You are being dragged back to October 14, 1616 Central Calendar. Blame Amatsu-Mikaboshi for this, that bastard is interfering with the narrative!
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06:30
Coemeterium Occidentale, Xenosgram District, Runepolis
Accompanied by the symphony of morning birds chirping, the initial glimmers of light were starting to appear on the horizon, with sunrise due in just six minutes. There is something about that particular ball of plasma in that its rise is always somewhat comforting, no matter how strange or eerie the setting might be. Probably it’s just a yellow dwarf thing.
Legiel Roguerider’s eyes moved from the celestial canopy to the figure of a man standing alone in the center of the cemetery. This place was a somber expanse of graves, but it was the sight of the man among the disintegrating corpses of all sorts of Minus Energy Monsters that caught Legiel’s attention. His back was turned on him, shoulders drooped and almost still against the dark silhouette of the towering oak trees.
The August Star of Heaven. God of Nothing, Protector of Nobody. A deity without a home, hated by everyone.
How the haughty have fallen.
Oh yes, Legiel is able to mock him to his heart’s content without suffering from the repercussions. Hence, every single word coming out of his mouth is an insult. Legiel is Pestilence, one of the Four Horsemen. There is no need to be afraid of consequences when the very concept of ‘consequence’ itself is scared shitless of him.
The disheveled state and the atmosphere around him could only be surmised as pathetic, but the silhouette of Amatsu-Mikaboshi standing amidst the twisted abominations that slowly disintegrated into golden particles of Hope swirling around him made it loop back into being beautiful, somehow.
Reaching for the device strapped around his waist—oh yes, he has one too—Legiel disengaged the function that held his white and golden suit of armor together. His form shimmered for a moment, then dissolved into thin air, leaving Legiel clad in his usual attire. With his armor out of the way, he moved with a languid grace toward the other man, Ace Roguerider.
“Worked up quite a sweat out here. Would kill for a shower,” Legiel called out. “You, though, I do hope you’re tidying yourself up; wouldn’t want anyone at the house to panic when they see you looking like this.”
Ace remained still, though the faint signs of breathing were a reassurance that he was alive, at least. However—
“Hm…”
Something on the ground drew Legiel’s attention, causing him to halt in his approach. In the dim light, he noticed a shape that seemed oddly out of place amidst the disintegrating remnants of the Minus Energy Monsters. He knelt down and picked it up, raising an eyebrow at how this familiar object was now lying there where it didn’t belong.
What do we have here? Legiel turned the object over in his hands. Oh, it was Ace’s severed left arm, the edges of the wound still raw, as though it had been torn away with sheer brute force rather than precision.
Right. Ace was supposed to know Overhaul better than Meteos, but between him, Ace, and the monsters, it was a wild night. No wonder this younger brother of his looked like he’d seen better days.
As soon as he reached him, Legiel quickly cast the Overhaul spell. With his signature red and black lightning whenever he uses his power, Legiel’s hands hovered over the severed limb and the stump, starting to reverse the dismemberment within seconds. While there’s also the option of creating an entirely new arm using the same spell, there’s no reason to deliberately choose the more difficult path as long as the original is still there.
Ace’s body jolted slightly as the magic took effect. Legiel craned his neck to see that hidden by his drooping head, his eyes were half-closed and glazed. It was obvious that he was barely conscious, and the sting from Overhaul was likely bringing him back to the surface of awareness, if only for a moment.
“There! Good as new,” Legiel said, stepping back and giving Ace a once-over. He scanned the younger brother’s condition, noting the torn jacket sleeve, the sweat-matted hair, and the deep exhaustion radiating from his entire being.
“Now you see, I was right—those Arrow and Propeller Buckles weren’t going to cut it against an entire horde. I understand that it was an act of selflessness, but don’t you see? With a fundamentally selfish motivation of yours, suffering is what will you get, stupid younger brother.”
Ace’s head lolled slightly, his eyes flickering open and closed as he struggled to focus. In an attempt to turn to face Legiel, he swayed on his feet and weakly lifted his head. Given that he was knocked out of his armor after the first four hours and had to fend off an exponentially increasing enemy without being able to transform back or even reattach his arm, his face looked especially horrible.
“Look who’s talking…”
Hearing the hoarse voice, Legiel raised an eyebrow at that weak attempt at a retort. Clearly the younger brother was more delirious than defiant. Tilting his head slightly, he studied Ace’s worn face and waited if he had more to say.
