A Special Banquet of the Death Gods

The Demon King.

Sovereign of all demons, absolute ruler of the Eight Hells.

Seated upon the throne of the Demon Realm, he listened to the progress of the war—and his face twisted into a scowl.

"Isera has been defeated…"

At least Isera had managed an invasion, if one could call that fortunate. Ahram, the King of the Dead, had evaporated before he could even set foot on Earth.

But failure was still failure.

Useless, thick-headed fools.

He had been so confident that he had simply sat back to watch—and yet the result was no different from before their deaths.

Of course, he had never expected much from the start. Had Isera not been Basara's younger brother, he would never have risen even to the rank of Second Lord. That worthless creature's only claim to power was a peculiar form of conditional invincibility; the lordship itself had been granted solely on the strength of Basara's influence.

He had thought, briefly, that devouring a Dragon God's flesh and contracting with the Spirit King Agnes might have changed something…

"To fail even after contracting with a Spirit King—what a pitiful wretch. Pay him no mind, my lord."

A man standing at the Demon King's side, reading his master's mood, offered quiet counsel. A demon wearing a mask like that of a primitive tribal chieftain, spear in hand.

"Do you truly believe that, Mamon?"

He was Mamon—Lord of the Third Hell, heir to the Primordial Spirits. Unique among demons for his command of primordial spirits, it was he who had arranged the intermediary steps that allowed Isera to contract with Agnes, the Spirit King of Fire.

"Yes. Isera drew out barely twenty percent of Agnes's power. For one who styles himself Lord of the Scorching Hell to possess such meager talent… it is nothing short of disgraceful."

"So he lost because he failed to draw out the Spirit King's power?"

"Precisely."

Mamon was certain. Had Isera fully harnessed Agnes's strength, the invasion of Earth would have proceeded without a hitch.

But… would it really have?

A new Dragon God has been born on Earth. And Ainharthar, the Mad Dragon, was involved in that birth.

Only one being knew the method of creating a Dragon God. Ainharthar, once called the Dragon of Wisdom in ages past—driven mad by the Curse of Ruin—had suddenly reclaimed the mantle of a Dragon God. And, by no coincidence, a new Dragon God had been born around the same time.

A mutant Dragon God, no less.

This was no accident.

A demon's mischief?

The Demon King was also aware that the Demon of Greed had recently appeared. But the movements of the ancient demons had never particularly concerned him. For all their fondness for games, they had never dared to clash with him directly. Had they tried, he would have severed their lifelines long ago.

But if these events were the demons' handiwork, then they were clearly crossing a line—deliberately provoking him.

Deities weaken our power.

The Demon King. He was the sole blood descendant of Ruin.

Ruin had birthed the Demon Realm and the Demon King from the worlds it had destroyed, and had slain or cursed countless deities into madness. Because deities were what weakened Ruin, the natural enemies of the demons and the Demon King born from that Ruin could only be deities themselves.

From birth, he had been destined as an invader.

…Whoever is moving, and for whatever purpose—it is nothing more than a death thrash.

Yet the Demon King felt no urgency. His body had already nearly reached the realm of perfection. After seizing Wilhelm's body, he had already surpassed Wilhelm's former level. Color had returned to skin that had once been cold and lifeless; his reinforced heart and flesh felt ready to burst free and shatter everything in their path.

If the ancient demons were playing games, he need only slit their throats one by one.

"I will never fail, my lord."

Mamon was certain—just as Ahram and Isera had been.

To be fair, Mamon was a qualitatively different class of power from those two.

Two consecutive failures. At this point, committing the full might of the Demon Realm to an invasion might have seemed reasonable.

But that bitch Fina left a curse on me.

Fina, Goddess of the Sky. That damnable goddess who had rescued Wilhelm's soul had not died leaving only a star behind. She had left a curse as well—one that prevented the Demon Realm from moving with its full strength. She had shackled his feet.

Thanks to that, the Demon Realm and all its lords had fully resurrected—yet they could not pour their entire forces into a single campaign. An ironic predicament.

But even that curse…

Would eventually break. He had arranged that whenever a Lord of Hell died in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠failed invasion, their demonic power would flow into his body. With every increase in his strength, Fina's shackles would weaken accordingly.

"…Hmm?"

Then it happened. Suddenly, the Demon King's brow furrowed.

"My lord. Is something wrong?"

At Mamon's question, the Demon King spoke in a voice far graver than before.

"Mamon… can you not feel it?"

"Feel what, my lord?"

"Somewhere on the continents of Pangenia, a vast destiny has just been born."

"…Forgive me. I feel nothing."

Ah. So Mamon truly could not sense this enormous wave?

Not only Mamon—every demon was the same. Only the Demon King, sole descendant of Ruin, could feel this pulse.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

…His heart was racing. His palms were sweating.

I am… tense?

