The Core of the Southern Barrier
In the distance, flames danced through the open air, tracing a strangely beautiful spectacle against the gloom.
The chamber where the Offering Ceremony took place was surprisingly modest in size. I paced barefoot across the cold, hard white floor. Around the perimeter, priests knelt halfway to the ground, chanting in low, rhythmic murmurs. Cronen stood at a dignified distance from both the singers and me, maintaining an air of solemn pomposity.
Three circuits around the perimeter, was it? I took my time walking the perimeter of the white floor, tracing the rough, etched letters and archaic diagrams beneath my feet before stepping into the center. There, the problematic "holy relic" that Cronen had purportedly spent his entire personal fortune to acquire gleamed with iridescent luster.
Then again, complete chaos had erupted before Cronen could ever hand over the coin, so whether he had truly emptied his coffers remained an open question.
I drew a slender needle tucked into my sash, pricked the tip of my index finger, and squeezed out a drop of blood. It might have been my imagination, but Cronen’s eyes locked onto me with an unusually meaningful glare.
Plip.
The moment the droplet struck, the holy relic shuddered with a bizarre, low-pitched resonance. Beneath my soles, the magic circle inscribed into the pale stone flared to life, matching everything I had been briefed on regarding the ceremony.
Wait, is this really going to wrap up without a single hitch? Seriously?
Right then, the circle—just beginning to seep a faint, pure-white brilliance—trembled violently. Then, without warning, the vibration died, and the light winked out completely.
It was an unmistakably unnatural reaction. Cronen and the chanting priests went visibly stiff with bewilderment. Yet none of them stepped forward to stop me or voice an objection. After all, rumors claimed that when Prince Brian took his turn last year, the ritual had gone so disastrously that onlookers thought a divine curse was raining down. Compared to that catastrophe, a minor hiccup like this hardly looked like an omen.
“—Contractor? （ｏ。ｏ；）”
Hm? What is it? Is something wrong?
“Th-There’s… an external input… being received…?”
At that very instant, an intensely businesslike, detached voice—fundamentally distinct from the melodramatic whine of the Emoticon Sword—echoed clearly inside my mind.
⟨Greetings. I am Podaga, the 45th Administrator in charge of the Southern Barrier. You are the Second Contractor, correct?⟩
…Pardon? I’m not sure about being the second, but… yes? I am the contractor to the god Belobog. But excuse me, who on earth are you? Wait, does the barrier have a consciousness? An administrator…?
⟨I am an interim administrator assigned for maintenance, preservation, and management. My predecessor ceased functioning last year, and I am the 45th iteration, manifested from the remnant data of the previous administrator. Pardon the intrusion, but could you provide a bit more blood?⟩
What?
⟨The connection is unstable. I lack sufficient operational power to provide a detailed briefing. Could you supply more blood?⟩
Y-Yes, of course…
The request was made in such a casual, matter-of-fact tone that I found myself jabbing my fingertip repeatedly, squeezing out a steady bead of crimson. I was so utterly baffled that I barely felt the sting. As the red drops pattered onto the stone, the holy relic and the ritual circle drank them in, bursting forth with blinding radiance once more.
⟨It appears you arrived in the southern territories without completing a proper Master Succession Ceremony. You managed to secure the guide sword and Gloriana’s Insignia, yet in your current state, you remain merely half-baked. I strongly advise you to undergo a proper Master Succession Ceremony as soon as possible to attain your full authority. Ultimately, your destination lies at the Northern Barrier.⟩
…And once I have that full power, what am I supposed to do with it? Am I supposed to defeat the contractor of Chernobog, or what?
⟨Your true mission will reveal itself the moment you lay claim to your complete power. Your superficial objective is to defeat Chernobog’s contractor and reconstruct the continental barriers. At present, Lord Belobog has exhausted nearly all divine reserves merely sustaining the desperately weakened barriers while channeling power to you. Please repair the barriers before Lord Belobog’s divine flame is entirely extinguished.⟩
That’s easier said than done. The Master Succession Ceremony is absurdly difficult. Even assuming Lisianthus has awakened the power of fire, where am I going to find people who have awakened the other elemental attributes…?
⟨They exist. You need only look.⟩
…They really all exist? In this day and age?
⟨For the record, the Castrein household is a veritable gold mine. Within that family alone, you can find two… no, perhaps as many as three awakened wielders.⟩
The crisp, articulate voice began to thin out, sluggishly trailing off like a clockwork automaton winding down its final spring.
⟨However, assessing the conscious state of your guide sword, you are likely to encounter severe difficulties carrying out a proper succession ritual. Therefore, I shall transfer the fragment of the barrier directly to you.⟩
“What?!?! Th-That’s basically the core anchor of the entire Southern Barrier, isn’t it?! (´๑⌓｀) If you hand that over to Contractor, what happens to the South?!” the Emoticon Sword shrieked in horror after eavesdropping on the exchange.
⟨Both this sanctum and I have reached our absolute limit. Last year, when certain imbeciles dumped Chernobog’s foul taint directly into the barrier matrix, the 44th Administrator perished, leaving behind only shattered fragments of ego. Once this conversation concludes, my power will be spent, and I shall cease to exist.⟩
Th-Then what about future Offering Festivals?!