“You sow discord… just to win a debate…” Ace panted. “How absurd and pathetic. Astarte kept her word… and was punished… from hatred she didn’t deserve…”
“…Oh?” Legiel raised an eyebrow.
“To think… that there are those who think nothing of torturing such a pure being like that… Because they have the power… Because they’re special… They think shutting up the weak and trampling on them is a privilege.”
Yes, yes, what she did was heroic. Astarte acted solely with the intention to help this world. Yes, she was suffering. But if she can’t take on a faction as despicable as the Audience, then she doesn’t deserve to be called a deity. It’s all a skill issue! Why did you even care, Amatsu-Mikaboshi? Are you a simp to that ugly goddess or something?
“Huh…” Legiel sighed. “What is your point?”
Ace’s wobbly steps brought him inching closer.
“…Even a lowly god… and mortal… have things that are precious to us. We hurt when we get trampled on, and we get angry too.”
No, Amatsu-Mikaboshi, you don’t even know what exactly you’re going to fight for. This world? Or some random fantasy world’s goddess? Make up your damn mind.
‘That look again… that exact despicable look…’
“That’s why… you’d better not underestimate us weaklings… thinking that… you can do as you wish with anyone and anything… stop being so presumptuous!”
Legiel—Pestilence’s gaze hardened, glaring back at Ace’s no less intense fiery blue eyes. Both those who cling to their idealism and those who force their realism on others… two sides of the same coin, despicable all the same. Isn’t it better if they all die?
Despicable entities like you are what the Game was for. Despite their agreement to disagree, from time to time Legiel pondered why Death, of all beings, appreciates life so much so that he has to ironically prove to his eldest brother that wiping out every single bad product is the most effective way to achieve happiness across all creation. The very same bad products who fear or even despise the eventuality of death, trying all sorts of stupid ways to escape the end of all things…
“Ngh…!”
At that moment, Ace’s exhaustion finally overtook him. His legs buckled, and he crumpled to the side. But before he could hit the ground, Legiel reacted, reaching out and catching the younger brother in a firm grip. As he hefted Ace back to his feet, Legiel wrapped one arm around his shoulders for support.
His breath came in ragged gasps, and Ace’s bleary eyes tried to lock on Legiel’s with an unwavering intensity.
“All this seething… Very well, then, you’d better enjoy this while it lasts. That’s the least you can do,” Legiel mumbled. “…If it’s any consolation for you, I concede about one thing. This whole thing… this is not something that can be called Nihonkoku Shoukan anymore. I don’t know what it is. There will be no limits, no rules, everything will be ridiculous! Which means… you’ve managed to disappoint my entire Audience with your little stunt. They’re going to really hate you for this. I remembered it was kept thrown around that it was for your happiness. Well, are you happy now?”
“……Hehe… heh, heh, ha… hahahahaha… Hahaha… Hahahahaha!”
Amidst his delirium, Ace Roguerider started laughing. His hysterical laugh sounded so stupid, but at the same time, there was much relief radiating from it.
“Good…! After all the suffering… a world… can finally catch… a fucking break……”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ars Goetia’s last hope… rests on this loser’s shoulders? Talk about lacking in realism. Ideals are called ideals because they’re so far away. Don’t you know how easily the universe can crush the will of someone like you?”
“……I’m done being a weakling,” after a beat of silence, his tone regained a degree of composure. “For once…”
Legiel loudly snorted. Such a dull creature. The nerve of him to ruin his reality show, but whatever.
“…Just laugh… already…”
“Hmm, you’re delirious, alright… But maybe after everything unjust that happened to you all this time, that’s the kind of world you would like to live in, isn’t it? Amatsu-Mikaboshi?”
“………”
It’s time to go home.
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October 15, 1616 Central Calendar
Roguerider Residence, San Redentore District, Runepolis
Yesterday, Cyrus and Ashera arrived at the Ancient Ministry bearing news that their younger twin brother Ace had been bedridden with a high fever. Although the Ministry was unaccustomed to such absences from its valuable members, they responded with understanding, acknowledging his unwavering dedication and exceptional skills that had ensured the smooth progress of challenging projects and the growth of their talent pool over the years.
