January 23, 1617 Central Calendar, 10:00 Second Civilization Time

  Mykal, Kingdom of Mu

  The attempts to improve relationships and foster cooperation between the Holy Milishial Empire and the Kingdom of Mu following last year’s World Conference could also be viewed as a convenient excuse to allow more people with mana roaming around in a magicless land. This was certainly the case for the Order of the Ancients and the White Lotus, who exploited the situation whenever possible in their ongoing search of infiltrators from Annonrial, a tiresome game of sensing and counter-sensing each other’s magical signatures.

  Motivated to swiftly secure the Muish flank from Annonrial interference to the World’s Defense Line strategy, Meteos continued his headhunting in another city while monitoring the test flight of one of the Dreaming Child’s prototypes in use that day. This had become his routine whenever he arrived in a new location. With the reverse-sensors indicating he wasn’t being sensed by an enemy, the White Lotus Leader seized the moment to expand his network, successfully gaining an impressive number of new collaborators this morning alone. Additionally, as a port city with a sizable international trading activity, there was a large presence of foreigners, allowing him an even greater reach once these people returned to their home countries.

  Since arriving last weekend, Meteos also intercepted and charmed even more separatists lurking around the city now that he was in the hotbed of their activity that is the Southern Mu region. Like a moth to a flame, most of them had come for reconnaissance, following the grapevine deliberately spread by the White Lotus through their Muish collaborators that the new prototype fighter’s testing would bring it to Ainank Airbase nearby. Information is crucial, after all, no matter how trivial.

  However, he found one particular cell amusing with their plan to steal the prototype. When he inquired about it, they elaborated that they wanted to use it, especially the Milishial-developed mana detector technology onboard, as a bargaining chip to gain supporters from either the Magicaraich Community or Leifor. While it seemed absurd and they seemed to not get the memo that the smuggling routes were being destroyed one after another, Meteos couldn’t bring himself to mock them, considering how outlandish his own operations actually were. In the first place, he was the one who drove them to the point of desperation by becoming an unknown factor that foiled their plans, after all.

  But it’s okay now. As the new collaborators of the White Lotus, they won’t have to be that desperate anymore. He will take care of them to the best of his ability through his proxies in Mu.

  Still, there are no signs of Annonrial infiltrators, which is unsettling. The only thing that lingered was a sense of ominous calm—far more dangerous than any confrontation.

  Meteos entered a car waiting for him at the end of his “souvenir shopping spree” and pulled out his tablet, launching a program that showed a small blip indicating the Dreaming Child’s current location. He followed its movement as it neared the southern gulf, close to the border with Magicaraich, with its onboard mana detector actively sensing its surroundings.

  The long-sought target would enter their radar not long after…

  ?????

  Subice Bay Region, Southern Mu

  High in the sky, far away from Mykal where Meteos and the rest of the MOASEC delegation were staying, a lonely biplane soared southwest over a small coastal mountain range and heading toward a region close to the border with the Magicaraich Community, cutting through the thin, frigid air with a steady drone of its single propeller.

  In the cockpit, Kruger, the one piloting this Dreaming Child’s lightning motor-powered variant, watched as the deep blue of the Minerva Ocean stretched out endlessly to her left, its surface textured with slow-moving swells and the occasional whitecaps stirred by winter winds. To the right, the land was a stark contrast, with mountainous ridges and valleys covered in a patchwork of winter-bare forests and pockets of evergreen. The higher elevations were dusted with snow, while lower slopes showed brown and green hues of dormant vegetation.

  With the official mission of carrying out a test flight for observation and data gathering, Kruger leisurely manned the controls as her HUD showed her continuous streams of data, while maintaining the sensing technique that overlapped with the portable mana detector mounted on the aircraft.

  Nothing.

