The Twelfth Orthodox
I had assumed Number One, the Golden Mask, possessed one of the two. But if every last one of them shared the same condition, it might not be a simple Hidden Trait at all.
There was no way all eleven people present could hold the identical Hidden Trait.
To achieve that, they would have needed to climb the exact same talent tech tree.
············ And that was impossible for anyone who wasn’t a gamer or a Player.
Even most gamers and Players had never heard of ‘Hidden Traits’.
And they had all raised them together, nice and friendly?
Interesting bastards.
I truly couldn’t figure them out.
And that was exactly why it was fun.
I had believed I had conquered everything Pangenia had to offer.
Though I had lost during the Great Expedition, that had been nothing more than a variable. The battle against the Demon King itself had been a victory, had it not?
Yet here, in places I had never reached, unknown beings existed in such numbers.
Just as I don’t know you, you won’t be able to know me either.
Above all, the fact that we were complete strangers to one another made the situation thoroughly fascinating.
I had hidden or altered my identity countless times before, but this was different in nature.
A contest of who would see through the other first.
It was like a game of wits.
A game of wits on a level I had never experienced.
“···If the Three Swords said so, it must be true.”
At last the Golden Fox Mask spoke, as if the matter were nothing of consequence.
A husky woman’s voice.
An attitude so languid it bordered on insolence.
By the way.
Golden Fox Mask, is it.
Every Transcendent I had ever met in the Empire had worn a ‘fox mask’.
Could this woman be the origin of every fox mask in existence?
Even ‘Thunder God’s Descent’, the old alt I was fairly certain I had raised long ago, had worn a silver fox mask as well.
That wasn’t the only oddity.
The other ten each wore a different beast mask, while only the ‘Golden Mask’ wore a plain one—another detail that felt deliberately suspicious.
I was dying of curiosity, yet I showed none of it.
Revealing curiosity first in this place would be the same as admitting defeat.
“Then showing the ‘Orthodox’ should be enough.”
“Hmm. Final confirmation. No matter how certain the Three Swords may be, seeing it with our own eyes is another matter entirely.”
“Show it.”
See? They were already curious on their own.
Demanding I prove I was the Patron of an Orthodox just like them.
They refused to trust even the oath the Empire’s Three Swords had sworn with everything on the line, or the Golden Mask’s own opinion.
Even after the owners of the two golden masks had personally verified it.
In other words—
They have no trust in each other.
These people did not trust one another.
Trust simply did not exist among them.
With that, I learned one more thing.
They were competitors.
Everyone gathered here was in a relationship where a knife in the back would surprise no one.
Eleven competitors becoming twelve was bound to sour their moods.
I shrugged regardless.
“What a bunch of clowns.”
Then I snorted and spoke as if the whole display were beneath me.
A voice that contained not a single gram of curiosity.
I acted as though their behavior was genuinely laughable.
After all, the one who is curious is the one who shows their hand first. That is the natural order of things.
I need to confirm what an Orthodox actually is first.
And I could not carelessly reveal ‘Hell’ just yet.
I still did not know precisely what they meant by ‘Orthodox’.
The Empire’s Three Swords had confirmed it, but whether that was simply because of Hell’s appearance or something else entirely remained a mystery.
“······Clowns? Are you talking about me, even if not the others?”
“Heh.”
At first it had been entertaining. Now the attitude said it no longer was.
In short, they had crossed the line.
One by one, murderous gazes locked onto me.
It didn’t matter.
Even that killing intent could not cross this ‘Wall of Light’.
Invincible. Blocks all damage and effects.
The Brilliant Throne of Light granted invincibility for as long as one remained within its domain. It was thanks to that very effect that I had endured so long against the Transcendental Dragon Laily.
The Most Brilliant Throne of Light was no different.
Not merely murderous stares—even if they poured every attack they possessed, filled with killing intent, I remained invincible so long as I sat here.
As if they were not even worth answering, I crossed my arms and legs.
Even without a word, my posture alone would make my overflowing confidence clear.
“······.”
Silence stretched through the heavy atmosphere.
And then—
“···In any case, to proceed with the ‘Banquet’, everyone must show their ‘Orthodox’. So I’ll go first.”
The Golden Mask spoke.
He raised his hand and drew a circle.
Zzzzzzt!
A blue line traced after his fingers.
Sparks crackled along it like static.
The moment the circle was complete—
-Kukukuku!
The Golden Mask’s ‘Orthodox’ revealed itself.
A strange light flickered in the Golden Mask’s eyes.
Now then. How will you respond?
At first he had appeared merely as Hudson’s escort.
