Clearly, this king was the first one to discover Nameless!
Damn it, how could a brainless beast like you possibly identify Sanjiro as Nameless? Aren't you supposed to be all muscle and no brains?
For the first time in a long while, Gilgamesh found himself utterly dumbfounded.
How could this brutish demigod care about a mere ordinary high school student?
By logic, even if Sanjiro stood right in front of him, a monster like Heracles shouldn't have spared him a single glance.
And yet—Heracles actually opened the door for him at Sanjiro's home!
This was absurd to the point of madness!
At the same time, Heracles glared at the visitor, his eyes sharp and full of killing intent.
"What are you doing here?"
There was no attempt to hide his hostility.
If the King of Heroes had tracked this place down, then it could only mean one thing: he had recognized Sanjiro as Nameless. Which also meant—he knew Illya would come here.
The greatest possible threat to his daughter!
"???"
The casual way he asked the question left Gilgamesh completely stunned.
He'd come to the house of his so-called friend—so why did it feel like this guy was acting like the master of the house?
Was he supposed to be here to mooch rice off you?
"Heh… don't tell me you've been following me?"
Heracles' eyes turned colder still.
He knew Gilgamesh possessed the Clairvoyance. Tracking someone would be laughably easy for him.
In fact, no one in the world could ever escape that gaze.
This bastard was dangerous beyond words.
As for the idea that Gilgamesh might see Sanjiro as important? Please. He was the King of Heroes, master of the Gate of Babylon, the man who could own anything he desired. How could he possibly see a plain high schooler as Nameless, the defender of humanity's history?
Even if Sanjiro walked past him, Gilgamesh would never spare him a thought!
"Heh, funny, I was about to ask if it's you who's been following me."
Gilgamesh's crimson eyes narrowed, brimming with pride and fury. As king, he tolerated no slight, no disdain.
Just then, Kirina came running up, blinking in surprise.
"Oh, Mr. Gold, you're here! Welcome, welcome!"
After all, this man was a fabulously wealthy tycoon.
They said he came from the Middle East, where one rich magnate was worth ten ordinary millionaires, buying up everything in sight around the globe.
And yet… wasn't one of them Illya's elder, said to be working as a construction laborer… while the other was a super-rich tycoon? Why did they look like mortal enemies?
Her mind instantly conjured up an over-the-top TV drama scenario:
Could it be… Mr. Gold drove off in a sports car and stole Basaka's girlfriend?
That would fit perfectly into a soap opera!
"Better to cry in a BMW than laugh on a bicycle."
Terrifying! Too terrifying!
…Ahem, no, surely she was overthinking.
She looked again: on one side, the burly hulk of Basaka. On the other, Mr. Gold in his casual wear.
If it were that kind of situation, Basaka would've smashed him into the pavement with a single punch by now.
Well, since guests had arrived, hospitality came first.
"You know, I always thought Uncle Basaka would be perfect to play Heracles, the great demigod. And Mr. Gold, with your aura of wealth and refinement, wouldn't you be perfect as Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes?"
Kirina beamed, trying to defuse the tension. "We're headed to a convention, so why don't you two cosplay?"
"???"
Both Gilgamesh and Heracles froze.
This girl clearly wasn't normal.
Did she just casually see through their disguises? And wasn't she supposed to not have Clairvoyance?
"And since Illya's coming too, if all of you go together, it'd be absolutely perfect!"
Kirina smirked inwardly.
The convention was hosting a cosplay contest for heroic spirits. If you looked convincing enough, there was prize money to win!
With gorgeous Mr. Gold and musclebound Basaka on board, the plan was flawless.
"You serious?"
Heracles' brow furrowed, his gentle aura gone, replaced by chilling menace.
If he hadn't known she was clueless, he'd have smacked her already.
So this was the "brat" Sanjiro kept talking about? Truly, her talent for causing trouble was extraordinary!
Did she really want him and Illya to re-enact that horrible moment—when he, berserk and mindless, was slain by the King of Heroes while trying to protect her?
What next—stab the wound, then rub salt into it?
Was she some kind of human incarnation of evil?!
"How about bringing Sanjiro too? He can cosplay Nameless."
Gilgamesh suddenly burst into a grin.
Amusing. Delightfully amusing!
The corners of his lips tugged upward.
His "damned friend" was wrapped in endless chains—he could see them with his own eyes.
Each one comparable in power to the Chains of Heaven, Enkidu. The sheer weight of them was beyond comprehension.