  For the past two hours, both the instrument and her own sensors had returned the same result—no anomalous mana signatures, just the natural ambient levels consistent with an environment untouched by artificial interference. Anomalous, as in a lifeform whose natural mana signature exceeded even that of wyverns and elves. One might assume that the Winged People hiding in Mu would stand out like a beacon in the darkness, making them easy to spot with sensing. However, the White Lotus Leader suspected that the infiltrators sent here could perceive the ‘light’ given off by such sensing efforts and might take alarm. As a result, despite actively searching for their enemy, they employed a far more discreet approach to take them down in silence. Whether this extreme caution was truly warranted or not, it certainly made the hunt even more challenging…

  It seemed that Meteos Roguerider, Kruger’s creator, was hit hard by the consequences of looking down on an adversary in his previous life. Now, whenever he evaluated a threat, he tended to err on the side of extreme caution—almost to the point of absurd overestimation. In a way, his efforts to overcome those self-imposed obstacles were like beating himself!

  Likewise with the case of Zarathostra of the Messiah’s design in Mu, where even when said design seemed to progress at a snail’s pace in comparison to the White Lotus’ own—

  “——Hm!?”

  When Kruger’s internal sensor suddenly pulsed, her optics narrowed as she quickly cross-checked the reading with the aircraft’s onboard mana detector. Nothing. The instrument, designed for wide-range but low-sensitivity scanning as a decoy, remained silent. However, her own internal sensors set in a narrow, ultra-high-sensitivity mode did not lie. Whatever had just registered was close, probably right below her among the people of a town her plane had just passed.

  A grin quickly spread across the Magia’s face. “Ah-ha!” she let out. “Master! I got something!” she cheered, as if her creator could hear her outburst across the skies with the manacom not connected.

  Keeping her hands steady on the flight stick, she rapidly initiated the deployment of the Ephemeroptera drones she carried with a command signal. The delicate, insect-like reconnaissance units detached from their compartments under the wings and dispersed, rapidly descending toward the ground to pinpoint the origin of the anomalous signature. Meanwhile, Kruger banked the biplane slightly, adjusting its altitude to loiter above the location and wait for the drones to relay their observation data…

  “Hmm? The drones detected no sensing field?”

  Watching the readings, Kruger tilted her head. Does this mean that the misdirection operation worked as intended in an unexpectedly smooth manner, or is Meteos really overcompensating his caution for his own good? …Which is it…?

  ?????

  Mykal

  Watching as Dunning briskly entered his cabin on the flying boat and closed the door shut, a resting Meteos surmised that something had happened and braced himself. He sprang up from his bunk and straightened his back in anticipation, ready to receive the report from the Magia as soon as the magical soundproof ward was in place.

  “Master, Kruger has located an anomalous signature,” Dunning spoke smoothly after giving him a respectful bow. “It was first detected just moments ago, at a small inland commune called Banize located north of the Subice Bay region, 600 kilometers southwest of this city at the base of the Cheville Mountains.”

  Meteos drew a sharp breath as he processed the information. While there was no plan for the MOASEC delegation to go anywhere else in this last leg of their business trip, the White Lotus can use the ODM Gear at maximum flight speed to reach Banize in two hours.

  It exists. The enemy is really there. To think that they finally found a lead to the enemy’s activity…

  “Show me,” he instructed immediately.

  Dunning complied, gesturing toward Meteos’ Manadriver on the table before snapping his fingers. The device lit up in response, projecting a map of the region, with a blip indicating the location Kruger had pinpointed. The surrounding terrain was also displayed, with annotations showing the nearby geography. Studying the display closely, something immediately caught Meteos’ attention.

  “It’s a different infiltrator…”

  Meteos muttered to himself. The anomalous signature’s location wasn’t anywhere near the location of the Ikaruga’s encounter. Too far apart, in fact, for it to be the same individual.

  When Meteos turned to Dunning again, he inquired further.

  “How is Kruger doing? Any complications? Is the target aware that they’re being sensed?”

  Dunning shook his head. “No, sir. No enemy reaction has been detected. The Ephemeropteras are keeping an eye on the target and transmitting the data, but there’s no indication of any sensing field activation from the target. It appears they’re unaware of our detection.”

  “Hm? Really?”

  This revelation stunned Meteos a bit. Honestly, the lack of a sensing field from the target was rather unexpected. For an Annonrial infiltrator whom he already regarded as a formidable adversary to be so careless and lower their guard struck him as odd. Running a hand through his hair, he fell into deep thought. What could this mean…?

  Looking at the shift in his creator’s facial expression, Dunning offered a suggestion. “Perhaps the target is simply overconfident, Master. They’ve avoided detection for so long, and for some reason, they may have let their guard down.”