In short, the Ancient Ministry cut Ace some slack because, particularly in aviation engineering, his contributions helped uplift them from a department that was viewed with scrutiny due to a lack of progress despite their high-profile title to living up to their name as the Ministry of Ancient Sorcerous Empire Countermeasures, the primary supporting pillar in the defense against the enemy of all races.
A section of the garage was still lined up with Legiel’s vanity crates, untouched since they found their way here. That man never hints about their contents, and there’s no honest reason for Ace to care. Most people would assume that if the crates were important, Young Master Legiel would have dealt with them by now. But as it is, even his belongings are irritating.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Ace’s aching body was still recovering from the day spent sweating out a high fever. Walking over to the outdoor dining table they’d dragged in there a while back, he set a steaming bowl of soup down with a sigh. His untied shoulder-length hair fell loosely around his face, with a few strands catching on the collar of the soft sweater he’d thrown on.
“Got any quip for today?”
Still stirring the soup, Ace didn’t bother to look up at Legiel’s face. Unbothered by the cold shoulder, Legiel made his way to the crates and began rearranging them.
“…Oh, yes. You’ll be pleased to know this, Meteos is about to wrap up his little adventure abroad. Our Little Brother should be home soon.”
Due to his fallen god status making him no different from a mere mortal in the Third Timeline, Ace has to be informed of events happening not in his presence. Unlike the Four Horsemen, who can instantly know these events but don’t divulge—why would they!? That’s spoilers. Also because of that “show, don’t tell” thing.
Ace took a measured sip of the soup, letting the warmth spread through him before retorting in an even tone. “You should really focus on showing instead of telling.”
There’s no telling how much hatred he poured into that single sentence.
“Pfft…! Bitch, please,” Legiel laughed him off. “Don’t you dare hit me with that stupid advice. You should know better than to treat it like gospel. It has even less meaning in a storyline where the only thing the Audience cares about is how hard you commit war crimes over a weaker entity that they don’t even consider people.”
“…I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“Oh, you’re not simply got beaten up and sulked all this time. Good, let’s hear it.”
“…All you see in entities like us are flaws, but nothing else. You interfered to bring them out, seeking ‘undeniable’ proof as an excuse to wipe us all out. Choosing a means to an end, all just for the sake of winning.”
“If not for winning, why debate over means and ends?”
“………”
“Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I’m the villain. I can absolutely get away with what I’m preaching. What are you going to do?” Legiel smugly brushed that cold gaze off with a taunt.
“………”
“Exactly.”
Once again, things are getting nowhere with Pestilence. Simply understanding what gave rise to the Civilization Annihilation Game alone is not enough. Ace’s eyes flickered with irritation, but he cast his gaze down and focused on the soup as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. The steam rising from the bowl seemed to dance in time with his simmering frustration, but he swallowed it down as he felt the air around them getting colder. It would do him no good to provoke a walking wasteland further at this point.
He tried directing his own line of thought somewhere more palatable for him to entertain, no more optimistic but more eternally stubborn. To be someone dependable, whether as an older brother or as a god, as an atonement to Meteos Roguerider whom he all but forced to go along with his plans to save what he desired to save.
“Young Master Ace…”
Snapping to the source of the voice at the garage’s side entrance, Ace found their young butler, Walter Zimmerman, standing by the doorway and shifting in visible discomfort. Accursed Legiel, stop your killing intent, dammit.
“What’s wrong, Walter?”
“…Lady Guinevere Pendragon and her sisters have arrived and are wishin’ to see you.”
“Sisters?”
“Yes. I mean, her sister and Nadia are also here.”
“Oh,” Legiel raised an amused eyebrow. Since Nadia and the Pendragon sisters were very close in this timeline, Walter simply took the path of least resistance and lumped them together as ‘sisters.’
Ace set his spoon down and slowly nodded. “Let them come to the garage,” he instructed. He felt bad for Nadia, for her boyfriend would not come home for several more days.
A few moments later, the sound of light footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Among friends and acquaintances, there is a certain person who came rushing in without second thought upon hearing Cyrus and Ashera’s news.
“Ace…!”
As soon as she entered the scene, Guinevere immediately hurried over to the sitting man, taking in his paler complexion and the tiredness in his gaze. It was as if she could will away his illness with her presence alone.
“Gwen…” Ace smiled wearily.
“Ace, how are you feeling? …Why are you in the garage?”
