The great capital city Englred stretches high into the sky, towering above all else as a tribute to the grandiosity of the Gods. Its might is a venerable feat that demonstrates mortalkind’s industrial supremacy in this world.

Built upon the western flatlands located in the province of Engrimm, the sister province of Folgrimm, the city boasts a spectacular view of the flatlands in their entirety. This area encompasses hundreds of thousands of kilometers squared.

The city is nestled between two great rivers. This easily defendable location in the central portion of the province, as well as having sufficient access to water and other valuable resources, contributes to Englred’s role as one of the most prominent economic powerhouses of the world. As such, they host all types and races of people within its borders.

Among the towering structures spread across the city, one certain building stands higher and is far more ornate than any others. The three majestic spires of this architecturally awe-inspiring masterpiece, are given the title Pillars as if they hold the weight of the world on their foundations. Each Pillar houses their own divisions of the most powerful organizations in the entire world, collectively known as the Court of Guilds.

Currently, high in the Pillar of Judgement, a nervous energy emanates from those present in a certain private meeting hall. Except for the most composed, dire expressions abound and the silence draws onwards. It seems the majority are unable to decide how to respond to the news that has just been shared. The uncomfortable silence finally breaks in the form of a question…

“Are you not mistaken, lad?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Honor. I made sure to check and recheck everything when I received them since I was quite taken aback, for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, these are the numbers that I was given.”

The man that poses the query is a mountain more than a man. Sitting at the head of the large rectangular table in the center of the room, he dwarfs even the tallest amongst those in attendance. His overwhelming presence as he strokes his magnificent beard demands strict attention from the various individuals seated around the table.

With the insistence given by the younger looking elfin male, the mood of the group changes from scepticism to incertitude. His youthful appearance may belie his experience, but the firm stance, and assuring glare he presents displays the true depth of his unwavering confidence in his statement.

“Daah, what a terrible day this is! Fine, you may be seated, lad.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

With that, the young-looking elf returns to his seat, and a look of relief flashes across his face before he manages to swallow it down. The rest of the group’s faces also become those of stifled anxiousness, as they look towards the head of the table for answers.

‘Sigh’

“This is grave news, I fear. We must call for an inquiry at once! Is Ebon still investigating the Dunmire Debacle?”

“Er, no Your Honor. Ebon returned from duty just before the council meeting. I allowed for some leave since he’d asked for it. He should be around the commercial district, knowing him.”

“Is that so? Hmmm… This is quite an important task, so I’d really like my best men on this… Mmm…”

“Ah, I could send someone to retrieve him, Your Honor. Though I doubt he’ll be too enthused about such a thing…”

“That’s great! Send word to Ebon that I require his presence as soon as possible. It’s imperative that we get this situation under control. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Your Honor! I’ll send someone right away!”

Finishing his conversation with the well-dressed young man to his right, the giant of a man turns his attention back to the other members. His valiant composure, in light of such grave news, seems to only boost his rapport with the council.

“What is next on the docket that I should know of…?”

Just as before, a different council member rises to his feet, as he begins to list happenings that currently plague the civilized world.

“As of last week, Your Honor, bitter entanglements with pirates have been reported along Engrimm’s northern coastal region. The raids have caused unrest within the coastal communities, and many prominent members of the public have requested aid from the Guild in order to combat the piracy.”

“Yes… I bet those fellows are still reeling from our assault on the Elfin coast last month. It’s likely due to the storm in the north seas that they’ve been forced to come so far south.”

“Should we send reinforcements, Your Honor?

“The people are our lifeblood, lad. If they require protection, then we shall protect them. I believe Gaien’s forces are on reserve. as well as Dernick, and Katherine, and the others, correct?”

“Ah, yes, Your Honor. Most of the Grand Adjudicators’ forces are on leave after the skirmish on the Elfin coast. Apart from Richt’s task force, which is investigating the Graverobber Serial Murders, and Ebon’s task force, who is to be assigned the investigation of the matter in eastern Folgrimm. Chaael and Gunder's Liberators, who are currently stationed along the border of Maa’ershveris, have reported no movement, so they also remain on watch.”

“Good, good. How’s Richt’s investigation coming, by the way?”