  “…That… sounds too good to be true… Alternatively, this one sees emitting sensing fields as an act of carelessness, and this is them being cautious.”

  “What will be your orders, Master?”

  Dunning’s inquiry snapped him up from his tumultuous thoughts. To do or not to do…

  With a slow exhale, Meteos made his decision, punctuated by a sharp, spiteful scoff. If that was the case, they should exploit this lapse in the enemy’s judgment to unravel their scheme. These cultists shall pay for their carelessness with their ultimate downfall. Even so, he had to remain cautious.

  “That’s really stupid of this one to lower their guard like that. In that case, have the drones continue monitoring the target and notify the nearby units. If the target doesn’t react to our probing, we can proceed with the plan to capture them when the chance arises.”

  “I understand,” Dunning nodded.

  …………

  January 24, 1617 Central Calendar, 00:03 Second Civilization Time

  Now alone in his cabin, Meteos regarded the projection in front of him with a hardened gaze.

  Within hours after the discovery of this surprisingly careless infiltrator, local White Lotus assets had already been notified to assist their leader in securing the target. Meanwhile, scouting drones attached to the individual continued to gather more intel.

  The projection displayed a still hologram of the detected infiltrator’s identity. Captured through the drones’ scans, it depicted a ten-year-old Muish boy with short, unkempt dark hair, a lanky frame dressed in simple winter clothing, and dull black eyes. Observing his activities throughout the day, it appeared that this “boy” resided in an orphanage in Banize, with none of his behavior appearing to be out of ordinary. It would be convenient that there were no guardians to verify his history.

  The most likely scenario was that either this identity was fictitious, or the infiltrator was an impostor, with the original child either killed or abducted by the Annonrials to be used as a test subject in one of their experiments. While further details were needed to confirm this speculation, the decision had already been made: this infiltrator was their next target. Any remaining answers would be extracted from the Annonrial infiltrator himself.

  However, the content of this information also drew the unwelcome attention of a certain individual.

  “Little Brother! What do you think you’re planning?”

  Appearing as some sort of astral projection made of the same particles that formed the holograms, Legiel materialized beside Meteos’ bunk and spoke to him in an accusing tone.

  “What now?”

  Mustered what energy he had, Meteos shifted his gaze toward the sudden intruder.

  “Look at him. Do you really intend to charm a youngling into your cause?”

  “Like hell he is,” Meteos shot back. “This is a zealot hiding in plain sight. Whatever face he wears is irrelevant to his true nature.”

  “All you have are circumstantial evidence and your instinct. You risk crossing the line,” Legiel countered.

  Maybe his Little Brother was right. From an Annonrial perspective, this intelligence-gathering mission is perilous. Suicidal, even. You can’t trust such a thing to someone incapable or untrustworthy. The infiltrator’s biological readings—magic signature measurements—spoke for itself as well. This wingless Annonrial… it was highly likely that he’s either one of the Illuminated willingly sought their own demise in belief that it was the only way to atone for the original sin of being born a tainted, or a Zealot, less enlightened about the Reclamation’s truth but would still readily discard their proudest wings to sacrifice the world in the Messiah’s name, even if it meant never returning to Annonrial again. With a casual shrug, Legiel gestured toward the hologram and made his own circumstance known.

  “In any case, that’s not how it works. You might be right, but tell that to the Audience. One hundred or one thousand years old… If it looks like a child, then it IS a child. That’s how realism demands it.”

  “Berate me all they want, just don’t waste my time with pointless talk.”

  “There’s much talk, and I have watched. Now I shall talk, and you shall listen.”

  Meteos grunted in derision, but went along with the persistent flow.

  “Meteos Roguerider, your original self was once a bully with righteous glow. Not of evil, yet unwise, doomed to fall and be humiliated,” Legiel scolded as his projection started pacing around the room. “But now? Look at your plans taking shape in High Charity. You plot the downfall of hated enemies from the shadows like a mastermind, all while the Mantle of Responsibility drapes over your shoulders. Indeed… you’re straying too much from what the canon dictates. It makes you a heretic and a disappointment.”