Ace set aside his unfinished soup and fully turned to meet Guinevere’s concerned gaze. “I’m feeling much better today. Yesterday was rough, but the fever broke overnight,” he assured her.
Guinevere sighed, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t entirely dissipate. She sat down on an empty stool next to Ace, reached out, and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from his face.
“I’m glad you’re on the mend,” Guinevere smiled.
“……Sorry for worrying you. May I finish the soup?”
The young lady giggled softly at Ace’s polite request and nodded. Reaching into the small satchel she had brought with her, Guinevere continued. “Oh, I also have something for you.”
“Thanks, Gwen,” Ace accepted the gift, placing it gently on the table next to his untouched bowl of soup. “So, how are you feeling? How’s your own recovery going?”
Guinevere’s eyes softened. “I’m feeling much better now, thank you. But… the reason I’m here visiting you is because I’m in good health and wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’re the one who’s been unwell now.”
“Ah, how the tables have turned…”
Guinevere Pendragon, Goddess Astarte’s reincarnation in this timeline. This in-universe girlfriend of Ace’s had just recently emerged from a year-long coma due to a grievous accident. Her recovery was expected to be challenging and gradual, but with the excellent care she received – magic-powered, naturally – she was finally able to leave the hospital and begin rebuilding her life. She had suffered a head injury during a landslide, and there were doubts about whether she would ever wake up or, if she did, whether she would ever walk again. Fortunately, she did wake up and has been making progress.
Picture this: just over a month after waking up and undergoing therapy, Guinevere is already discharged from the hospital and has been making trips to visit her sick boyfriend. Crazy to think that Ace has to lose his limbs and almost die from time to time again in order to allow such bullshit to happen. But, but, but, magic bullshit is a bullshit, right? Even if it’s a bullshit that brings happiness to Guinevere and countless other people who need medical assistance, it’s still after all a bullshit. Because of this bullshit, medical care in the Holy Milishial Empire has improved that the government even considered implementing this thing called “universal health care.” Research and preparations are being started here and there.
Since Meteos, that selfish idiot who burdened himself with a glorious purpose, primarily focused on technology to create increasingly brutal means to kill the poor bastard on the receiving end and still somewhat is, Legiel is the Roguerider actually in charge of handling the advancements in medical technology and other civilian technologies domestically. Them siblings split up the duties, if you can’t tell. However, if you are furious at the level of convenience taken with Guinevere’s absurd recovery rate and want to kill someone for repeatedly breaking immersion, Ace Roguerider is your guy. It was the fault of his miracles, lacking in realism as always.
Meanwhile, Annette, who had been quietly observing the couple, turned to Legiel who was still arranging his crates.
“Brother Legiel. Why in the world are you two in the garage?” the younger Pendragon asked.
“We’re checking out my stuff, that’s what.”
“Huh. I’m surprised it took this long for you to open those.”
“Who says I’m going to open the crates?”
Annette groaned. Her curiosity was burning to see what was inside the crates. Especially since even Meteos apparently doesn’t know (read: doesn’t care) about its contents. The desire to one-up him was real.
“…Hm? Legiel?”
As Guinevere continued to talk with Ace, her gaze inadvertently drifted over to the source of the voice. She blinked when she saw Legiel standing there.
“Oh.”
“Hey, Ugly,” the older Roguerider twin wiggled his eyebrows in greeting. “Nice of you to finally notice me.”
“Stinky…”
Annette couldn’t resist laughing at the banter between the two. Ever since that dispute (?) of trying to claim and spoil each other’s younger siblings when Meteos and Annette were born, Legiel and Guinevere have been calling each other names. Ironic nicknames, for Guinevere was the most beautiful and Legiel was the most germophobic.
However, with knowledge about how Pestilence let Astarte be abused by the Audience under the absurd notion of “skill issue,” Amatsu-Mikaboshi sitting nearby unconsciously clenched his fist, disgusted.
Legiel, noticing a mop of blonde hair that stood out amidst the silverettes, called out with a smile. “Nadia, what are you doing over there? Come closer.”
Nadia made her way over, smiling shyly when Legiel gently patted her head.
“It’s good to see you, Brother Legiel.”
“Yeah. But sorry… Meteos is still out on his trip, but he should be back soon. Missed him already?”
