccupied with their appearance than men ever gave them credit for—just as his own revered master had once been. And yet, he could hardly fault her. Aesthetic sense was deeply personal, yes, but for someone newly made into a Heresiarch—and for one who used to be a human at that—the thought of such a change spreading across one’s body would indeed be difficult to accept.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Count. A moment, if you please.”

His musings broke off as Lyla closed her eyes, her expression smoothing into sudden stillness. Meditation? No—something else. She was conversing with another, he realized. Her kind possessed such powers: instantaneous exchanges with allies across any distance.

It always struck him as curious that, with such ability, their kind had not already seized the continent. A coordinated push could have drowned the world in days. But then again...perhaps that was untrue. Perhaps it was already happening, just on a quieter scale. A Lord of Destruction, a Heresiarch, and a vampire of noble rank were conversing in secret—three dark powers moving in step. With such a coalition in motion, the fate of the continent might already be sealed.

The count studied Lyla as she stood there—eyes shut, mouth closed, her posture perfectly composed despite her distraction. Blanc, by contrast, was entirely different when engaged in the same practice: eyes glazed toward infinity, mouth ajar, sometimes even muttering aloud the words meant to stay in her head. The difference in upbringing could not have been more stark.

“Sorry—that was from my sister,” Lyla finally said.

“Your sister, the Queen of Destruction?” the count ventured.

“Um, yeah, actually.”

He had only guessed, but of course he was correct. It was too plain to miss. Their races might differ in fine detail, but their faces were unmistakably the same. The mannerisms as well. At any rate, it was far easier to believe they were sisters than to imagine any such bond between, say, her and Blanc.

“Well, Count, I must say this has been productive. I owe you one.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “To have company, confined as I am to a place such as this, is thanks enough.”

For a moment, he considered taking a page from her cultural script—saying he appreciated the visit only because he had nothing better to do. But...no. The nuance there would not have matched what he meant, and to his ears it rang false. Culture was complicated. Better to avoid stumbling into offense with a clumsy borrowed phrase.

“All right, then. That’s it for me,” Lyla said lightly. “Give my regards to Blanc. And...I guess, to my sister, if you see her.”

“I shall pass it on. And thank you, once again.”

The Heresiarch dipped her head in the smallest of bows. She held that pose as she materialized out of existence.

With her departure, the count sat with his thoughts. The meeting had left behind a peculiar fear—akin to what he had felt upon first encountering her sister, the Queen of Destruction, yet edged with a different kind of unease. At her present strength, he supposed he could still best Lyla in a contest. But that was just for now. The gap would only widen swiftly now that she bore the title of Heresiarch.

And—though he hated to dwell on it—the same truth held for Blanc.

One day, she too would surpass him. Weiss had already reported she had laid the foundations for her ascent; a countess soon, with marchioness and duchess within reach. Measured against the long road he himself had walked, her progress was unnaturally swift. But that, he told himself with a resigned clarity, was the nature of the difference between his kind and theirs.

Like him, Blanc was no scion of another’s blood. She was self-made. Such vampires, if they continued to climb, became something greater: a true progenitor, a sire of a new lineage. Should that happen, then even if she were not his direct sire, the count would have no choice but to bend the knee before her.

What would Blanc make of that moment?

What would he himself make of it?

The prospect was both fascinating and unwelcome—a contradiction he could not untangle. It left him curiously eager, and yet profoundly uneasy.

“I must admit, sire—I came here intending only to deliver news of her birth. I never imagined she would come show her face herself.” Weiss emerged from the shadows, having observed the proper interval after Lyla’s departure before stepping forward. The timing had been uncanny: Weiss arriving with word of the new Heresiarch almost at the same moment she appeared at their threshold. The count could guess what had happened. Lyla had reached out to Blanc, learned something in that exchange, and on that impulse sought out his old castle. In the very same conversation, Weiss must have learned of her existence and hurried to report.

“She strikes me as no more hostile than the Queen of Destruction,” the count said. “If anything, she seemed intent on keeping relations cordial. In that way, I see no cause for alarm.”

“I concur,” Weiss replied. “I have not spoken to her much myself, but I have seen her in pleasant company with Lady Blanc. She does not appear the sort to impose anything unreasonable upon her companions.”

“Then so much the better. Whatever her aims, this turn of events is not without benefit to us. Should we succeed in cultivating a good rapport, it may hasten the realization of our master’s dream.”

Though, of course, before any such dream could take shape, the dark trio would need a way to cross the sea.

But that, the count wagered, would not take them long. Compared to the monumental ascents to Heresiarch or Lord of Destruction, bridging an ocean was a trifling matter.

“Ah, that reminds me,” the count said. “How has Blanc been handling those tainted gems dropped by the angels? Has she been keeping proper count and storage of them?”

“I... Do you mean the Pure of Hearts, my lord?” Weiss asked.

“Is that their name? Then yes, those.”

One could never predict what could happen in the future. And when it came to such uncertainties, the more gems one had, the better.

“I fear not,” Weiss admitted. “Lady Blanc appears to harbor a particular phobia of the angels. She tends to abandon the stones where they fall, rather than collect them.”

The count considered this gravely. “I see. In that case, might I trouble you to gather them in her stead?”

By the findings of necromantic study, it was all but certain: A soul lingered near its body for one hour after death. The angels’ gems—these so-called Pure of Hearts—could extend that duration. He lacked the precise details an Appraisal skill would provide, but experience had shown him the truth clearly enough. One gem granted one additional hour. And by the laws of this world, as long as the soul clung to the flesh, the corpse would not decay. Thus, with 8,760 of the items in one’s possession, it was possible to preserve the body of the dead in its just-deceased state for an entire year.