“Your Honor, I… I’m afraid his progress has become rather…”

“I see…”

“It’s just that, Your Honor, the more he narrows in on the suspect, the less sense the case seems to make. He still has yet to even find any of the bodies. They just… Vanish…”

The council members, who had been intently listening to the conversation thus far, frown when they hear such unpromising details. The giant man simply scratches his beard in ponderance.

“Hmmm… It’s not going as I was hoping for. Perhaps it’s time I have a little talk with that so-called Prophet. His Oracles could certainly shine a light on Richt’s investigations, so to speak. Now, if I could just get that ornery fool to cough them up somehow…”

Everyone at the table seems to have the same opinion, as they all nod their heads in silent affirmation, until being interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“The Oracles are not meant for such a purpose. They have, and always will be here only to foretell of great catastrophe. You must understand, Tilrem.”

As if by magic, the center of the room is suddenly lit by a blinding light, the origin being a white bird, which materializes out of thin air. The bird, who not only seems to be glowing brilliantly but also displays the ability to speak perfect English, elegantly takes up a position at the center of the table. This small bird faces the giant man named Tilrem undauntedly.

“Is nothing sacred to you bird!? This is a private council meeting!”

‘Thud!’

Bellowing a fearsome voice at the intruder, the entire room seemingly fills with the pressure that he emits, making it challenging for those present to even breathe. Tilrem then pounds the meeting table in frustration with his massive arms, that resemble sturdy tree trunks. The force he displays strikes mortal fear into the hearts of the council members.

To the contrary, the bird of light seems unperturbed by Tilrem’s uproar…

“Settle, Tilrem. I have brought news. The Oracles have, in fact, done their jobs…”

“What? What are you talking about…? Wait… Does that mean…!?”

“Yes, Tilrem… Chaos has come.”

The temperature in the room seems to drop below the freezing point, as gasps and murmurs overthrow the order there once was. What little composure the members of the council had left, now fades away into utter discord, leaving only Tilrem, and the bird of light to pick up the pieces.

“SILENCE!!!”

Compared to the outburst from before, this cry for order, akin to the roar of a wild beastkin, strikes the raucous council members like a wall, immediately paralyzing them in their tracks.

The pale faces of the council members attentively watch their leader. Partially out of their wholehearted fear and respect for the man, but also partly out of a longing for a way out of the predicament that has supposedly come to pass.

If there is anyone who stands a chance to protect them from the tides of calamity that now threatens them, it is this man, the Supreme Adjudicator of the Guild of Judgement; Tilrem Weiss Winter.

As far as mortals go, this man is the strongest on the face of the entire planet. Hailing from the frozen mountains in the north-eastern country of Imdghrisfirr, and holding the title of strongest member of the race of half-giants known as the Wintir, his entire body is built to combat the harshest of elements.

It is no mystery as to why he would be revered so adamantly…

“Bartus, call for a meeting of the Grand Adjudicators for tomorrow. I need Gaien, Dernick, Katherine, Richt, Ebon, and Chaael in attendance. Gunder can remain on duty in Maa’ershveris; That brute should be able to hold his own on the front lines for the meantime, even if the Kingdom makes its move.”

“Of course, Your Honor! Um… Pardon me, Your Honor, but how exactly is Chaael to make it to the meeting in time…?”

The well-dressed elf to the right of the Supreme Adjudicator, known as Bartus, stands at attention when his name is mentioned. Being the one in charge of the Guild’s information logistics, it is his job to relay any direct orders from the Council to the Adjudicators. However, this case is simply unfeasible.

“Don’t worry about the small things, lad! This little birdy here should be able to take care of it. Ga ha ha!”

“Are you perhaps referring to me with such crass belligerence. I can not tell if you are belittling me, or asking for a favor…”

“Kh! This is an urgent matter! I have no time for games!”

Despite his pressing tone, the bird simply feigns ignorance and begins preening her pristine, luminous feathers. This causes veins to promptly bulge from Tilrem’s reddened forehead.

Unfortunately, his clearly visible anger does nothing to change the situation. Finally, after clenching his fists, and grinding his teeth, he decides to fold. The bird has won the argument.

“Daaah! Fine! A wise man knows when to stand and fight, and when to humbly accept defeat. Besides, there’s no shame in losing a battle with a Goddess of your caliber, Yvir.”

“I’m impressed, Tilrem… Humility is one of the greatest assets that a ruler can have.”