It made him wonder: if those chains were ever fully undone, could Sanjiro actually solo all of history's heroic spirits?
The thought thrilled him.
Would he have to fight alongside that bastard again?
In that case, with Sanjiro's current strength, he'd have no choice but to rely entirely on Gilgamesh.
And then—he'd dance to his tune!
"Eh? Him as the Nameless Hero?"
Kirina blinked.
Images popped into her mind: on one hand, a majestic champion, defying the gods for humanity, sung about by countless voices. On the other—her couch potato housemate, wearing a panda apron, spending his days cooking, binging anime, and gaming.
How could those two possibly be the same person?
"…That feels way too wrong… emmm…"
She pouted.
If that guy was Nameless, then she herself could probably take on the whole pantheon of heroic spirits!
If only Sanjiro were here—she'd point straight at him and demand, "What part of you looks like a hero of humanity?!"
"Why not try?" Gilgamesh's smile grew broader.
Something this entertaining—how could they not join in?
That damned friend of his longed for a normal life.
Too bad—it was impossible.
Ever since [Alaya] had released those videos, he, with his clairvoyance that could peer into the future, had sensed it: a coming crisis beyond imagining.
An apocalypse that no one could stand against.
When that time came, all heroic spirits would have to unite. There would be no more hiding.
Besides, what's so "cool" about silently protecting humanity without asking anything in return?
Ridiculous! Why not enjoy the glory and worship that was rightfully yours?
Better to stand like him, atop the golden pyramid of the world, adored by all.
Sanjiro—slinking away into the shadows, licking his wounds alone, so pathetic that even Alaya couldn't bear it!
That, surely, was why the Counter Force had chosen to expose him.
A race that forgets its history betrays itself!
And since [Alaya] was the collective will of humanity's self-preservation, then of course—it would want Nameless remembered.
A sudden thought made Gilgamesh's smile twitch.
If [Alaya] itself became a girl and went after Sanjiro … what would that make their relationship?!
"…Alright then. Let's give it a try."
Kirina thought hard, then reluctantly agreed.
As a die-hard otaku, cosplay needed to be authentic.
Outfits of common heroic spirits could be bought right at the venue—no problem there.
"I refuse," Heracles growled coldly.
He would not make a fool of himself in public, nor let salt be rubbed into old wounds.
But Kirina only giggled, eyes gleaming.
"Oh? But Illya's going too. You're not going to accompany her?"
"Guh… then I'll go."
Heracles clenched his jaw, nodding stiffly.
The convention would be crawling with all sorts of strange types. He had to protect his daughter.
For her sake—he would even fight Gilgamesh!
…
At the convention.
Sanjiro stared blankly at the red cloak in his hands.
"So… you want me to cosplay Nameless?"
Earlier, that brat told him to come over, saying there was some "big money-making opportunity."
He thought the brat was up to some scheme again, so he rushed over planning to give her a good spanking.
But instead—
Who could've imagined she dragged him here to cosplay as "Nameless"? Was this some kind of joke?
I'm supposed to cosplay… myself?
"Hurry up and change already! The cosplay contest is about to start!" Luo Ya urged.
The competition in the distance was already underway.
A huge crowd was cosplaying as Heroic Spirits, Kamen Riders, Ultramen, and more.
The kicker? A whole bunch of people were cosplaying as variations of "Nameless."
Nameless, Red A, Young Shirou, Gudao, Steel-Willed Savior, Muramasa… practically the entire "Nameless Heroic Spirit family pack" had shown up on stage together.
No surprise there. Lately, [Alaya] had been dropping one shocking video after another, and Nameless' popularity had skyrocketed.
He was officially the hottest Heroic Spirit of the year.
Forget men—tons of girls were even cosplaying as Nameless!
"…Fine."
Sanjiro glanced at the crowd and reluctantly nodded.
With this many people, even if he cosplayed himself, no one would notice.
A little while later—
Draped in a white cloak, wearing a black-and-red bodysuit, with a red headband tied across his forehead.
Other than the fact that his hair was black instead of short red, he looked like a perfect match.
"You…"
Kirina let out a long sigh.
She knew it—this shut-in could never pull off the "Great Hero" look!
Such a stylish, fiery costume—yet on him, it just looked like…
…a good for nothing bum wasting life.
The aura of a deadbeat otaku was leaking from every pore!
Kirina patted his shoulder helplessly. "Forget it. Just stay home and be a househusband. I'll support you in the future."
She gave up all hope.
From now on, she'd make the money, and he could just be her pretty boy to keep at home.
