The Goddess Conveys Her Will

To the journalist's eyes, it looked like a sequence of still frames. As if, while everything unfolded, he alone had been blinking—eyes shut, eyes open—over and over. The uncanny sense that he, and he alone, had missed the frames in between.

It was a scene he could watch and still not comprehend, and that was precisely what made it so shocking.

Even the watching journalist recoiled. The terrorist's expression had gone utterly vacant, as if his soul had fled his body.

Looking at the terror-stricken man, the journalist's instincts flared.

This was a scoop. A magical terrorist attack on the world's largest religion—thwarted by the tragic Swordmaster.

The journalist from Earth offered a prayer of thanks that all of it was being captured on camera.

Not to Earth's god, whose very existence remained in doubt, but to the gods of As, who were most certainly watching from the heavens above.

Even amid his delight, Gaon did his utmost to keep his face a blank mask.

He had stepped forward as the Great Warrior, and so he stood in his true form: gray hair, the pointed ears of a Gray Elf.

He stood here in that very appearance that had featured in the history books time and again.

Even the mage terrorist could not fail to recognize this famous Great Warrior of a god. He muttered in stunned horror.

"What is this…"

Gaon watched the terrorist back away, his gaze idle and unhurried.

A Christian's act of terror. It was not a strange occurrence. It was something that could well happen.

The gods of As had dealt Earth's religious people an excessive mental shock.

Gods who revealed their existence through political and economic means—and, on occasion, through physical and chemical means as well.

Gods whose existence had been proven. The gods of As had reduced the once-numerous atheists of Earth to the same standing as flat-earthers. They had put countless of Earth's faithful to the test.

Many religious people had failed that test.

Countless Earthlings had abandoned the faiths they had held until now and converted to the religions ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of As. Some of Earth's remaining believers took this process as an invasion by a heathen faith, and they were furious. It was more than enough to make a person decide on revenge.

The mage terrorist attempted to flee.

A teleport spell. Gaon had no intention of letting him use it and escape.

Teleport was such an excessively powerful magic that methods of sealing the incantation had been researched for a very long time, and the results were plentiful. Gaon, too, could put several of those methods into practice.

As one of them, he scattered mana through the surrounding air.

The mana of a demigod was a formidable thing. It seized the space around them in an instant and interfered with any attempt at distortion.

The blood drained from the face of the terrorist who had failed to teleport.

If I could freely use teleport in a fight, I'd beat every Swordmaster there is and be called a Grandmaster. Skill wouldn't even matter—just keep teleporting behind the other guy's back and you'd win every time…

Gaon had more than enough composure to let his mind wander. He was confident he could stop whatever that man tried.

And so he did nothing further, merely watching—when a smile flickered across the face of the man who had been drowning in despair.

The man muttered. For the last time.

The man's body crumbled.

His skin, his flesh, all of it began turning to powder. It happened in an instant, too fast for even a Swordmaster to stop.

Even Gaon was a little startled as the terrorist became a skeleton.

A skeleton in a business suit. Slack and empty, its soul gone.

"It was a lich!"

As the people around them cried out in horror, Gaon tried to grasp the situation. What on earth was this?

The Goddess of Fire and Hearth was a great divinity who held fully 34.3% of the seats in the heavenly assembly, and possessed the greatest speaking power of any single deity—but not everything in heaven proceeded according to the Goddess's will.

Especially in matters of war, the Goddess of Fire and Hearth, being of the peace faction, belonged to the minority.

For all the other Supreme Deities, occupying the remaining 65.7% of seats, were of the war faction.

Left-wing god or right-wing god, it made no difference. The Supreme Deities of heaven were all singing of wrath together.

And so the possibility that any god at all had instigated that lich was more than sufficient.

The gods of heaven would want to change the will of the only goddess who opposed war—and the one with the greatest influence, at that. How?

Terrorism by an Earth religious person. Motive enough to enrage a pacifist.

It would not have been difficult to order some undead lich to martyr himself, either.

All intelligent undead fear the afterlife. Heaven has forbidden the voluntary undead from entering paradise.

And so a god contacting a lich and instigating an act of terror in exchange for entry into heaven was a thoroughly plausible occurrence.

For the instigating god, it would have been a wish they could readily grant. Only recently, the entry of undead into heaven had been unofficially permitted.