Rather than taking the compliment, Tilrem’s face begins to sour. No doubt, he can be considered the closest thing that this country has to a ruler. However, just the mention of the word makes shivers crawl upon his spine.

“I am not a ruler…”

It is a simple declaration, but underneath the layers of the various interpretations that may be derived from it, there is a hidden meaning, that only the Goddess bird Yvir and himself are aware of. Something from his past, that haunts him even to this day.

“Tilrem…”

For just a moment, the great being considered by many to be the strongest in all of the world seems to shrink down to the size of just any other person you would see on the street. It is not so much a change in height, but rather, some other value, that defines him in his entirety; His aura.

It really is only for a brief moment though, so it is not picked up by the rest of the council. He quickly returns to his overwhelmingly charismatic attitude from before. Yvir thought to herself that this is also a trait required for a ruler, but decided not to mention this out loud.

“Now then… I hate to ask you this out of the blue, Yvir, but I’d like to borrow one of your highest trained Travellers. I must have Chaael attend this emergency meeting. I’ll compensate them, of course! Ga ha ha!”

“Hmph, That’s more like it. I guess it won’t hurt to lend you one of my children, if only for a little while. However, I hope you realize that my children’s temporal abilities can, at most, transport only a single person across such a large distance.”

“Hmm…”

The look that floats across Tilrem’s face suggests a curiosity about the limits of the Temporal ability. But upon seeing Yvir’s expression as she walks menacingly towards him, he quickly shrugs off such reckless ideas.

“W-well, I only plan on transporting Chaael, so there’s no worries there… Haha…”

“Good. I’m glad you understand civil tongue now, Tilrem. I’ll make the preparations immediately.”

With that, she disappears into another blinding flash of light.

“Civil tongue, huh...? I don’t know who’s more frightening, that blind prophet, or that damn bird! Ga ha ha!!”

Now that the light in the room returns to a more comfortable level, and they no longer bask in the presence of the hallowed Goddess of Light, Yvir the Wanderer, the council unanimously lets out a sigh of relief.

It is not as though their problems are taken care of, what with the Prophecy of Chaos still being upon them and all. It is simply that the impact of being in the presence of those who have transcended the realm of mortality is far too overwhelming.

Whether they walk among mortals or retreat to the heavens, the power of the Gods is always an awe-inspiring thing…

“I’d like another Council Meeting scheduled in three days time. For now, this meeting is adjourned. Remember, speak nothing of what has been said in this room today, as per regular protocol. I don’t think I need to tell anyone what will happen if this information were to make it to the public.”

Anyone could understand that it will only cause great panic amongst the people. While it is unfortunate that important information must be withheld behind the public’s back, it is a strategic move that is in the people’s best interest.

“Now, everyone should return to their respective stations. Don’t make any important decisions until we’ve held the Council Meeting in three days. I’ll also meet with our Goddess, to relay this information, and discuss a solution. Everyone, be well… For Justice!”

“““FOR JUSTICE!!”””

With just those few words, the shadow that had been hanging over the room seems to disperse, taking any tension they had been feeling up until now along with it. The two words that bring a flurry of emotions into any member of this Guild of Judgement.

It is their credo of justice, that symbolizes everything they continually strive for. Upholding their own idealized versions of justice is what drives them, and they are proud to be part of that justice, no matter how small that part may be.

As Tilrem surveys the council members, who blindly stick to their flimsy notions of justice, his heart begins to feel heavy. The fact remains that the worst possible turn of events is upon them and that they are sorely unprepared for what is to come.

Nonetheless, the members leave the meeting hall clinging to a false sense of security, as they make their way back to their sections like they have been told. It is better this way. At least they will not have to live in constant fear.

But… It just feels wrong. What is the difference between himself, and those bloodthirsty, vampiric bureaucrats from the Kingdom to the north, that they spend so much time locked in conflict with?

The short answer is… Nothing… A simple change in perspective is all it takes to see the truth. Blindsiding the public by withholding the truth, providing his troops with mindless false hope, and ruling through the might of his forces, he is no better than they are.

No… That thought is no good. Not when the people rely on him to protect them from danger, and to provide them with the support they need to overcome adversity. It makes no difference whether he thinks about it positively, or negatively. In the end, only actions matter.