The count himself could never truly die, but still—there was no harm in keeping such things on hand.

“A time may come when one thinks, if only I had held on to them,” he murmured. “Better to be prepared than to live with that regret when the moment arrives.”

Afterword

Long time no see, my dear reader. It’s me, Harajun.

Recently, there have been times at my day job where I almost write “it’s me, Harajun,” in my emails instead of my real name and company name. Just now, in fact, I almost wrote my real name and company name for the start of this afterword. I’m really struggling, as you can see. If you would pray for me.

Before we begin, just an update about the “captain” I talked about in the afterword for volume 3. At this current moment in time, no contact or information has come my way. I’d assumed that should anyone in the business read that, they’d know immediately who I was talking about, so for no one to have contacted me thus far, I either conclude that the novel simply didn’t catch Captain’s attention, or that I had beat him to the punch in becoming an author.

Since we won’t know either way, I choose the latter. I beat you in becoming an author, Captain. I win. Or so I tell myself anyway for my mental hygiene.

Last time, I talked mostly about my days as a student, so this time, I shall talk about my life as a fresh grad out in the world.

If you’re wondering why I love to talk about myself so much in these afterwords, it’s because my editor always gives me far too many pages to write. I know that space I’m supposed to fill with heartfelt acknowledgments of everyone involved in the production of this book, but...I’m not sure how else to say it. I don’t have the right words for that kind of thing. It simply wouldn’t be possible for me. Much to my chagrin.

Of course, acknowledgments are the main purpose of an afterword. So if you’d rather not listen to me talk about myself, feel free to skip straight to that part. I won’t be upset.

Now, for the rest of you still here, I received my first job offer while I was still in my third year of college. Now reading this, you might think, that’s way too early! And you’d be right. But at the time, all I could think about was how I could have an entire year to myself to chill. Chilling too hard and almost failing my senior project is a fond memory of mine. Okay, maybe not so fond, but you get me.

After I joined the company, barely a month passed since I finished training and onboarding when they told me to “go help another department for like three days.” It was half a year before I got back. And when I finally did come back, I was given the scathing piece of feedback: “It’s been six months and you still haven’t learned your job.” Hmm. I wonder why that is?

My bonus evaluation was ranked among the very best, while my salary raise evaluation was ranked the very lowest. (Translation note: There is a brilliant—read: cheesy—pun lost in the Japanese here: saitei for “evaluation” and satei for “the lowest.”)

So I decided to quit. If there’s a singular reason I would give for wanting to quit, it’s that I simply wasn’t being given a fair shake.

And do you know what happened when I handed in my notice? My boss pulled me in for a two-hour talk to convince me to stay. Then his boss for three hours. Then his boss for an hour.

In those talks, they laid out—with uncanny precision—every reason I was a model employee. They told me I was doing good work, praised me up and down, but the whole time, just one thought kept circling in my head: If they see me this clearly, why wasn’t any of it reflected in my evaluations?

Needless to say, all those talks did was make my decision to leave seem even more right.

So I quit, jumped back into the job hunt, and eventually landed at my current company—where I still am today.

I’ve been through a lot since then. I’ve worn plenty of hats here, sometimes several at once. But they respect and support my side hustle, and I’m genuinely grateful for that. At the end of the day, what more can an office worker ask for than a place where their abilities are valued, their efforts recognized, and their trust rewarded with all kinds of responsibilities?

If I had to point out one head-scratcher, though, it’d be the time they said, “Hey, you write books, right? Then you can handle the subsidy application forms, can’t you? Have at ’em champ.”

Like... Hmm?

Pretty sure writing novels and filling out subsidy forms are two completely different skill sets, but sure enough, I got stuck with the task. Still, since no one else in the company had ever touched subsidy applications before, the reasoning was basically, “If someone has to try, it might as well be the one person with at least a shot.” Whether that shot really belonged to me, though... I still wonder.

In stark contrast to my previous job, I feel almost over-valued at this one. Every day it’s “Got it—yes, I’ll handle the process design. I’ll get the cost estimates out right away. I’ll write the applications. I’ll draft the reports. I’ll prepare the work standards. I’ll design the tools. I’ll head to the meetings. I’ll do the interviews— Wait, interviews too?! Sales at the trade fair as well?! Is there anything I don’t have to do?!” et cetera, et cetera...

It never ends. But still, I’m there, plugging away at it every day.

We’ve reached the end now, so here it is. Time for acknowledgments.

First, fixro2n, you know I’m grateful for your illustrations as always. This time especially, I know I must’ve bugged you with all my revision requests: “Too cute—redo. Too cool—redo. Not gross enough—redo.” On and on I went. Thank you for putting up with me. Rest assured, I’ve saved that “too cute” draft in the server of my heart.

Next, proofreading. I know it was an especially busy season for you, and yet you still took this on and delivered wonderfully. For that, you have my whole heart.

And of course, my editor. I want everyone to know they have you to thank for me managing to bring out that “naughty” feeling in one of the revised parts without resorting to anything too explicit. A fact so nice I’ll say it twice: It’s thanks to a request from my editor that I managed to bring out that “naughty” feeling in one of the revised parts without resorting to anything too explicit.

To everyone else who had a hand in this book before it reached the shelves, you have my endless gratitude.

And finally, to you—the reader who picked up this volume—thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.