  “………”

  “They’re not satisfied with another Astarte. Realism demands that you must be hung by your entrails and your corpse paraded through the venue. But ultimately the terms of your execution are up to me. Don’t worry, you are no Amatsu-Mikaboshi, and those guys can be… overzealous. I know you are no heretic.”

  “…I suppose you have nothing else to offer me, then?”

  Besides sermons.

  “Indeed. But better than something detrimental, no?” Legiel shrugged with a coy smile. “You were right to steer clear of involving underage children in your schemes until now, I’ll give you that. But this one…”

  As he trailed off, he raised his translucent fingers to phase through the image of the boy as if testing its substance. Meteos remained still, his arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable ‘but.’

  “Never underestimate the Messiah’s determination in bringing back his loved ones, Little Brother. This includes paying homage to their values. Annonrial’s religious doctrine states that they are entitled to do whatever it pleases to their Lord’s creations, and being the lowest rate of Ravernaloids… humanity is literally the most worthless of the Ravernal Empire’s creations,” Legiel elaborated, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly as he spoke.

  “Hm…”

  Meteos let out a noncommittal grunt. That’s old news. A handicap and the reason why large monsters seemed to hate them without end. The weakest of the Ravernaloids, yet Ravernaloids nonetheless. They’re children of the devils.

  “There are many Annonrial human experimentation projects that even you don’t know about. This poor youngling may be a child soldier. That’s why I’m here to see how you’ll handle this. If you believe he’s a zealot and a fraud, then do what you must. I hope for your sake that you’re right. But wouldn’t it be something if he really was just a child after all?”

  “…I will cross that bridge when I get to it.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  This is the White Lotus’ first definitive lead to the Annonrial infiltrators’ operation in Mu. They can dampen the disruptive activities they would cause by cutting off the lifeline, but the key to save this country of a potential civil war and by extension the known world’s destruction by the Messiah’s design is to remove the roots of the problem before the rot spreads.

  Legiel hummed, then gave Meteos a wry smile.

  “So it would seem. Then, have a nice day. Fate had us meet at foes, but this World indeed made us brothers…” he purred. With that cryptic remark, Legiel’s projection flickered and faded, vanishing into the ether as suddenly as he had appeared.

  Meteos pawed at his nape as he let out a long sigh. Annoyed as he was, his mind instinctively began parsing through Legiel’s scolding, dissecting the words for any underlying meaning and ruminating whether the answers he gave would mean anything to that entity. And after a while, several keywords in particular lit a metaphorical lightbulb for future contemplation. However, he still had a mission to accomplish.

  “If everything goes smoothly, we will strike before dawn the day after tomorrow at the earliest…”

  He still has until next weekend to stay in the Kingdom of Mu.

  January 25, 1617 Central Calendar

  Area B7R, Southeastern Holy Milishial Empire

  While attending to their individual jobs within the project, Adonis carved out time that day to begin the training he had promised Ace. After taking the Pelican airopter into the desert to find a remote location far from High Charity, the two now stood facing one another in an open field, both free from their roleplaying as the Order of the Ancients’ operatives, thanks to a protective ward Adonis had placed around the area. With them was Rei, Xyston Magia #4, who remained behind the Eldest Brother.

  Clenching and unclenching his fists, Ace warily opened his mouth.

  “…How exactly are we starting this training?”

  Adonis, as always, remained unreadable. In his relaxed posture, his expression gave nothing away. “You’ll see,” was his only response.

  Before Ace could press further, a sudden force gripped his arms. His body stiffened in shock as his limbs were wrenched outward by an unseen power, stretching to either side. “Hey—!” Realizing that Adonis was definitely using telekinesis on him, Ace’s protest was cut short as something materialized around him in an instant. Pieces of dark gray armor manifested from thin air, latching onto his frame like living metal. The plates locked into place over his body, covering Ace from head to toe. His vision darkened for a moment as a sleek, black-glass visor slid over his eyes, accompanied by a helmet and a mouthpiece that sealed over his face. Veins of crimson liquid pulsed within cables running along the suit’s frame, giving the armor an eerie glow.

  The moment the final piece latched on, the armor let out a loud hiss accompanying a violent eruption of steam and Ace’s knees nearly buckled. His breath hitched as he struggled under the sheer weight of the armor.

