The Raid of the Evil God
Immediately after receiving word that a member of the church sent to proselytize on the Continent had been kidnapped, Seraphina convened an emergency meeting. Waiting in the conference room to deliver the full account was a young boy, his small body covered in minor scratches. Arthur, the child who had brought the news of the abduction, spoke through his tears.
"Wh-whimper... Ch-Chief Hector... told me to hide. He said s-something was coming... *hic*. I hid like he told me, and then... so, so many people came..."
Though sniffling heavily, the boy did his best to explain. Thanks to his efforts, it did not take long for Seraphina and Merlin to piece together the situation.
"Abducted into slavery..." Seraphina murmured. "We must rescue them. No matter what."
"Of course," Merlin agreed. "However, I have heard of the Bruton Auction a few times during my time in the royal court. It is a secret auction held exclusively for carefully vetted VIPs of the underworld. I understand that even securing an invitation is an incredibly difficult task."
"Are you saying our strength alone is insufficient?" Seraphina asked.
"...If it is merely launching a raid, it should be well within our capabilities," Merlin replied. "The Bruton Auction is famous for being held near a Gate to ensure security. Even a Swordmaster would hesitate to attack it, but with the divine gifts bestowed upon us by our Lord, we can manage. And the Lord will surely reveal the location to us."
"If you say the raid itself is possible, does that mean the aftermath is the issue?"
"Precisely. From what Arthur said, abducting Hector and his people was an impromptu act. It seems a merchant coalition large enough to supply such an auction was desperate to meet their quota of goods. If we raid an event of that scale, the fallout will be immense."
"Hmm. But isn't it an underworld auction anyway?" Seraphina mused. "What if we simply eliminate everyone there?"
"That would only worsen the problem," Merlin warned. "If so many influential figures suddenly vanish, the Holy Order and the royal courts of various nations will investigate. They might even discover our existence. And if that happens..."
Merlin trailed off, but Seraphina understood his meaning perfectly. They both knew the harsh truth: although their church was growing, they were still far too weak.
Of course, their forces—armed with the divine gifts of their Lord—could easily fight a hundred men each. However, the church's combatants numbered barely fifty. In contrast, even the minor religious orders of the Continent boasted tens of thousands of followers. To make matters worse, the deity Seraphina served was an 'Evil God' from a ruined, monster-infested world. Under these circumstances, even if they protested to the other holy orders that their followers had been unjustly abducted...
They wouldn't care. In fact, they would use it as an excuse to wipe our church from the face of the earth.
Seraphina fell into deep thought. A flurry of ideas raced through her mind, only to be discarded one by one.
Should we participate in the auction and buy our people back? Impossible. Even putting aside the logistics of infiltration, they had no money. While they had stockpiled enough resources from the ruined Earth to get by, they possessed none of the Continent's currency.
Should we beg our Lord for aid? It might be possible, but it was undoubtedly a terrible move. The constellation they served was no benevolent father. He was more akin to a cold critic, or a king watching a jester perform. If they begged for help, he might grant it once on a whim, but he would inevitably impose a far harsher trial afterward. Indeed, the mere act of begging for help might cause him to lose interest in their church entirely. While ritualistic prayers for safety and well-being were acceptable, demanding his direct intervention was something they had to avoid at all costs.
Then what on earth are we supposed to do...?
Seraphina paced the conference room, racking her brain. She kept her body moving to stimulate her thoughts. As she walked, her foot lightly brushed against an object on the floor.
It was a bizarre object with a black, rubbery skin and metallic, glass-covered facial features—the facepiece of an Iron Mask. Ever since Nisyona had first brought one back and explained its purpose, the believers had occasionally gathered them during their "proselytizing" expeditions on Earth. Staring down at that grotesque black face, a sudden flash of inspiration struck Seraphina like lightning.
"Merlin," Seraphina said, a cold smile playing on her lips. "If the only problem is the aftermath of the raid... then we simply mustn't let them know who we are, right?"
She had found a way. The church immediately prepared for the assault and crossed through the Gate. At the final moment of their departure, the Evil God's silvery gaze shook violently from side to side, as if trembling with mad laughter.
The invitation to the secret auction had been obtained by the Hero, Charlie, after he defeated a high-ranking cultist of the Demon King. It was a first-class ticket—one of only ten distributed for the prestigious Bruton Auction. Thanks to this exclusive pass, Charlie and his party were treated with the utmost deference from the moment they arrived, escorted directly to a luxurious private box.
Peerless luxury surrounded them in their private box, which had been converted from an entire wing of the fortress. Watching the auction unfold below, the fire mage, Ailyn, muttered in disbelief.