⟨Demonic beasts have already infiltrated this city. The Southern Barrier has shattered into a hollow shell. If it weighs upon your conscience, coming down every summer to pour a vial of blood onto this altar will serve as a passable stopgap. Besides, now is hardly the time for such worries. There is no time left. It is solely because you are a proper contractor that I am able to transfer this authority at all. Receive it.⟩
Before I could get another thought out, a bizarre, overwhelming torrent of energy surged through every fiber of my being. My body felt weightless to an astonishing degree, and my vision sharpened into immaculate clarity.
⟨On a personal note, I never imagined an imperial royal gullible enough to accept such an absurdly fraudulent contract still existed in this era. Lord Belobog has managed to dredge up a human successor to Gloriana after all.⟩
…A fraudulent contract?
⟨Regardless, thanks to your sacrifice, humanity shall endure a little longer.⟩
A blinding column of light erupted from the carved circle on the floor, dazzling the entire hall. The surrounding priests erupted into anxious mutters.
“This radiance… it is far too bright for an ordinary Offering Ceremony…!”
“Has an error occurred?”
“An error?”
“Tch, regardless, it is vastly better than last year’s disaster…!”
The next instant, the billowing light contracted sharply, sucked straight into my chest.
The ritual circle carved into the stone floor lost its glow in a heartbeat. The rugged runes etched into the rock faded away as if eroded by centuries of harsh winds. Even the holy relic resting at the center—that gargantuan, special-attribute magic crystal—drained into a dull, chalky gray, as though every drop of latent power sealed within its facets had been violently extracted.
Looking down, I noticed a pale, wing-shaped mark emerging across my left wrist. It was so faint, nearly matching the hue of my skin, that anyone glancing casually would never notice it.
“……”
A cold bead of sweat traced a path down my spine. I had unquestionably received an absurd power boost, but… did the Offering Ceremony just fall to pieces? Instinctively, the truth sank in. The foundational core of the Southern Barrier had just been permanently absorbed into my body.
“What is the meaning of this?!”
While the priests glanced nervously at one another, Cronen marched forward and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
“The ritual circle has lost its power, and the holy relic has gone stone-dead! There has undeniably been a grievous desecration!”
I tilted my head, feigning sheer innocence. “Yet the light flared so brilliantly, signifying that the offering reached the heavens without issue, did it not? A magnificent, brilliant light, at that.”
“In all the sacred records chronicling dozens of ceremonies since the era of the First Emperor, never once has this ancestral circle faded and lost its power!” Cronen roared, purple veins bulging along his thick neck.
His words weren’t technically wrong. Still, watching this sanctimonious hypocrite—who had stayed completely silent when Prince Brian botched the rite last year—scream bloody murder at me over an anomaly was infuriating. What was he playing at?
“Her Imperial Highness failed to undergo proper purification before the rite, inviting foul defilement! That is why the holy consecration has been corrupted!”
Cronen’s eyes gleamed with a slick, feverish fervor. Instantly, warning bells rang in my head.
Only those directly participating in the ceremony were permitted inside this sealed chamber, but plenty of our allied troops were stationed just outside the temple doors. If I let out a single scream for help, a dozen armed knights would breach the room in seconds. Where on earth did this corrupt priest get the nerve to bare his fangs at me so brazenly?
Even if Cronen were plotting something behind the scenes, I had assumed he would never move so overtly mid-ritual. Above all else, he was a creature driven by power and self-preservation; he wasn’t the type to flip the board if it meant risking his own neck. Or so my analysis had suggested.
Yet his current demeanor was utterly unhinged. He looked like a cornered animal being hunted down—radiating the manic desperation of a man willing to commit any atrocity just to escape an immediate noose.
Right then, the chanting priests exchanged furtive glances, slowly shuffling toward me with predatory intent. I quietly rested my hand against the hilt of the Emoticon Sword concealed beneath my robe.
Whether this blade could incinerate mortals the way it did demonic beasts remained to be seen, but frankly, I had zero fear of losing. Ever since absorbing the barrier fragment, raw vitality had been roaring through my veins. In my current state, I felt capable of pulling an all-nighter for an entire week without breaking a sweat.
“—Contractor! I sense traces of Chernobog hidden beneath those priests’ robes! Wicked scoundrels! Dirty, wicked traitors! (╯•﹏•╰)”
Is there anything else I can use right now?!
“Y-Yes! Checking immediately! ⚆_⚆”
Right at that moment, an authoritative chime echoed through my consciousness.
Presence of Contractor 'Titania' confirmed.
This time, there was no mistaking it. It was the exact same system voice that had resonated in my ears when I battered demonic beasts in the Imperial Palace while putting on an act for the Emperor.
Gloriana’s Insignia — Direct Contact Confirmed
Podaga’s Fragment — Transfer Confirmed
[Power of Stribog Unlocked]
“Cleanse Her Imperial Highness!” Cronen shrieked in absolute madness.
At his command, the priests whipped small glass phials from their vestments and hurled them directly at me. A foul, blood-red liquid burst forth through the air, spraying straight toward my face.
In that razor-thin fraction of a second, the sword’s prior warning flashed through my mind like lightning:
If the opponent is stronger, it will be disastrous if it enters through an open wound…!