When Nadia didn’t immediately answer, Annette chimed in with a knowing tone. “Oh, the answer is definitely yes. Nadia’s been counting the days.”
“Anna… really?” Nadia turned at her in exasperation.
“What?”
Ace called out. “Give him a call later and ask for some gifts.”
“Um… I don’t know about that. It still doesn’t feel right.”
“Don’t worry about it. He will probably bring back gifts anyway,” he assured the kind girl with a smile.
His resentment notwithstanding, Ace is not stupid enough to be unable to maintain a certain façade when the situation calls for it.
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October 18, 1616 Central Calendar
Zelmoda, Gynamo Kingdom
Abre, son of Abre.
Standing at the same height as the current Meteos, the elderly current King of Gynamo wasn’t someone people would describe as a person who commands respect, though they would never dare to say it out loud.
He lacked the stature and build, let alone the storied legend of Lucius of the Morning Star. His gaze, far from being the intense soul-piercing glare of Leonius of Parpaldia, lacked the kind of fire that could make a room fall silent. Even when juxtaposed against the effortless charisma of the future Hark Louria, 34th of his name, this king’s presence felt incredibly flat. Then there was Zarathostra of the Messiah, a late teenager-looking man carrying a killing intent so formidable that even a Divine Dragon would wither under in his presence.
If one were callous enough to compare him to a mere cog in the machine, they certainly would.
As the discussion between them that day drew to a close, Meteos underneath his disguise turned to the initial members of the expanded Gynamo Branch of the White Lotus, nodding at the Levins and Dagded Dujardin who accompanied him. Listening to the outline of the White Lotus’ strategy and the benefits offered to this land, the King looked visibly pleased, with a mild but sincere smile on his face.
“Humor me with one more thing, White Lotus Leader. I’ve heard about the Ancient Sorcerous Empire for a long time, but never thought their remains might be hidden in our own lands. How feasible do you think it is that such a ruin might be here in Gynamo?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Amon evenly replied, sugarcoating his words no more.
Predictably, the King’s smile dropped.
“I see… I suppose it’s really too good to be true.”
“If there were any significant remnants of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire within your borders,” continued Amon. “Annonrial to the south would not allow such a civilization to thrive so close to their own territory. There will never be a Gynamo Kingdom.”
Now, a look of shock and fear fully spread on the King’s face.
“…Why are we being spared this whole time?” he muttered. Even then, he felt that he had just tempted fate.
Amon crossed his arms. “I guess… either sparing you for an indeterminate time is actually Annonrial’s design or it’s an oversight. Either way, it’s something that can be exploited to our advantage.”
Looking back, the King began to reassess everything. No wonder the White Lotus’ quid pro quo seemed so meager from the beginning. Gynamo’s history began when a Middle Lands explorer named Abre (re)discovered the ‘uninhabited’ islands to the south of the known world, but lacked the interest of exploring further and chose to bury his bones on this island. Until the formidable obstacle called the Annonrial Empire is removed, the Gynamo Kingdom will remain threatened by the specter of destruction the moment it shows signs of “too much development,” just like the nations or even proto-nations whose names have already been lost to history.
If the price of knowing the truth is this heavy, the King wished he never knew. But it was too late.
Meteos too was wary about what Zarathostra of the Messiah, a risk they were aware of but didn’t really understand, would do next now that his previous life’s knowledge about him had been rendered less useful as time passed.
The masked young man looked into the distance, away from the distraught monarch. A mediocre ruler who had clung to the throne for too long. Even before the White Lotus’ incursion, Gynamo was already rife with intrigue within the royal family and the King’s Court. Some were predictably exploited by other factions’ infiltrators, others pursued their own agendas, and many were involved in a range of other schemes. Just by touring the capital alone, Amon had already placed the strings of which the White Lotus could manipulate Gynamese politics all the way to even the actors’ various backers themselves, turning bickering and backstabbing into a somewhat more manageable internal situation for the White Lotus’ operations.
Just like that.
Being an ‘unknown unknown’ has its advantages.
On the White Lotus’ part, there is also an option to bait Annonrial into destroying this country in order to expose them for what they are. But not only it would render the whole effort of seizing the communications station useless, its shortsighted, unnecessarily cruel nature and the availability of much more known world-friendly alternatives led Meteos to quickly discard the idea as detrimentally stoopid.
Three guesses as to who laughed and suggested such a brutal strategy.