"This is insane... A painting bearing the signature of the former Blue Tower Master, and the wristguards worn by the Swordmaster of the Severing Sword? And if that wasn't enough, they're even auctioning off a protective ward from a Cardinal of the Order of Life?"
Her voice trembled with sheer astonishment. The former Master of the Blue Tower, a Swordmaster, and a Cardinal of one of the three major holy orders—none of these names were to be taken lightly. They were figures of legendary status, comparable even to the eight Heroes of the Continent, and vastly superior in standing to a mere party member like Ailyn. Yet, the personal belongings of such illustrious figures were being paraded openly, sold off to the highest bidder.
Even at the royal auctions I attend, items of this caliber barely appear once a year!
Because Ailyn had secretly looked down on the Bruton Auction, the shock hit her twice as hard. When she first heard it was being held near a Gate for "security reasons," she had scoffed, assuming the organizers were simply too cowardly or incompetent to protect their goods elsewhere.
But with treasures like these, even Master-class fighters would be tempted to steal them. Ordinary guards wouldn't stand a chance.
With this belated realization, Ailyn watched the proceedings with newfound respect. The items that followed were equally extraordinary: a secret manual containing the swordsmanship of the infamous kingslayer, the Swordmaster of Ruin; a ring designed to prevent mana deviation; and various other relics that made her eyes widen. When a robe woven from Thousand-Year Silk was brought onto the stage, she seriously considered swallowing her pride and begging Charlie to buy it for her.
Sensing her desire, Rowena, the priestess of the Order of Order, glided over to her side and whispered in a sweet, venomous tone, "Lady Ailyn, excessive greed always invites disaster."
It was a familiar provocation from her romantic rival. Ailyn snapped back, "Greed? Since when is buying things at an auction considered greed? If commerce itself is a sin, why don't you go live in the primeval forest with the elves?"
"Not all commerce is greed," Rowena replied smoothly. "But when commerce takes precedence over morality, it becomes a vice. Surely you recognize the faces gathered in this room?"
"...Hmph. Underworld bosses, corrupt nobles, and greedy merchant lords," Ailyn muttered, scanning the crowd. "Every single one of them is a shady bastard."
"Precisely. How could morality exist in an auction held for such wretched souls? Lady Ailyn, look over there. From the elves sold earlier to the beastmen waiting for their turn—all of them are destined to live out their days in squalor as slaves, or die agonizing deaths as test subjects in human experiments."
Rowena pointed toward the stage, where a group of beastmen had just been brought out. Dressed in strange, unfamiliar garments, the beastmen were kneeling on the cold floor, heads bowed in prayer. They were the slaves scheduled for the next bidding war. Ailyn glanced at them briefly before scoffing.
"Ha! If you're so worried about them, why doesn't the righteous priestess of the Order of Order rescue them herself?"
"In upholding order, priority is paramount," Rowena replied righteously. "And right now, our primary objective is the ring of the ancient Demon King. However, failing to feel even a shred of compassion for these poor creatures is a different matter entirely, is it not?"
Irritated by Rowena's high-and-mighty tone, Ailyn clicked her tongue.
"Tsk, whatever. It's not like slavery is illegal under kingdom law anyway. Besides, no merchant guild would dare capture a beastman blessed by a constellation. They're obviously just wild beastmen from the wilderness!"
A shadow of annoyance crossed Ailyn's face. The topic of beastmen had reminded her of her former instructor at the Red Tower—a smug beastman who possessed an infuriatingly brilliant talent for fire magic. He was a pompous bastard who treated his birth into a prestigious magical family as his life's greatest achievement, constantly looking down on Ailyn for her commoner origins. Soured by the memory, Ailyn spat out,
"If they're wild beastmen, becoming slaves is actually a mercy. What if we set them free under the guise of 'human rights' and they end up going feral and running amok? It's for the sake of the social order you love so much."
Rowena smiled inwardly. Hook, line, and sinker.
In truth, Rowena didn't care about the fate of the beastmen either. If they were so worthless that no holy order would claim them, they were bound to be defective. Sympathizing with wretched creatures was beneath her. Furthermore, the sight of them praying so devoutly on stage even in the midst of an auction had rubbed her the wrong way.
Praying when you haven't even been embraced by a constellation? How pathetic. They should learn their place.
Rowena had steered the conversation in this direction solely to tarnish her rival's image in front of Charlie. She delivered her carefully prepared line—one she had been holding onto ever since Ailyn had complained to Charlie about her instructor.
"Lady Ailyn, how could you say that all beastmen deserve to be enslaved? I believe it is highly inappropriate to make such remarks in front of Haru."
"...What?!"