"Eh, I look that bad?"
Sanjiro's mouth twitched.
Looking into the mirror, he had to admit—it was true. He radiated laziness.
Not a shred of dominance or heroic spirit—just the vibe of a shut-in who stayed up all night watching anime.
But somehow… there was a certain comfort in that ordinariness.
Sanjiro's lips curved into a faint smile.
Only in a world safe enough could one enjoy such simple, peaceful days.
Thankfully… he no longer needed to fight.
"Come on," Kirina muttered. "Just go try. Maybe the judges are blind."
She hadn't expected much to begin with, but somehow, his performance was even worse than she imagined.
Still—first prize was a whopping 10,300,000 yen! Definitely worth a shot.
"Tch, am I really that hopeless?"
Sanjiro rolled his eyes.
Please. If I cosplay myself, isn't winning a prize basically guaranteed?
The sheer number of contestants was overwhelming.
Sanjiro was speechless—everywhere he looked, it was just more versions of himself. Even more than the boom of Platelets, Rem, or Kanna cosplays before—this was insane.
It was like stumbling into a wholesale factory of "Nameless Heroic Spirits."
Couldn't they at least cosplay some cute girls for eye candy?
When his turn came on stage—
The host gave him one glance, then said apologetically: "Sorry, contestant—you've been eliminated."
"…"
Sanjiro fell silent.
Not only did he not win—he didn't even pass the preliminary round.
Eliminated on the spot?
How outrageous!
But then again, this just proved how perfectly he'd nailed the role of an ordinary high schooler. Shouldn't they give him an Oscar for that?
Sanjiro didn't take it too seriously.
After all, all he wanted was a normal life.
Being eliminated just proved he'd achieved it.
"I knew it!" Kirina ground her teeth.
The grand prize had slipped through her fingers.
10 million! Do you know how many ten-roll gacha pulls that could buy?!
Hundreds of contestants—90% cut in the first round.
Out of the ten who advanced—
Sanjiro spotted a familiar face, which left him conflicted.
"Rin isn't cosplaying Ishtar… but Gudao?"
Yes—Rin Tohsaka herself was dressed as Gudao, his own Chaldean identity.
Normally, she should've gone with Ishtar, the goddess she resembled so closely. That would've been perfect "method acting."
But… Ishtar's popularity had plummeted.
Even the sweet angel Eresh easily outshone her.
Ishtar—forever the useless, embarrassing goddess.
So Rin made the right choice.
Her Gudao cosplay was flawless.
Even the flat chest was spot-on.
The pretty MC grabbed her hand and announced excitedly: "Congratulations to this contestant for winning first place! Her Gudao cosplay was perfect!"
"Thank you," Rin said, suppressing her glee.
Perfect!
10 million straight into her pocket—time to buy some cheaper gems!
From the moment she'd seen Nameless appear in the form of Gudao, she felt the resemblance to herself was uncanny—like a male version of her.
So when she heard about this contest, she wasted no time carefully preparing her act.
And it paid off.
Next to her, Sakura looked at her ecstatic sister, then at her very flat chest.
"Congratulations, sister."
Though honestly… was this really something to celebrate?
Why did it feel kind of… sad?
"You, what are you looking at?" Rin quickly caught on to her sister's glance.
Looking at Sakura's far more generous proportions, Rin's eyes filled with jealousy and resentment.
Damn it—same parents, how could the difference be this big?!
"N-Nothing." Sakura smiled gently.
She had worshiped her sister since childhood, following her like a puppy while Rin outshone her in everything.
Only in this one respect… did she surpass her.
And it seemed Nameless really did like "bigger."
After all, that was why Tiamat—the motherly "Big Mama" of all—was beloved worldwide as "Tiamama."
Meanwhile—
In the Council of Gods—
"The information war has begun. Our release of 'The Seven Deadly Sins of the Emperor' is spreading like wildfire across the world," the Goddess of Wisdom said coolly.
"Other than the Empire, which still clings to belief in the Emperor, the rest of the world's discourse is falling into our hands."
In this age of information, whoever controls the narrative controls the world.
After all—
You can declare the dead alive, the white black.
Even murder and arson can be reframed as the victim's fault.
Truth doesn't matter.
The Council of Gods had dominated the world's discourse for centuries.
They knew most people just wanted a show.
As long as it wasn't their problem, they'd sit back, eat popcorn, and enjoy the spectacle.
And nothing thrilled audiences more than seeing a lofty Heroic Spirit dragged down—branded as a tyrant, a monster, a fallen emperor.