  “What the hell—!?” he gasped, feeling his entire body strain just to remain standing. Every slight motion felt as though he were submerged in stone.

  “You haven’t encountered this kind of object, haven’t you?” Adonis finally spoke. “This is Tector Gear, an armor set designed to forcibly limit your strength and capabilities.”

  Under Adonis’ impassive gaze and Rei’s concerned frown, Ace clenched his teeth, experimentally trying to flex his fingers, only to feel an overwhelming resistance. His muscles burned with the effort, especially his bandaged arm. He attempted to shift his stance, but the armor constricted further, binding tighter the more he struggled. The same thing happened when he attempted to harness his mana. “I see,” Ace muttered bitterly. “So the harder I try, the worse it gets.”

  Adonis gave a slight nod. “Indeed.”

  Ace exhaled sharply, already feeling the fatigue creeping in. He could barely move—what kind of training was Adonis about to give?

  “Now, start walking.”

  Ace grunted but obeyed. His foot dragged forward inch by inch, and his breath came in short bursts, the strain of each step nearly unbearable.

  But before he could fully process the pain, there was a blinding light from his right followed by something rumbling. A sudden, deafening roar—metal twisting, tires screeching.

  “Young Master, watch out!” Rei gasped sharply and reacted to protect Ace as per her purpose, but Adonis reined her in.

  Huh—!?

  The impact was instant and merciless. The car plowed into him, sending his body hurtling through the air like a ragdoll. The force of the collision cracked the air around him, and for a brief second, Ace lost all sense of direction. He hit the ground hard, skidding several meters across the dusty terrain before finally coming to a jarring stop. The armor groaned against the terrain, its constricting grip refusing to loosen despite the violent impact.

  “Young Master!”

  The Magia horrified voice cut through the shockwave of the crash. She was desperate to rush forward and heal Ace, something she would have done without hesitation if not for Adonis’ order to stay put. However, Adonis then calmly raised a hand and turned to her, speaking words that brought her immense relief.

  “You may go. Heal him.”

  Shaking off the initial shock, the Magia rushed to Ace’s side and activated her healing magic. As the energy seeped into Ace’s mangled body and mended his broken bones, his breathing steadied, though the pain still clawed at every fiber of his being.

  Meanwhile, Adonis walked toward him and flicked his fingers. The constrictive Tector Gear deactivated in response, hissing once more before the plates detached and evaporated into red motes of light along with the attacking car, leaving Ace sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath. Without the armor, the full extent of the crash’s effect became visible. His bandaged arm trembled, and his silver hair was matted with sweat and dirt, his sharp eyes dulled from the strain.

  Adonis knelt beside him, resting an elbow on his knee.

  “Your encounters and losses made you strong, as you made their sacrifice your oath. But what you’re up against now is something that cannot be reasoned with as it consumes everything in its path. The only way to gain a sense of triumph against such an entity is to keep standing, no matter how fierce it may come unto you. Hence, I’m training you so that you may endure. To survive.”

  Linto, Malakh, Astarte…

  Comprehend how impossible it is to stand against the brutality that is the Civilization Annihilation Game, Adonis’ eyes seemed to challenge him. But Amatsu-Mikaboshi’s being couldn’t stand another loss. That’s why…

  “Once you finish healing him, we’ll return to the Installation,” Adonis turned to Rei, who nodded uncomfortably amidst her task.

  Now that she had witnessed it, Rei had severely underestimated what kind of hell the Eldest Young Master was willing to give to his own brother. However, it also gave her a new desire. It seemed that her presence would be needed, so she must strive to keep herself in peak condition as well, so that she may heal the wounds that Young Master Ace would receive.

  “What…?” Ace groaned after fully coming to his senses.

  “That’s enough for today’s introduction to things,” the Eldest Brother declared, fixing his gaze to Ace. “In the meantime, do you think you can walk a few meters the next time you don the armor?”

  In response, Ace clenched his fists and glared fiercely.

  “I won’t fail.”

  “We’ll see.”

  …………

  Later, the Pelican with the three of them made its way back to the Arbor Installation still under construction. After 184 hours since the Spire’s activation, High Charity had taken on the form of an enormous metal tree stump that stood out amidst the barren landscape, towering like a 12-story building with large fuel tanks and pipes resembling massive gnarled roots sprawling outward. Soon, the Borer will finish the fueling process and be ready for activation.