"I was aware that you harbored a dislike for Haru, but to express it so openly in front of Charlie... I fear it will have a terrible effect on the morale of our party—"
"N-No! Hey! That's not what I meant at all! I didn't say *all* beastmen should be slaves! I meant, you know, the feral ones! The ones who lose their minds and run amok—"
"It is already too late to excuse yourself. Haru, please come over here. Let me cover your ears. There is no reason for you to listen to such discriminatory filth."
The trap had sprung perfectly. While Ailyn sputtered in panic, Rowena gently placed her hands over the ears of Haru, the beastman girl. This only made Ailyn more flustered and angry, while Rowena maintained her serene, saintly facade. Haru, caught in the middle, squirmed uncomfortably under the sudden physical contact.
Charlie watched the scene unfold from a slight distance, a warm smile on his face.
I'm so glad Ailyn, my childhood friend, Rowena, whom the Order of Order assigned to us, and Haru, whom we rescued from the slave market, are all getting along so well.
To the dense Hero, their petty bickering looked like nothing more than playful banter between close friends. Assuming their argument was just a lighthearted way to ease the tension before the mission, he chose not to intervene. He simply watched them with fond amusement until the moment arrived. Then, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his Holy Sword.
Click.
The moment Charlie's fingers brushed the hilt, a subtle yet heavy pressure descended upon the private box. It was an undeniable aura of power that instantly washed over Ailyn and Rowena. The two women, who had been on the verge of tearing each other's hair out, immediately froze. They quickly smoothed down their disheveled hair and turned to look at him. Meeting their gaze, the Hero spoke.
"Ailyn, Rowena. It's time to begin. The next item up is the Demon King's ring. It'll be a headache if someone actually wins the bid, so let's go confiscate it before the bidding starts. As for the plan... the usual way should be fine, right?"
Without waiting for an answer, Charlie threw himself through the window of the private box. The passive enhancement of the Holy Sword Karmanta continuously supplied him with a baseline of mana, even here near the Gate where the ambient mana concentration was low. Though he was weaker than usual, the Hero was still leagues beyond any ordinary human. Charlie's body soared gracefully through the air, tracing a perfect arc before plunging toward the auction floor below.
Boom!
He landed squarely on the target spot he had eyed earlier. Charlie struck a heroic pose—one he had practiced dozens of times to absolute perfection—right in the center of the auction hall. The feverish excitement of the crowd evaporated in an instant. Every eye in the room locked onto him. It was exactly the reaction he had anticipated.
Charlie held his pose for a brief moment, allowing his party members time to position themselves. Once he felt the tension had reached its peak and the entire room was hanging on his next move, he drew his glowing Holy Sword with a flourish and declared grandly:
"Hold! Today's auction is officially suspended."
The crowd parted before him as he strode toward the stage. His sudden entrance, his commanding presence, and the heavy silence that followed—he utilized them all to seize complete control of the room and stifle any potential dissent.
"According to a confidential tip," Charlie announced, his voice echoing through the hall, "the items currently up for auction include highly dangerous artifacts that are strictly prohibited under international law."
By the time he stepped onto the stage, the entire room was in the palm of his hand. Under such overwhelming pressure, the organizers wouldn't dare try anything foolish. Having completely seized the initiative, the Hero addressed the auctioneer.
"The items in question will be confiscated by me, Charlie, in the name of the Hero, for a formal investigation. Depending on the results, criminal charges may be pressed. The individual in charge must accompany me immediately."
The auctioneer stood frozen, unable to utter a single word. His mouth hung open, and his eyes darted wildly in sheer disbelief. It was a familiar expression. Whenever Charlie raided a villainous syndicate, the criminals always looked just like this. The trembling hands, the cold sweat, the wide, terrified eyes...
Wait... what? Where is he looking?
But because he was so familiar with this reaction, Charlie immediately noticed a strange discrepancy.
His eyes... they aren't focused on me.
The auctioneer's gaze was fixed on something directly behind Charlie. His eyes traced past the trajectory of Charlie's leap, looking far beyond him toward the very top of the fortress, where the eerie, swirling colors of the Gate cast a strange, flickering light. A sudden chill ran down Charlie's spine. He turned his head, channeling the Holy Sword's mana into his eyes to pierce the gloom. With his vision enhanced, he peered at the space right beside the Gate—a dark, neglected crevice that would have been completely invisible to the naked eye. And there, deep within the shadows...
"...?!"
He saw them—writhing, shifting masses blending perfectly into the dark. Grotesque, pitch-black skin. Facial features forged of cold steel. Melted, featureless expressions with bulbous protrusions on their chins. Their breathing was a sharp, metallic hiss that pierced the ears. They were the literal embodiments of the monsters from children's ghost stories—the Iron Masks. And there were at least fifty of them, crouching silently in the shadows, holding their breath.
The moment Charlie realized he had made eye contact with the one standing at the very front—
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
A deafening storm of thunder erupted.