The vast destiny that had just been born—that swirling vortex—was threatening him. What could it possibly be? Could it be something that would threaten even Ruin itself?

…Impossible.

He denied it fiercely. He had not felt the slightest tension even when deities had resurrected and been born. So… something like that simply could not exist.

Armor refined within the First Fire itself.

True to its name, its appearance was crude and unrefined—yet the substance of the piece was anything but crude.

"Armor… from the fire…?"

"Wh-what is that?"

Auryll and Hudson trembled as they stared at the refined Archetypal Armor. The moment the materials had been cast into the flames, the armor had simply… completed itself.

But this was one of the functions of the First Fire. That single ability alone was enough to call the First Fire a once-in-an-era treasure.

As long as you have the materials, blueprints are unnecessary.

…The power to forge without a design. An absolute flame that, given sufficient materials, could birth works of Unique grade and beyond!

……Insane.

There was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no other word for it. How many items had he been unable to craft simply because he lacked the blueprint, even after gathering the materials? Unique-grade blueprints in particular were like stars in the sky—impossible to obtain except under specific conditions and in specific places. Materials were already hard enough to find; with blueprints equally scarce, it was no wonder Unique-grade equipment was so rare across the world.

But if the First Fire eliminated the need for blueprints…

Crafting Unique-grade gear becomes vastly easier.

Not twice as easy—ten times. And there were pieces he could forge immediately, if he simply stripped the Golden Rule Shop and the auction house bare!

He had thought the First Fire was merely for defending and developing a city. But even that revelation paled beside the awe of the Archetypal Armor floating before him now.

Hah.

This was even more insane. Truly… beyond words.

……If this wasn't insane, what was?

The very first option said it all.

An option superior to Pierce…

Pierce sat above every form of resistance. And here was an option that ignored Pierce itself—equipment that shattered every rule he had known about Pangenia.

Even with the condition of "minimum resistance," reducing physical damage by fifty percent and reflecting more than double that damage was already broken enough to be called fraudulent.

Six talisman slots. Option amplification. Insane.

His pupils trembled. Was this even allowed? Even the finest gear usually had only two or three slots. On top of that, it amplified the options of any equipped talisman. He had never seen an effect like that either. Firsts upon firsts.

All Pierce increased by nine percent…

The level-scaled additional Pierce was the same. His current level was nine. The bonus All Pierce was nine percent. With that alone, his total Pierce value had already soared past twenty percent. And it could be enhanced on top of everything else.

What is a Primordial Magic Stone?

He didn't know what it was, but it had to exist somewhere if it was listed. The form could be altered, too—perfect for concealment. No one else would even be able to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠appraise what kind of armor this was.

"R-Randolph, my lord… how is this possible?"

Hudson volunteered the question. He wasn't alone—everyone's eyes burned with desperate curiosity. Auryll, Isaac, Valte, Andasar—all of them.

"Before that, I intend to appoint everyone gathered here as Regular Knights."

"Pardon? Cough! C-could it be…? Have you surpassed ten thousand Honor?!"

Hudson knew. Appointing Regular Knights was only possible for those whose Honor exceeded ten thousand. Once appointed, a Regular Knight received bonus stats, a bestowal of Mystery, and became a Direct Knight—much like a king's personal guard. It was an immensely prestigious and valuable distinction.

But I shook my head.

"No."

"Th-then how can you appoint Regular Knights…?"

"It is not ten thousand."

"Pardon?"

I held up three fingers. Hudson's eyes flew wide.

"Wait. You can't mean thirty thousand, can you?"

"I have surpassed it."

"……Cough!"

Hudson choked on a dry cough. Ten thousand was the threshold to become a king. Twenty thousand was enough for an emperor. But thirty thousand… was thirty thousand Honor even a real number?

"I am told I can appoint up to thirty."

"……Excuse me??"

Thirty Regular Knights! Even the Palga Knight Order—the Emperor's direct force of the Empire—was composed entirely of Regular Knights, yet their numbers did not reach ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thirty. By raw count alone, this would exceed the Palga Knight Order.

Hudson's eyes trembled violently.

……How far does he intend to climb?

Randolph's limits were nowhere in sight. Hudson considered himself fortunate to be able to follow such a man. No—everyone present thought the same.

……If Randolph had been their enemy, it would have been a nightmare.

The Empire. The Death God Religion.

One by one, the guardians of the Orthodox revealed themselves.

"Today is the day of the Full Moon."

Where all had gathered, the Golden Mask slowly opened his mouth. Tonight was the night of the full moon—the night a special existence would awaken.

"The one who has prepared the most exceptional banquet shall challenge the Full Feast. As this gathering is watched over by the will of the Great Moon, tonight's banquet will be a most extraordinary experience."

The Great Moon. At that name, the guardians' shoulders trembled.

"You are all prepared, I trust?"

The Golden Mask surveyed the surroundings as he spoke. Then he stopped at a single point.

……Looking directly at me.