He has a duty to uphold the justice of the people. And for that, sometimes, he will have to get his hands dirty…

‘Knock, knock, knock!’

“Is that you, Tilrem? Do come inside…”

A female voice calls for him to enter the large wooden door. There is a strong and proud ring to the voice that gives it the impression of being reliable. Tilrem, on the other hand, swallows his saliva, nervously.

Pushing open the heavy door, he abruptly enters a fighting stance, just barely managing to block the sudden thrust of a deadly blade. The glaive, which stops only inches from his face, is propelled with such force that the burly half-giant has to use his full strength when clapping the blade between his hands.

“Grrooaargh! Hah… You almost got me this time, I’ll say! Ga ha ha!”

“Hmph! Are you perhaps slipping, Tilrem?”

“Ga ha ha! Is that so? Isn’t it you who’s gotten considerably better, Goddess?”

Despite having a seemingly polite conversation, neither person bothers to release their grip on the weapon. Like a reverse tug-of-war, they continue struggling against each other with all their might.

Not only that, this supposed Goddess, garbed in little more than a large blue bath towel, has swathes of beautiful, toned skin exposed in excess. This would normally make it shockingly hard to concentrate. However, neither person seems to stress about this fact.

Tilrem, being a battle-hardened warrior at heart, is conditioned to focus on the battle, no matter the circumstances. Besides, when his opponent is the Goddess that the entire Guild is named after, the Goddess of Judgement, Galea the Hammer, there is no room for such shallow details.

“I figured you’d be coming today, Tilrem. What news did the Council bring? Have they uncovered the identity of that graveyard bandit yet? Any signs of movement by those filthy demon scums from the north?”

The excitement in her voice rises as she lists off question after question, and her grip becomes fiercer and fiercer along with it. How a human, God or not, could produce such brutal strength, Tilrem has yet to understand.

“Well, how about we have a seat in the room first. I can fill you in on the details afterward. We wouldn’t want anyone to listen in on our conversation, now would we?”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

“You say that, but are you sure you’re not just feeling overwhelmed? I thought you were better than this, Tilrem? Ha ha ha...”

“Foolishness!”

Before the provocation even finishes passing her lips, Tilrem reaches inside her guard, moving faster than the human eye; Let alone that it is someone of such great stature as the half-giant, Tilrem.

The Goddess only just barely manages to draw the handle of the heavy glaive in to block his fearsome blow, the force from it still causing her to slide backward at least an arm’s length. Although she remains in her stance the whole time.

Contrary to what one would normally expect from someone on the receiving end of such a blow, the Goddess’s expression becomes one of feverish excitement, like a child opening a present. As she retreats to a safe distance and prepares for her counterattack, Tilrem sighs inwardly.

“Ha ha ha! That’s more like it! Dance with me, Tilrem!”

The glaive spins wildly, becoming a violent propeller, making the act of approaching her a deadly gamble. Her technique equates to an almost godly display, a feat that must have taken centuries upon centuries of practice to perfect to this point. Even the bath towel remains undisturbed.

The fiery passion she emits almost makes Tilrem lose himself in the heat of the moment. But knowing that now is not the time for such frivolousness, he does his best in restraining his fighting spirit.

If he is to calm this raging beast of a Goddess, he can only rely on his wits. Once her fires start burning, attempting to stop her with force only makes the fire grow stronger; This much he knows from experience.

“Goddess, I’ve received word from the Grand High Prophet. Not only that, it was delivered by the Goddess of Light herself.”

“Guh!”

With those simple words, her fire is effectively extinguished, causing the battle-crazed Goddess to halt in her tracks. However, due to the massive centrifugal force stored inside her glaive, the tip follows its course, embedding itself firmly into the hardwood floor.

“Ah…”

‘Sigh’

While sympathizing for the poor carpenters, who put all of their efforts into constructing this elegantly crafted floor only to have it turn out like this, Tilrem can only smile wryly as he walks over to the glaive and removes it from its lodging.

“So, how about we have a seat over there. Then we can settle this whole matter. Or rather, perhaps you might want to put on some clothes first?”

The Goddess’s expression changes to a dispirited gloom, Tilrem’s exclamation seemingly deflating her earlier fighting spirit. Hence, instead of the lively voice from before, a vague nod is all she manages to give him as a reply before she heads to a separate room to get dressed.