  The great undertaking is at hand.

  The nature of his work was unforgiving—once caught, there would be no rescue, no second chances. He had long accepted that for a guarantee, he had to volunteer himself for the mission. Yet now, as he lay in bed, heat radiating from his aching body, he found himself fearing something far less dramatic but no less dangerous: the fever that had crept upon him without warning. It had worsened over the past few days, turning his limbs heavy and dulling his thoughts. The monthly report was due soon, but in this state, slipping out was impossible.

  A cool hand pressed against his forehead, and through the haze, he heard the gentle murmurs of a kind woman. A wet cloth dabbed at his skin, and a quiet voice urged him to rest. Even though a storm was brewing in his mind, he let his eyes slip shut, knowing he could do nothing else—for now.

  January 26, 1617 Central Calendar, 00:10 Second Civilization Time

  Mykal

  As he prepared to depart, Meteos took a moment to look back and find the distant MOASEC’s Boudica 213 flying boat as it rested on its moorings.

  “Walman should be in a very good sleep right now. He’ll wake up in the morning refreshed.”

  Kruger giggled as she stood beside Meteos, following his gaze.

  “Well, at least you didn’t just spike his drink,” she quipped teasingly. “That would’ve been the… efficient way to do it.”

  “That will only happen if I exhaust all other options. I don’t ever want to reach that point.”

  The memory of earlier in the evening played back in his mind. Before Walman retired for the night, Meteos had reminded him to consume that Angel Fruit before resting. As a rare and precious herb known for its remarkable effects on sleep quality and overall well-being, it would be a good time to consume it after such a tiring day. A single dose was enough to melt away fatigue and ensure a truly restorative rest. Naturally, such an exceptional herb came at an exceptional price, making it a luxury few could afford to use casually outside its origin at the fringe of the Fortunate Isles, far west of Leifor.

  Walman would sleep so deeply that he wouldn’t wake until morning, waking up completely refreshed. Meanwhile, Meteos was free to do his own thing. At the very least, it was comforting to know that at least one of them could enjoy a peaceful life, free from any life-threatening troubles.

  Meteos exhaled softly, content with reminiscing. After slipping on Amon’s mask, he turned his attention to his equipment. He tightened the harness securing the ODM Gear, ensuring the device was in place. A quick check of the Manadriver apparatus confirmed that everything was in working order. He would like that no mistakes would be made this early morning.

  Dunning, who had finished checking his own gear, spoke up.

  “At maximum speed, we reach Banize in about 1 hour and 20 minutes. If we maintain that pace on the way back, we’ll be back in Mykal before dawn.”

  “Assuming no complications arise,” Amon remarked.

  “Indeed.”

  Kruger nodded.

  “As for the drone surveillance, not once has he activated a sensing technique. He’s completely unaware of what’s coming.”

  Said infiltrator was becoming less and less active over the days, too, Amon thought.

  Amon straightened his posture and checked the horizon one last time. The moment had come.

  “Alright, time to fly!” he declared. Without another word, Amon activated the ODM Gear, feeling a rush of power as the device silently propelled him into the air. His body soared upwards and for a split second, he felt weightless, before he quickly adjusted his course. The two Magias followed quickly and launched themselves into the air, forming a wedge with the White Lotus Leader.

  As the trio ascended, their movements synchronized, the ground beneath them turned into a blur. Amon angled forward, and the others mirrored his trajectory as their flight devices propelled them skimming just above the earth along a route that brought them closer and closer to their destination.

  ?????

  Banize

  The three’s destination was a quiet commune nestled in the highlands north of the Subice Bay, consisting of sparse buildings scattered along the intersection of departmental roads. Under the blanket of darkness, the elevation lent a stillness to the atmosphere. It was deep winter, and the chill of the midnight hour seeped into every corner. The faint glow of the waning moons casted long shadows across the snow-dusted road, and the occasional flicker of a distant streetlamp seemed to be the only thing interesting in the otherwise dormant town.