Now, the Council's goal was clear: drag him down from the pedestal and grind him beneath their feet.
"Hahaha! And now we've done it—we've completely decoded them. We are the true Machine Gods!" the Sea King member laughed aloud.
Over a century ago, near Mount Olympus, they had uncovered twelve dormant Machine Gods.
They'd spared no cost to transport them back, spending a hundred years analyzing their secrets.
Not long ago, when preparing to retrieve Attila's fallen husk in Central Asia, they encountered the Heroic Spirit Attila herself—born from that corpse.
The Machine God's natural suppression of them had forced the Council to withdraw their troops.
But in the process, they had also obtained invaluable data from the enemy, finally completing their research.
From this moment onward, they now possessed true main-god-level combat strength!
Not just one, not two—twelve in total!
…No, wait. Eleven.
"We must first seize back the War God's Machine Body seized by the Empire, and force them to hand over Nameless."
The God of the Underworld councilor's voice dripped with killing intent.
Master of death itself, his unleashed aura would have instantly slaughtered any ordinary human present.
Previously, when the War God councilor had gone to Fuyuki City, armed with countless life-saving trump cards, he had nevertheless been cut down by the combined assault of Nameless, the King of Heroes, and the Emperor.
For the Council, this was the greatest humiliation in a hundred years. Something they could never forgive.
If not for the sudden descent of Tiamat, they would have long since marched to war.
But now, they had finally found a force strong enough to suppress Tiamat.
And with their complete transformation into true Machine Gods at the main-god tier, they could easily crush the entire force of the Emperor. Not just him—King Arthur, King of Heroes, the Dark Saint too!
For they were no mere phantoms—
They were gods.
True gods, free of restrictions, able to unleash their powers without restraint.
Not even the Olympians crawling out from their holes could stand against them—they would be swatted down with ease.
"The world of man has become defiled. It is time for us to impose order upon it."
The King of Gods, chairman of the council, swept his gaze across the chamber.
"This world has grown too peaceful. So peaceful that mortals have forgotten the authority of the United States Gods' Council! We will remind those faithless wretches who is the true master of this planet!"
Their earlier pretense of "not believing in God" was nothing but a smokescreen.
The truth was, not even they believed in that so-called God.
That entity had never shown proof of existence—merely a faith fabricated by countless generations.
And even if such a being did exist, it was nothing more than a high-dimensional entity utterly indifferent to humanity.
Consider the Dark Saint of France.
She prayed desperately for God's salvation, yet her cries went unanswered—she was burned alive at the stake instead.
Everything you did, Lord, you did not care.
To them, "God" was little more than a pigeon—absent, silent, irrelevant.
And perhaps that was humanity's greatest blessing—that such beings did not care.
But now, having ascended to true godhood themselves, they would demand the worship and faith of mankind.
They would become the gods of all people.
They would replace God!
"Then let us reveal our true forms, and make that arrogant Emperor bow beneath our feet!"
The chairman spoke with growing dominance.
"All in favor of launching an immediate attack—raise your hands!"
Every hand shot up without hesitation.
The resolution passed unanimously.
War… had begun.
—
Meanwhile, in Fuyuki City—
The anime convention was still in full swing, filled with laughter and excitement. Crowds of cosplayers roamed the halls, dressed as countless characters.
"I'm fine, Basaka. You don't need to be so nervous," Illya hummed softly.
Honestly, the way he stood protectively at her side, tense to the point of paranoia, was almost comical.
But then again—
The convention floor was swarming with demons, monsters, and all manner of bizarre costumes.
Even Tiamat and Goetia had cosplayers walking about.
Yes—two of the Beasts of Humanity!
Or rather, mass-produced imitations of the Beasts.
Ever since those videos had gone viral, characters like them had exploded in popularity, spawning endless merchandise, fan skits, and parodies.
Especially Tiamat—her gentle, motherly aura had captured hearts worldwide, sending her popularity into the stratosphere.
And after the Gods of Olympus video, the already beloved Greek pantheon had soared even higher.
Cosplayers of gods and Beasts filled the hall. Chaos incarnate.
"Good," grunted Heracles.
Even he wasn't certain whether the ones standing before him were just fans in costume—or the actual beings themselves.
After all, standing nearby was none other than "Fuyuki's model citizen," Gilgamesh.
Then—
Thud!
A man and a woman suddenly collapsed nearby, their pearl necklace scattering across the floor.
Heracles stiffened instantly, eyes sharp.