This sudden change in character is all part of Tilrem’s plans. All it takes is the mention of her most hated nemesis, the Grand High Prophet, and her mood plummets, allowing him to get straight to the point.

The thorny relationship between the number two of the Guild of Wisdom and the number one of the Guild of Judgment is a well-kept secret in the upper ranks of the Court of Guilds. Although he normally frowns against using someone else’s weaknesses to his advantage, in this type of situation, his conscience can let it slide… Just this once…

When the Goddess returns, her appearance more resembles what you would expect from someone given the title of “The Hammer”. Complete with greaves, gauntlets, and girdle, her outfit consists of a heavily armored, yet surprisingly fashionable raiment of dark, tempered bronze, gilt with intricate accents which appear to grow across the surface.

Named “Rampaging Mountain”, it is a masterpiece of which there is only one example in the entire world, made by the late dwarven master smith, Kernd Brollhorn. The fact that it was constructed as the prize for the Goddess having won a drinking contest against said master smith, only raises the value of the artifact.

Beating a dwarf in a drinking contest is a feat that makes most mortals sick to even think about accomplishing. Let alone getting so smashed that they start a drunken brawl in the street. Of course, she had little trouble handling a few rowdy dwarves. Even in her heavily inebriated state.

The Goddess tends to wear the legendary armor like a badge of honor, and the elegant design suits her gallant form, far more than a fancy dress ever could. Although, that is not to say she would not look beautiful in a formal dress. Only that somehow, it would simply feel out of place, considering her personality. At least, that is how Tilrem sees it.

However, trusting the fashion sense of a Wintir is like trusting the fidelity of a Therianthrope, and those fellows are known to follow the tides of the Red Moon over their own conscience. Truly the most promiscuous race, especially when the heat reigns.

Seeming to have calmed down, the Goddess sits across from Tilrem, upon the crescent-shaped leather sofa at the back of the large room. Noticing the tea, which Tilrem had prepared whilst waiting for her to change, she pours herself a cup, savoring the calming aroma.

Tilrem remains silent all the while. Partially out of courtesy, but mostly because this situation requires a delicate touch. One thing he does not want to do is upset the Goddess before him. When it comes to a brawl, he can hold his own. That is how certain of his own abilities he is. But this person is a Goddess, and because of this, she is in possession of a power beyond the mortal races.

As her title suggests, she holds the ability of Judgement, from the Dominion attribute, one of the most powerful attributes. If she so feels like it, her ability to issue punishment onto another can sometimes even defy the laws of nature. It is a frightening concept. But that is what separates those beings called Gods, from the other rabble inhabiting this world.

That said, finding the most appropriate means of conveying this whole situation is of the utmost importance. At least, for Tilrem’s well-being, it is…

“Well, as much as I’d like to forget this whole conversation even happened, if that recluse actually decided to reach out to someone other than his own spawn for once, then it’s bound to be something of at least some significance, I suppose…”

That statement, dripping with cynicism, while clearly showing her distaste for the Prophet, also proves her willingness to listen. With no more reason to worry, Tilrem finally begins his explanation.

“Very well. Firstly, I’d like to answer a few of your previous questions, then we can get down to the matter at hand.”

“Be my guest.”

Giving her cup a swirl with a teaspoon, the generous amount of cream added starts to form a vortex, until it eventually blends itself into the drink. Seeing this, Tilrem wonders how she can stand such insipid tea. His own preference tends to be for a more stronger flavored tea. Though he would not say this out loud in her presence.  

“Let’s see… Regarding Richt’s investigation into the Graverobber Serial Murders, with a lack of crucial leads, his work has come to a standstill. This damned bastard we’re dealing with is methodical in cleaning his tracks, and not even a trace of the bodies have been found.

In the end, we can’t even decide whether he’s actually killing his victims, or selling them to pirates. Everything he does, he’s always one step ahead of us… If only we had one of Wisdom’s Oracles on hand…”

Though the report is certainly disappointing, the Goddess doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the information, simply sipping her tea in silent reflection.

“Do not worry, Tilrem. Despite Richt’s cold attitude, I know personally how earnest that young man is. I have little doubt that he is doing his utmost in this investigation. If it should be that he requires additional resources in order to aid him, I will personally speak with that fool of a Prophet.”

