Omen
"Necromancer... assassination, or perhaps terrorism..."
"Yes. We've determined that the Demon God Cult is behind most of these incidents."
Within the Papal Territory of the Sun Church in the Boern Empire, even the priests were taking notice.
"They've been gradually expanding their reach, and now they're starting to move aggressively."
"That's correct."
"Hmm..."
The high priest furrowed his brow as he stared at the documents spread across the table.
"Their goal is..."
It had been a full century since the Dimensional Gate connecting to the Demon Realm had closed after humanity's victory in the war. The Demon God Cult, which had gone into hiding, began stirring bit by bit, and recently, they had started acting in earnest. There was only one reason: to reopen the Dimensional Gate to the Demon Realm.
"...it's reasonable to assume they're moving to open the Dimensional Gate."
"That's our assessment as well."
"To do that, they'll need various artifacts and sacrifices, among other things."
Opening a Dimensional Gate was no easy feat. They would require sacred relics, victims, and more besides.
But the fact that they were moving so conspicuously meant they were that much closer to their objective.
"We must focus on cooperating with the Empire to thwart the Demon God Cult's movements."
If the Dimensional Gate linking the Demon Realm and the Human Realm were to reopen, the same tragedy as before would repeat itself. Wars between humans—between kingdoms or empires, driven by clashing interests—were tragedies in their own right, breeding immense suffering.
But the Demon Realm and the Human Realm were forces that could neither mix nor coexist. One side would fight relentlessly until the last member of the other fell, or until the Dimensional Gate closed once more.
"We can't let that happen..."
Murmuring quietly to himself as he recalled the contents of the historical records, the high priest fell silent.
Meanwhile.
"Gaaahhh!"
A man's scream echoed through the basement.
"...Ugh..."
The pale-skinned man hung his head.
"Feeling like talking now?"
"Heh... kehahaha..."
Suddenly, the man burst into laughter.
"No one acknowledged what happened to me. Just because the culprit was a lord, damn it—because of that accursed nobility, they turned a blind eye to my suffering."
He gasped for breath before continuing.
"My family. Yeah. My father, mother, little siblings—they all died. Right in front of me, slowly... painfully. Even when I turned away in agony, they forced my eyes open and made me watch them die. All because their faces didn't please him! I reported those bastards who laughed mockingly as they left, but all I got was a beating and banishment from the territory. Because they were the lord's kin, no one helped me. No one wanted to get involved. Except... the Demon God Cult."
His torturers listened in silence.
"Only the Demon God Cult—only the Demon God—heard my plea. They granted my revenge on those who killed my family. And the look on the lord's face when he saw it? Priceless."
"Then..."
One of the men standing before him spoke up.
"What about the territory folk who got caught in your revenge and died? What was their crime?"
"..."
The man fell silent for a moment at the question, then spoke.
"You want me to feel guilt?"
"?"
"When my family was screaming, suffering—when those cowards shut their windows for fear of getting involved—do you want me to feel guilt?"
His eyes gleamed with madness.
"You're insane."
"They're all the same. All the..."
The man in front swung a tool at him, cutting off his words.
"...He's gone. What did the Demon God Cult approach you for? And what was their goal?"
"..."
The man—the necromancer—did not answer. He couldn't. His body suddenly began to swell.
"...Get back!"
No sooner had they rushed out of the room than an explosion ripped through the man's body from within. Something splattered out through the open door.
Peering cautiously inside, they grimaced.
"Does everyone who gets tangled with the Demon God Cult end up like this?"
"...What a headache."
In the end, they couldn't confirm the Demon God Cult's purpose or why they'd approached him. Their ultimate goal was undoubtedly to open the Dimensional Gate to the Demon Realm, but the specifics eluded them.
Tsking softly, they left the basement.
"Mr. Brown. Busy as ever?"
Someone spoke to Brown as he pondered over his documents.
"...Ms. Karen?"
"You seem to be throwing yourself into research lately."
"Ah, it's nothing. Just..."
Brown brushed it off as he tidied the papers.
"It's good to work hard, but don't overdo it."
"...Thanks for worrying."
After a brief exchange, Karen returned to her seat. Brown smiled watching her go, then turned back to his documents.
I'd rest if I could.
He knew roughly what was coming from the original story. He could picture the unfolding crisis. He wanted to stop it, but unfortunately, he didn't grasp the details precisely. In that situation, his best option was...
To focus on weapons.
Endless hordes of demonic beasts pushing forward. And the demon invasion to follow.
To minimize the damage, he had no choice but to concentrate on weapons development.
What can we make with current tech?
The documents listed various weapons, and among them, those feasible with present technology. Brown reviewed them, sketching ideas.
Ammo production is limited... shells too...
Gunpowder. Without ramping up supplies of its raw materials, they'd end up with guns but no bullets to fire. The same went for shells.
Ways to boost gunpowder output...
As Brown pondered, a memory flashed through his mind.
Fertilizer plant...?
In his previous life's history, the technology that dramatically increased gunpowder production had oddly emerged not from arms factories, but from a fertilizer plant unrelated to weapons. He'd heard that research into boosting crop yields was underway in various fields here too.
Might be worth checking out...
Brown rose from his seat, still eyeing the documents.
"...That concludes today's meeting."
The nobles rose from their seats as the conference ended.
"Things are getting eventful. The Demon God Cult, of all things."
"It makes me uneasy. What if it's like before..."
"Come on, you think it'd really happen again? It's just a passing commotion."
"Still... we should stay vigilant. The situation doesn't feel right."
"Problems like this during a postwar boom from the war... ahem."
In the Boern Empire's council chamber, the agenda had been the Demon God Cult's activities and the resulting incidents. As time passed, the number of events was steadily rising, with more victims among commoners, nobles, and territory folk alike. Some woke up as zombies overnight.
With a topic like this, it's hard not to feel anxious.
One man harbored unease. He was a duke, a high noble, well-guarded and fortified. Yet something still gnawed at him.
No telling what might happen, but if worst comes to worst...
He thought of the revolver he'd left in his carriage before entering the council. As a Boern duke, acquiring one and ammo was no issue. The Empire seemed aware but wouldn't object unless he supplied them abroad.
"..."
Emerging before the council hall, his attendant bowed. His escorts waiting outside fell in beside him.
"We're heading back."
The duke boarded the carriage. As the coachman cracked his whip with a shout, it lurched forward. He retrieved the hidden revolver and tucked it inside his coat. Having his self-defense weapon eased his anxiety somewhat.
Time passed as he gazed blankly at the passing scenery.
The carriage left the capital, heading for his territory, with roadside trees coming into view.
...?
For a split second, he spotted something amid the dense woods—shadowy figures moving swiftly.
"..."
Cautiously, he drew the revolver from his coat. Suddenly, something flew toward the window.
"!"
Crash!
An arrow shattered the glass and embedded in the opposite wall. The duke froze.
"We're under attack!"
"Protect the duke!"
The escorts urged the carriage faster while shielding it. The carriage accelerated too, but soon halted.
"The road's blocked!"
A tree lay felled in the path's center. Dense woods on either side prevented detours with the carriage.
"Damn it... battle stations!"
Soon, the clash of metal rang out around the carriage—the escorts fighting off the assailants.
"Argh!"
"Grahhh!"
Sporadic screams echoed—whether from escorts or assassins, he prayed for the latter.
"Ugh..."
Regrettably, the last scream had been an escort's.
"..."
The fallen guard slumped against the carriage wall. Then, someone peered through the broken window.
Bang!
Flames erupted from the revolver in the duke's hand.