What had just happened? Why collapse out of nowhere?
But—
Their target wasn't him or Illya at all, but a poor guy dressed as Batman.
"Don't worry."
Illya gave the bewildered, panicking Batman cosplayer a sympathetic look.
Poor thing—just for playing Batman, you get subjected to this?
Truly ruthless!
She explained quietly to Heracles:
"Batman watched his parents die before his eyes—that's why he chose to walk the path of justice."
Of course, Heracles hadn't seen the films. But for any Batman cosplayer, this scene was a dagger straight to the heart.
And then—
Illya froze in shock.
Not far away, someone was cosplaying as… Illya herself.
Beside her, another cosplayer was bound by Enkidu's Chains, playing Heracles.
And before them stood a Gilgamesh cosplayer, laughing arrogantly.
The "Illya" actress wept and cried out—
[Berserker will never lose! Never lose to someone like this! Because Berserker… you are the strongest!]
The crowd gasped in amazement at the performance.
The Gilgamesh cosplayer sneered back—
[Heracles, you're about to die. Why not abandon your burden? Only then might you have a chance at victory.]
[So… no more revivals? Pathetic beast. You only know how to bite and thrash. To think this king still held a sliver of expectation for you.]
Heracles' fists clenched tight.
These bastards…!
Now he understood how the Batman cosplayer must have felt.
This was emotional damage!
The Gilgamesh actor strode toward the chained "Illya," declaring—
[False puppet! Offer up your heart and become the core of the Grail!]
It was a flawless reenactment of Unlimited Blade Works' most infuriating, soul-crushing moment.
The real Gilgamesh, standing quietly among the crowd, folded his arms and mused to himself.
Yes… conventions truly were wondrous places.
Beside him, the real Heracles was already bristling with rage.
Crack!
The Heracles cosplayer suddenly snapped his chains, stomping forward to kick the Gilgamesh actor flat on the ground.
"W-What the hell?!"
The cosplaying Gil's face twitched.
Wasn't this supposed to be a perfect recreation?!
Why was the plot changing on the fly?!
Why was he—the great Gilgamesh—now the one getting beaten down?
But the crowd erupted in cheers—
"Nice punch, Heracles!"
"Yes! Hit him again, that scene was way too infuriating!"
"Even if Wise King Gil was amazing, this edgy tyrant version will always be unbearable!"
"Love the Wise King all you want, but Chuunibyou Gil still deserves a smackdown!"
Under the dumbfounded gaze of the actual Gilgamesh, his cosplaying counterpart had become the convention clown.
The audience practically lined up, itching to beat him senseless.
Miyu ran up, worried: "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, really," said Illya.
Then, watching the spectacle, she couldn't help but laugh.
It really was cathartic.
Honestly, when she had seen Shirou lop off Gilgamesh's elbow earlier and stab him straight through the chest, Illya already felt that Berserker's vengeance had been avenged.
"I'm just glad you're okay," Miyu finally exhaled in relief.
That entire stage skit had been rehearsed for weeks just for the convention.
And there were plenty of others just like it—one elaborate play after another.
Then—
She turned her head, only to see a cosplayer dressed as Miyu herself, lying on a glowing magic circle.
Standing guard before her was another cosplayer—a Rin in Gudao cosplay, role-playing as the mighty Shirou Emiya.
It was that scene.
From Oath Beneath the Snow.
Where Shirou burned himself out in one night, slaughtering seven Servants, and bringing the Holy Grail War to an end.
"…"
Miyu fell into silence.
Because back then, her real brother had truly sacrificed everything—his body, his life—to perform that miracle.
Everyone else thought it was the coolest, most badass scene imaginable.
But to her, it was nothing but heartbreak.
Some distance away, Sanjiro had just arrived, and his face went flat with exasperation.
Seriously, he should never have come to this convention!
A whole crowd of people, gleefully making a spectacle out of their tragedies.
But then again—if he saw someone else's story performed with such fidelity, he probably would've applauded too.
Just… not when it was his.
This was like reopening old wounds again and again—live-streaming your most painful history as public theater.
Still… it was peaceful.
Sanjiro looked around at the lively, bustling convention, and couldn't help enjoying the ordinary atmosphere.
No battles. No disasters. Just elaborate stage plays.
A perfect, mundane daily life.
Except for the fact that two very real Heroic Spirits were standing nearby—glaring daggers at one another.
Sanjiro rubbed his temples. This was bad.
How had Heracles and Gilgamesh run into each other again?