“Heh? I’m surprised.”

“Yes, unfortunately, there is something I must discuss with that blind fool, so there’s no harm in using the opportunity.”

“That’s… Certainly true…”

If the Goddess has a prior engagement with him, then it only makes sense to ask him about it while she is there. Perhaps she can get a more favorable reply from that finicky man.

“On a more positive note, Ebon has successfully settled the Dunmire Debacle, so Traiden Dunmire’s court appearance should be scheduled by later this week.”

“That’s excellent! I was beginning to think that rotten crook was going to slip between my fingers. Then again, I guess it shouldn’t really come as any surprise, considering you put Ebon on the case. I doubt there is a man alive who could escape from that demon’s grasp. Ha ha ha!”

Of course, it really is a good thing that the streets are clear of such a high profile conman. But thinking about how frightening being in Traiden’s shoes would be, having to face the devastating force that is that one man army, Ebon… Somehow, Tilrem only feels sorry for the unlucky bastard.

“Now, about the situation in Maa’ershveris, there hasn’t been any movement from the Kingdom’s side. Both Liberator squads will remain on watch duty, until further notice.”

‘Sigh’

“I can never tell what that slippery little weasel is thinking. It’d be nice if he’d just stay cooped up in that crumbling ruin of his that he calls a “Kingdom”. Knowing him though, it’s more likely that he’s scheming something from behind the scenes. Oooh, he makes me so mad!”

The Goddess, demonstrating her signature indications of displeasure, taps her right foot compulsively, and clenches her fists tightly. Although this scene causes Tilrem’s heartbeat to increase, he simply smiles wryly and continues.

“Ahem. Presently, thanks to our efforts during the skirmish on the Elfin coast one month ago, the Southern Sharks pirate fleet has taken considerable losses and were forced to retreat. However, due to the unfortunate timing of the storm taking place in the north seas, they have taken up mooring in the waters off Engrimm’s northern coast.

It seems that several instances of raiding have already been reported by the coastal communities, and representatives have requested aid from the Guild in response.”

“Is there no end to their treachery? I can’t believe they’d be so brazen as to strike right at our doorstep. Even after the thrashing we gave them last month. If this keeps up, you may be making a personal appearance.”

That would surely work. But it is too soon to make such a rash decision yet. Besides, there are other things that take precedence…

“I’ve decided to send Gaien, Dernick, and Katherine’s forces to take care of it. With Katherine scouting the location of their ships moorings, and Gaien and Dernick providing the required distraction, as well as cover.”

When it comes to battle, Gaien and his Phalanxes are second only to Ebon’s Reapers. Thus, he will form the body of the assault, assisted by Dernick’s squad of Battle-surgeons. Katherine’s tactical strikeforce will scout out the enemy.

“I see. Unless something rather unfortunate were to happen, those three should be able to handle it. So, what else?”

‘Gulp’

Now that he thinks about it, how will this person react when she hears what he has yet to say. If she is to fly into a rage, then it will be up to him alone to stop her, but… Is such a thing even possible…?

Only one way to find out…

“Finally, the matter at hand… I suppose I’ll start with some news that came from around the eastern border of Folgrimm. It seems that some type of disaster has befallen a rural town called Fort Wayfield. And although many of the details surrounding the situation are unclear, it appears that there have been no reported survivors.”

“…”

The Goddess’s deep consternation warps her delicate features, as an uneasy silence fills the room. It is not until quite a few moments pass, that she manages to make some kind of reply.

“How… did this happen?”

Her tone, firm and demanding, much unlike her usual tempered elegance, clearly shows how unsteady her emotions have become. No matter how he proceeds now, it doesn’t look like it is going to end well. For brevity's sake, he decides to lay it out straight.

“The entirety of the town, including its citizens, have been burnt to cinders. Much of the surrounding forest has also been laid to waste. As for the cause, it’s only speculation, but I feel like there is a connection between this incident and the Prophet’s message…”

Tilrem lowers his head and joins his hands in front of his mouth. Even though he has already solidified his conviction, the words are still hard to say. The lives of thousands of people are not something you can take lightly.

“I see… Burned to the ground… And what did the Prophet have to say?”