The possibility that General Secretary Kasyad was the mastermind was equally sufficient. That lich would have been desperate to get into the gods' good graces.

The gods of heaven had not forgotten that undead's past atrocity of spreading communism in an attempt to diminish the gods' influence. Now that he had reconciled with heaven, he would want to make amends by earning merit.

A very remote possibility—but it could also have been terrorism committed purely as a Christian.

After the Great Dimensional Gate opened, it was a well-known fact that a considerable number of undead liches had become absorbed in Christianity. The Christian Bible contained no passage forbidding the undead from entering heaven.

That lich might have purely, truly wanted to become a martyr and enter paradise.

Whichever it was, it became plausible with only a little imagination.

Because everything was suspicious, Gaon offered his speculation to the Goddess.

As he said this, Gaon looked at the journalists. Indifferently. And yet with anger in it.

The journalists could not well endure this famous Swordmaster's gaze. They all fidgeted and averted their eyes.

The journalist who had been so bold before the Saintess earlier was no different. His pupils spun as if searching for somewhere to rest.

Gaon cried out.

And then, in the next breath, Gaon's mouth spoke other words.

Gaon made no particular effort to prove it, but everyone could tell it was a voice ringing from heaven. Anyone could tell just by hearing it. The lowly beings of the earth cannot convey such a will.

It was a spectacle. The scene of the hundreds of thousands gathered here all prostrating themselves in reverence at once.

Every gaze was fixed on Gaon himself.

He had to make a concerted effort not to get too excited.

Some shed tears of emotion upon hearing the content. Others shed tears of emotion simply from hearing the words of a god.

The Goddess's words were being conveyed through a man's mouth, but none of those who had prostrated themselves here felt any awkwardness.

It was not simply because an elf's voice sounds pleasant regardless of gender. They had no leisure to feel such things as awkwardness.

The will of heaven, conveyed directly to the spirit, was vivid as if it were crushing consciousness itself.

There was not. Everyone was too busy trembling.

The Goddess departed from Gaon's body, and the sacred pressure that had been crushing everyone vanished with her.

Meanwhile, the journalist who had received Gaon's gaze earlier was trembling violently. He shook all over, then, still prostrate, slammed his head against the ground and cried out.

"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry! This lowly creature! This lowly creature dared—!"

Whether he was doing this to escape the vengeful retribution of the faithful, or because of an astonishing religious experience, was impossible to say.

In any case, Gaon was satisfied. Because the journalist who had dared to be rude had submitted. Because the hundreds of thousands of faithful gathered here were looking at their Great Warrior with eyes of reverence. And because one journalist, even while trembling, was diligently capturing his image on camera.

That last reason especially pleased him.

Would this feat come out as an article? It probably would.

Just imagining it was a happy thing.

Meanwhile, gazes other than those of the faithful were gathering on the Goddess's Great Warrior as well. It had been decades since the Great Warrior of the Goddess of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Fire and Hearth—that famous Swordmaster—had shown himself before the public.

Journalists ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠approached hesitantly, then, bowing at the waist almost as if prostrating, made their request.

"Um, are you Sir Gaon? If we might request an interview…"

He wanted to accept, honestly—but a tragic Swordmaster holding a press conference did not seem particularly cool, so Gaon refused. Without even answering, he simply turned his head away as if uninterested. That was the end of it.

No journalist could persistently cling and bother him.

Even as Gaon turned his back, the journalists were still bowing at the waist. He teleported and left the place.

Inside the Goddess's temple. As the Great Warrior, Gaon had the right to occupy one of those sofas. As he sat in as magnificent a posture as he could manage, a man who appeared to be a priest hurried over to attend him.

"O Great Warrior of the Goddess, hear my praise! Just now, that was truly…"

Gaon continued silently accepting tea and drinking it, saying nothing.

A priest carefully opened the door and entered, then bowed deeply to Gaon in greeting and delivered a message.

"This humble servant conveys word. There is one who dares request an audience with the Goddess's Great Warrior."

Gaon asked in a thoroughly lowered voice.

"Who."

"A National Assembly member, they say. Of the Republic of Korea…"

He was about to refuse—then stopped, and nodded.

"Tell them I will see them."