  Somewhere within Banize was a quiet orphanage, where a lone staff member walked the corridors on night watch, footsteps soft against the wooden floorboards. The staff member, a middle-aged woman with a kind face and tired eyes, carried a small lantern, its light barely illuminating the path ahead. She hummed a faint tune to herself, a habit born of years of tending to children who often struggled to sleep through the night.

  As she rounded a corner, she felt a sudden, gentle tap on her shoulder. Startled, she froze for a moment before turning around, her lantern casting a shaky beam of light. Her breath caught in her throat as she came face-to-face with a hooded figure clad in dark attire. His face was obscured by an eerie white mask, its smooth surface lined by red and gray painted details and its mouth opening was set in a permanent thin line. From the eye holes, there were two glowing blue orbs that seemed to pierce through the darkness.

  Before she could react, the eerie man moved and pinned her gently but firmly against the wall. The lantern slipped from her hand, but the man’s other hand immediately caught it.

  The masked man tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes studying her with an intensity that made her heart race. Yet, his voice, when he spoke, was calm and measured, carrying a soothing quality to it.

  “Be not afraid,” he said.

  The staff member’s initial fear began to ebb away, though her heart still pounded in her chest after his startling appearance. His hold was firm but not painful, and the way he had caught the lantern before it could clatter to the floor suggested a strange sense of care. She rationalized that if he had meant her harm, he would have acted already. Instead, he just stood there.

  And just like that, the staff member found herself nodding slowly, her breath steadying. The man released his hold and took a step back, giving her space. When he held the lantern out to her, she took it with a slightly trembling hand.

  “W-who are you?” the staff member gingerly whispered.

  The man tilted his head again, as if considering her question, but he did not answer. Instead, he gestured for her to follow him. “…A friend. I’ll explain later. Come,” he said simply.

  The staff followed without protest. Still, her mind raced with questions, though she dared not voice them just yet. They reached a secluded room at the far end of the building, one that was rarely used except for storage. The man gestured for her to enter, and she complied, stepping inside.

  “There is a boy here. About ten years old. Lanky, with dark hair and black eyes. Am I right?”

  The staff member blinked, surprised by the specificity of his question. However, she nodded without hesitation.

  “…Yes, that sounds like Rémi. He’s been with us for a few years now. But… he’s been very sick since several days ago… We’ve done everything we can, but…”

  The man was silent for a moment, but eventually he spoke again.

  “Take me to him.”

  “Of course. He’s in the infirmary. Follow me.”

  As they walked, the man added, “Gather the other staff you can find. Bring them to the infirmary as well.”

  She paused, glancing back at him. “All of them…? It’s the middle of the night—some of them might be asleep.”

  “It’s important,” the masked man replied simply.

  Again, she nodded, rationalizing her compliance. If he wanted to harm us, he would have done so already, she thought. And if he can somehow help Rémi… She quickened her pace, leading him to the infirmary while stopping briefly to knock on the doors of the other staff members’ rooms. She whispered hurried explanations and showed them the masked man, urging them to follow. To her surprise, those who answered all complied without question, their curiosity and concern outweighing their drowsiness.

  By the time they reached the infirmary, a small group of staff members had gathered. Following the masked man’s words, they all waited for explanation as the man entered alone.

  …………

  The boy named Rémi lay pale and still, his breathing shallow as he seemed to have suffered from a high fever. This impostor seemed to be just a child, sick and defenseless.

  ‘…How very convenient for an enemy to be defeated by an unexpected outside factor. What even illness is this… This feels like the whole business with Japan again. Hmph… So that’s what those cryptic words meant…’

  Disease…

  Regardless of the association, in the grand scheme of things, this development worked in Amon’s favor. A weakened Winged Man would have a much easier time perceiving the Temple of Heaven than a healthy one. However, things are different now compared to before. In the past life, he was a mere servant who could throw a hissy fit at being outdone by someone else. But now, as a master, he must seize the opportunity, no matter how much he feels like sighing at the fact that all his efforts have been rendered all but invalidated by this one occurrence.

  “………”

  Stepping closer to the bed, Amon positioned himself carefully, one hand resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder. The boy stirred faintly, his eyelids fluttering as if sensing the presence looming over him. This response further reinforced Amon’s belief that this boy is no child.

