The Most Brilliant Throne of Light
The neutral city of Aian has fallen to Baal of the Four Calamities.
Aian has begun to sink into the Abyss.
The Mountain of the Cultivator, Delphian, Pavlin, and Aian — four locations in total — have vanished from the map.
Baal of the Four Calamities has acquired the title of Calamity God.
Baal of the Four Calamities is reclaiming its original power.
Two neutral cities remain: Cartel and the Temple of Runes.
If Baal of the Four Calamities conquers Cartel and the Temple of Runes, the One Who Is the Abyss Itself will be completed. A warp gate leading to Earth will then be generated.
News of the third neutral city's fall — Aian.
After Delphian had fallen, Pavlin and Aian had crumbled one after another like dominoes. The first subjugation force had been annihilated within a single day, and no proper defensive line had ever been established afterward. Baal was simply too fast, and far too powerful. The sheer speed of it all was enough to drive everyone to the brink of madness.
Leaves in an autumn wind. The masters of the neutral cities no longer had even the strength left to squeeze out. All they could do was accept annihilation.
Calling Baal a Calamity God or a Demon King instead of one of the Four Calamities would not have been strange at this point. The greatest problem of all, however, was the simple fact that once all five neutral cities fell, the Four Calamities would invade Earth itself.
The Hydragon's Soul that Gracia sought remained as elusive as ever. There was no known owner. No one who knew who held it, either.
Then, one person posted on Player Talk.
The players' agitation spiked. Of course it did. Unlike in Pangenia, if the Four Calamities invaded Earth directly, every single one of them knew there would be no answer.
Truly — there was none. For one thing, killing a member of the Four Calamities on Earth required a separate Fragment of the Golden Rule, unlike in Pangenia. And if the Calamity invaded a nation that was not your own, would you really expend those precious, never-sufficient fragments on a foreign expedition? Beyond that, countless other interests were tangled together. Unlike Pangenia, which had been fractured into cities, Earth had never been split apart.
Even if he had been in the Empire, once he left, his whereabouts should have become known. With even Gracia stepping forward, Master's continued silence was decidedly strange. Master had always been a far greater attention-seeker than Gracia, after all.
In the end, people dismissed him as a troll. But the related commotion did not last long.
The Temple of Runes has fallen.
The Temple of Runes has begun to sink into the Abyss.
If the final city, Cartel, falls, the One Who Is the Abyss Itself will be completed.
A mere three hours after Aian's fall... the Temple of Runes had fallen as well.
The root of the Death God Religion. The Imperial Palace of the Empire. At its very heart, I looked around.
An unknown domain that even Wilhelm had never reached. Setting foot here at last was well and good — but.
Not a single one of them looks human.
Every "human" present wore a beast's mask. Most wore masks of bronze, while only a handful who appeared to be of managerial rank wore silver ones.
Why is Number One the only one without a beast mask?
Number One alone among them wore no beast mask at all — merely a golden one.
Setting the question aside, I walked deeper into the palace and soon came upon a place where food was piled high upon an endlessly long table. Beside that table sat ten figures, each wearing a different golden mask. All of them turned to look at Number One and me.
"So the 'disinfection' of Darkan is finished, then."
"How many 'sinners' were there? Shall we guess? Twenty?"
"I'll say fifty. If that vicious Golden Mask was the one running it, at least fifty must have died."
"Oh, let's make a wager! Loser puts up a thousand slaves each."
"And the one beside him? A black goat?"
Every one of them knew about the disinfection carried out in the Darkan Territory. Golden Mask — the man called Number One — opened his mouth.
"This one is the guardian of the twelfth Orthodox. A golden mask was not prepared in time, so he was forced to wear a black one. He asks for your understanding."
"Well, that can happen the first time around."
The one wearing a golden cat mask spoke. Judging by the silhouette, it seemed to be a man, but I could not be certain. The voices of everyone here were too ambiguous to tell male from female.
"A twelfth, though. I am most curious what manner of Orthodox it might be."
"Hmm. I thought there were no more besides us. A twelfth... that isn't even in the records, is it?"
"We'll know once we confirm it. What kind of Orthodox it is."
The masked figures were curious about Hell. Number One approached the central seat and sat down. The others remained in their places. Each chair's design reflected the nature of its masked occupant. Naturally, no seat remained for me — the unplanned, uninvited guest.
"Seems I don't have a seat here."
At my words, the masked figures laughed.
"You do not yet have the qualifications to sit with us."
"Hmm. Looking for a seat before even showing us the Orthodox."
"Sit on the floor until the banquet ends. Your place is not here."
Number One's eyes gleamed with interest, as if curious how I would react.
Indeed. Sashin's Banquet. I understood well enough that the vicinity of that dining table was not where I belonged.
"Then I'll sit here."
The only window in the room. At the center of that window, sharp as prison bars, where light poured through — I took my place.
The one wearing a golden ram's mask asked,
"Without even a chair?"
"No chair? Isn't there one right here?"
"Hmm...?"
In that instant —
Hwaaaaaah!
A throng of light more intense than even the radiance flooding through the window, of a form endlessly luminous and beautiful.
A throne of the highest order, raised beyond all measure of rank, revealed itself in its most radiant form.
A seat is something one creates for oneself. And so I sat upon the throne, propping my chin with a languid expression as I looked down upon them — like an observer. Or as if I were the master of this place itself.
Who is the true Orthodox here?
"......"
"......You've brought an interesting one."
"Is that clown yours? Golden Mask. Did you hire him to mock us?"
"Well, a twelfth Orthodox could never exist in the first place."
The masters of the golden masks offered their opinions as they beheld the spectacle. He had moved to the center of the window, where light poured in, and then abruptly produced a throne made of light. A radiance so brilliant it was nearly impossible to look at directly. A throne of light that, at a glance, was anything but ordinary.
A throne worth coveting.
Unique-grade? And not even an ordinary Unique-grade item, at that.
Hoh.
Some among them eyed the throne's value carefully, estimating its grade and privately marveling, or captivated by the sheer luminosity the throne itself possessed. But that agitation did not last long. The throne he had displayed was certainly remarkable — but the problem was the place.
Where was this? The Imperial Palace. And more than that, the place where every Orthodox had gathered. No one would dare commit such an arrogant act before them. A city's master? A nation's king? Laughable. The same held true for every other soul in the world. And so that man's life was as good as forfeit already...
...unless he truly was the guardian of an Orthodox.
"At the very least, the Three Swords staked his own soul and life upon the oath. That he is the guardian of the twelfth Orthodox."
Cutting across their doubts, Golden Mask added a remark. The Imperial Three Swords. He had acknowledged the one wearing the black goat mask.
They were mildly surprised.
"The Three Swords?"
"The Three Swords is your disciple, is he not, Fox?"
Every gaze turned toward a single place. There sat one wearing a golden fox mask — a slender figure with long indigo hair tied back, legs crossed in leisure. A sword engraved with plum blossoms rested upon the knee, being stroked as gently as one might pet a cat or a dog.
Lv.??
...As expected, it did not show. Neither the level, nor any information. The same was true of every master of a golden mask present.
Strange.
I found it odd. The Hidden Traits Heart of the Iron-Blooded Lord, or the Great Sage—