I had known he was concealing his identity behind Hudson, yet I had never imagined he was the Patron of an ‘Orthodox’.
The Orthodox that existed within the Death God Religion numbered exactly eleven.
For a long time, ‘11’ had stood as the perfect number. Now that prejudice had been shattered and twelve was complete.
Was it a fake, then?
But if the Empire’s Three Swords had sworn an oath, it could not be false.
Those who bore the title of Three Swords were ‘Executors’ and, at the same time, ‘Loyal Servants’.
A servant, by nature, recognizes his master.
If the twelfth Orthodox truly existed, the only remaining question was the Patron.
Thus the Golden Mask decided to test the vessel of this new Patron.
Ordinary people would be trapped in their domain and simply suffocate.
A place where every soul guarded against every other.
When the ‘aura’ they released intertwined, the destructive force surpassed imagination.
Even the strongest would have no choice but to react.
Even one who possessed the Hidden Trait ‘Heart of the Iron-Blooded Lord’.
Even beings of the White King or Black King’s caliber—or higher—were no exception.
And yet.
The man who had drawn out the Throne of Light and seated himself upon it showed not the slightest reaction.
Instead, he had the gall to provoke them.
······Truly an interesting bastard.
Where had a creature like this crawled out from?
Or was it simply the power of that throne?
Either way, he clearly exceeded every expectation.
I wonder whether his ‘Orthodox’ will prove the same.
“You’ve grown one more wing than last time.”
“Well, after devouring that many ‘Sinners’ Souls’, of course it would grow.”
“Six wings. Three pairs.”
The Golden Mask’s Orthodox that had emerged through the warp.
Everyone watched closely.
Some admired it with open surprise; others remained silent, eyes filled with open displeasure.
-Kukukuku!
The Golden Mask’s Orthodox possessed six black wings and took the form of a small Death God holding a scythe.
Perched upon the Golden Mask’s hand, the tiny reaper laughed with an unpleasant sound, as if something about the golden-masked masters amused it greatly, and looked them over one by one.
“Hmm. I can’t allow the Golden Mask to become the star of this banquet. I should show the growth of my own ‘Orthodox’ as well.”
At the same moment, the one wearing the golden lion mask drew a small circle with his hand in identical fashion.
Sparks danced along his fingers as the circle formed.
The warp opened—
-Keokeokeo!
This time a robust Death God appeared.
Small in stature yet broad of build, it bore five wings and thick horns upon its brow.
“···You’ve grown another horn.”
“Body looks bigger too.”
“What the hell do you keep feeding it that it gets larger every time I see it?”
The Patrons showed mild surprise at the robust Orthodox’s form.
Not on the level of the Golden Mask’s, but clear growth nonetheless.
As if unwilling to be outdone, they began revealing their Orthodox one after another.
-Kekekeke!
-Kikikikiki!
The one in the golden wolf mask summoned a slender Death God that laughed with playful malice.
The one in the golden sheep mask summoned a round Death God that grinned with the irritating mischief of a brat.
‘Small Death Gods’ of every shape appeared.
Those called Orthodox all took the form of Death Gods.
There were minor differences—number of wings, the presence of horns, stars floating in hollow pupils—but every last one was a winged ‘Death God’.
And so all eleven Orthodox revealed themselves.
“Now. It is your turn.”
······The Golden Mask fixed his gaze directly upon me.
Now I understood with certainty.
The difference between ‘Hell’ and the other Orthodox.
The difference between them and me.
“Why are you just sitting there?”
“Can’t you draw the ‘line’?”
“Surely not. Knowing how to draw the ‘line’ is the bare minimum for a Patron of an Orthodox.”
“As expected—a fake.”
The line.
When they drew their circles, warps formed.
And the ‘Orthodox’ emerged.
But I had no need to draw the ‘line’ they spoke of.
Crack!
Space tore open.
In the shape of a scythe.
Zzt! Zzzzzzt!
Sparks then raged along the torn ‘line’.
A spectacle that made the tiny sparks of their finger-drawn circles look like children’s toys.
“Hmm?”
“That is······!”
“The Orthodox is opening the warp itself?”
They realized it as well.
Their Orthodox could only appear if the ‘Patron’ opened the space for them. Hell could open the door itself and step through.
Patron. The one who leads. Exactly as the name implied, they were those who summoned and guided their Orthodox.
That was the first difference between them and me.
I had never needed to know how to draw the line. There was simply no reason to draw it.
Yet the first difference was nothing compared to the second.
The decisive second difference between them and me.
-Kyakyakyakyakyak!
With a laughter so hearty it shook the air, Hell tore through space and revealed its form.