  Covering the boy’s mouth, Amon’s grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to ensure this boy wouldn’t thrash or panic when he woke. He needed him to remain still, to face him directly.

  The boy’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, there was a flicker of alarm as he came face-to-face with the intruder. However, the boy’s weakened state left him with little energy to resist, and for whatever reason, he felt that he should relax and steady his breath. Unbeknownst to him, the boy’s black eyes began to glow a faint blue, mirroring the light emanating from Amon’s mask just like with the staff members before. The sight brought a subtle shift in Amon’s posture, a slight tilt of his head that suggested satisfaction. The boy had seen it—the Temple of Heaven. The connection had been made.

  Amon removed his hand from the boy’s mouth, though he remained close.

  “Your name,” he demanded, still fixing the boy with his gaze.

  The boy blinked, his gaze unfocused for a moment before he responded weakly but clearly.

  “I’m… I’m Rémi…”

  “So I’ve heard. Is that all?”

  “Um… actually… my n-name is… Kael… Special Lieutenant of the… Annonrial Intelligencers. Operating number… TL-4467… sir…”

  There you go, he admitted it. However, there was still one more important question to answer before he proceeded to the main topic.

  “…Your real age?”

  The boy seemed to struggle a bit before answering.

  “If I… remember correctly… I’m already 17 this month…”

  “………”

  Amon’s eyes narrowed slightly behind his mask, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. Seventeen. Barely of age. If there’s any surge of anger he felt at that moment, he wasn’t even sure who deserved it more—Legiel for being right, or Zarathostra of the Messiah for instituting this cursed child soldier program that very nearly ended Amon had he really committed a misjudgment.

  But now was not the time for that. Amon sighed slowly.

  “…Listen carefully,” he said after a long while of silence. “I will see to it that you receive the best medical treatment available and I’ll help you. But in return, you will cooperate with me. Fully. Do you understand?”

  The boy’s eyes flickered with a mix of relief and apprehension, nodding weakly. “I… understand.”

  Satisfied, Amon straightened and took a step back. “Good. I’ll arrange things on my end… For now, you should rest. We’ll speak again at a later time.”

  ?????

  By late morning, as the town of Banize stirred from its slumber, an unfamiliar figure arrived at its outskirts. Dressed in the modest garb of a traveling physician, the man carried with him a satchel filled with medical supplies. To the unsuspecting eye, he was merely another healer passing through the region, offering aid to those in need.

  Upon entering the commune, he stopped by a local shop to ask for directions, just so happened to be a shop visited by one of the orphanage staff members who noticed him and hurriedly approached him.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the staff began. “You’re a healer, correct? We have a very sick child at our orphanage. Would you be willing to take a look at him?”

  The healer, appearing thoughtful at first, nodded and smiled gently at the worried staff member. “Of course. Take me to him.”

  ?????

  Having concluded their reason for coming to Banize, Amon and his escorts flew back to Mykal. While adept in combat and reconnaissance, neither Dunning nor Kruger specialized in healing magic like their younger sister Rei to properly treat the infiltrator’s condition. Hence, Amon ordered the nearest Ikaruga unit to deploy their medic to the town, disguised as a traveling Herzlander mage who insisted on conducting a charitable mission fitting to his oath in a country unwelcoming to the presence of magick.

  A certain someone who is keeping an eye on this sequence of events had only one comment: “The Mantle shelters all…”

  Ars Goetia Secret

  RAVERNALOID

  THE proper term to describe elves, dark elves, dwarves, beastmen, and humans (excluding the Muish people). The reason being the creations of the Ravernal Empire, it is more correct to say that these five races are Light-Wing People-like species instead of the Light-Wing People being a humanoid race. Openly using this term would be unthinkable, not even as a racist slur—only a hardcore heretic or someone with a very specific fetish of being lynched by the masses would dare to say it in public.

  Even though the Ravernaloids are literally just “slightly” altered Light-Winged People, the Ravernal Empire displayed zero qualms in brutally abusing them, for they hold the philosophy of “it is the nature that matters, not its form,” showing how much this contemptuous species already see themselves as Gods standing above all creation long before they even thought of directly challenging the native pantheon.

  Perhaps… they created them exactly for that purpose. To make a point.

  Perhaps…