“The Goddess Yvir tells that the Oracles have witnessed the forthcoming of chaos. What that means for Gearia… I’m not certain, but I’ve arranged for a conference of the Grand Adjudicators to inform them of the situation.

This timing’s just too much of a coincidence, and my instincts are telling me the Prophecy has something to do with the disaster in eastern Folgrimm. The investigation should bring more tangible answers, especially with Ebon as the leading role.”

To Tilrem, who comes from an era of relative peace, it is not easy to understand what the coming of Chaos entails. The popular belief amongst the current generation is that the Oracles will foretell a calamity that can rock the foundation of their world.

On the other hand, Galea, like Yvir, has lived for tens of thousands of years. Long enough in fact, that she has borne witness to endless treachery and strife, as well as the origin of the Chaos, of which the term Prophecy of Chaos draws its name.

A shadow obscures her expression, as she tilts her head down in quiet contemplation. What she is really thinking of, Tilrem is not entirely aware. As an educated guess, knowing her personality, he is sure that she is unlikely to back down, no matter the circumstances.

“Finally!!”

“Eh!?”

Finally… Is certainly not what he was expecting to be her reply, considering the world’s safety is at stake. Perhaps she misheard his explanation?

“Finally a battle worth fighting! Oooh, I’m getting excited just thinking about it!”

Nope. This battle-crazed Goddess takes an imminent threat to the lives of the people as nothing more than a chance to test her mettle. Then again, this type of reaction does sound more like something she might say. It turns out that he still underestimates the degree of her zealotry.

Tilrem, having mistaken her subdued excitement as agitation or weariness, could not have been more wrong. He now realizes her state more resembles the compressed steam of an engine, trying to find a path to escape from.

This is very bad…

“I’m terribly sorry Goddess, but I cannot let you go on this investigation. I’ll be leaving it entirely up to Ebon this time around.”

“Ehhhh!?”

Her blatant paroxysm of utter shock and disappointment, almost makes Tilrem raise his voice in anger. Somehow, he manages to moderate his temper, save for the few bulging veins on his forehead.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this, but, the Senate of the Immaculate will be hosting peace talks with us this coming month. If during this crucial time, the resident Goddess of one of the Pillars of our Nation decides that she should go parading around the countryside in search of a worthy opponent, I don’t think I need to mention what kind of effect this would have upon said peace talks.”

“Auuu…”

As if she is a frantic puppy, whose hopes to go for a walk have been shattered, the Goddess loses the wind from her sails. Her being someone that has outlived the majority of people that Tilrem knows personally, he can only avert his eyes from the pitiful scene she displays before him.

“Ahem… That is that. Now then, this concludes the contents of the Council meeting, so I’ll be on my way. I have many things to prepare before the meeting tomorrow, as well as endless other matters to worry about.”

“Ah…! Thank you for all your vigilant efforts, Tilrem.”

Suddenly becoming her usual steadfast self, the Goddess honestly praises him for all the help she receives from him. Despite being a Goddess, she is but a single person. Therefore, running such a large organization alone would prove to be too much a task.

“You’re too kind, Goddess. I do this of my own volition.”

It is true that he supports the Goddess’ justice. However, it is his own ideals that brought him to this place. For the Goddess that welcomed him to be showering him with unadulterated praise, somehow feels dishonorable.

“Then, I’ll be leaving now.”

Bowing once again on his way out, Tilrem awkwardly exits the large room, leaving only the Goddess, still seated on the half-moon shaped sofa. For a small while, the heavily dressed Goddess sips her tea in silence. When she finally empties her cup, her cheerful face vanishes, and she reaches her gauntlet covered hands to the glaive that lies beside her.

Within the span of a few seconds, she uses the glaive as a catapult to launch herself towards the ceiling. Then pushes herself off with her legs, landing in the center of the room with a thunderous crash. To the naked eye, it was as if she had vanished, then reappeared across the room in a fighting stance.

The massive weight of the armor seems to give almost no resistance to her movement, and as she begins thrusting the lengthy weapon about, her colors begin to blur into a black and gold wave of motion. Every blow is dealt with many times the required force to provide a killing blow, but the whole display looks like the blossoming of the most beautiful flower’s petals.

It is a divine technique, of which only someone who has lived for tens of thousands of years can master. Most likely, any who should witness it will be not long for this world.

“So, you have returned, cursed one. At last, our score may be settled…”