Fou had already told him: while he'd been out earlier, those two had simultaneously shown up at his house.
They'd nearly come to blows, only barely stopping short of an apocalyptic battle.
They had obviously recognized one another.
This was going to be trouble.
Because after Unlimited Blade Works had been exposed, both of them had regained the relevant memories.
Gilgamesh's cruelty in that route had been so intolerable that even Shirou himself had lost his temper and hacked off the golden king's arm.
And as for Berserker—well, his humiliation at Gilgamesh's hands had been absolute.
Back then, he had been mindless, stripped of all reason, forced to fight only by instinct.
But now?
Now he was his perfected self—armed with all twelve lives, the "Ultimate Heracles."
If those two started fighting again… it was impossible to say who would win.
Damn it. My peaceful daily life feels like it's slipping further and further away…
—Ding-dong!
At that moment, Sanjiro's phone buzzed with a notification.
[New contact request. Connect?]
The message had been forwarded by Alaya itself.
And the true caller was—
Athena!
"Huh, she's contacting me again?"
Sanjiro casually sat down on a nearby bench, pretending to be resting, and chose to connect.
—Vmm.
The scenery warped, and in the blink of an eye, he was once again standing in that mysterious divine subspace.
An endless grassy plain stretched out under the sky.
Athena sat calmly beneath a parasol, lifting her gaze toward him.
"Come, sit. Would you like some tea?"
She passed him a steaming cup as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"N-No, that's alright…"
Sanjiro twitched at the corner of his mouth.
The thought that this tea was the same temperature as her body was way too cursed.
Drinking it from a cup felt outrageous.
If anything, drinking it straight from her lips might make more sense. He sat down and asked bluntly: "So, why did you call me this time?"
"The Council of Gods has fully mastered the machine bodies we were forced to abandon," Athena said flatly.
"In other words—you will soon be facing eleven true main gods."
This was humanity's era.
Which meant that all gods were restricted, unable to descend in their true forms.
Even she herself could not descend bodily, let alone Ereshkigal or Ishtar.
But the Council?
They had been human.
And now, having claimed the discarded machine-god bodies of Olympus, they had transformed into true Machine Gods.
Which meant they would suffer no restrictions.
"War?"
The word was the first thing that burst into Sanjiro's mind.
Eleven main gods—unstoppable, capable of rampaging across Earth unchecked. With that kind of overwhelming force, how could they not go mad with power?
War was inevitable.
"Not only the eleven Machine Gods," Athena continued, her tone unnervingly calm. "There is also the Vanguard—the being who once defeated us. That one will soon awaken as well."
Even just the eleven were enough to terrify anyone.
But behind them lurked something even worse.
If that destroyer of civilizations ever appeared again—then the end of the world was assured.
"…That's a problem," Sanjiro muttered, frowning.
Just moments ago, he had been enjoying the peace and laughter of a convention.
Now he was being told that war was at the doorstep.
If he still had his peak mythic form, he wouldn't be afraid.
But now… he really wasn't strong enough.
"We need to cooperate," Athena pressed.
She had said the same thing last time, and he had put her off. Now she was asking again.
After their defeat at the hands of the Vanguard, the Olympians had abandoned their machine forms, becoming guardian deities of humanity instead.
But those same machine-god bodies had now been claimed by the Council.
And their plan was to reshape the world, to cage and farm humanity like livestock.
If that happened, human history would end—and the gods, bound to humanity, would vanish as well.
Their fates were intertwined.
"All glory, shared. All ruin, shared."
Olympus and humanity had long since become one.
"When they launch their war, I'll reach out to you," Sanjiro replied calmly, ending the call.
The scenery warped again, and he returned to the noisy convention hall.
Though of course, this was only his consciousness projection.
Alaya had given him that privilege: answer if he wanted, hang up if he didn't.
Just then—
Kirina came running up. "Sanjiro, the car's ready."
After hours of wandering the convention and buying armfuls of loot, her legs were killing her. She'd called for a ride long ago.
"Alright. Let's go, then."
Sanjiro followed the three little lolis out of the convention center.
The two clashing Heroic Spirits did not come along, which only made him more uneasy. Surely those two weren't going to sneak off somewhere to settle things in private?
Troublesome. Way too troublesome.
When they reached the roadside, a sleek black sedan was already waiting.
Kirina climbed into the back seat, stretching.
"So quiet out here. No weirdos in costumes, no noise… such a big difference from the convention."
Inside had been a deafening sea of humanity.
"Perfectly normal," Sanjiro said, reaching for the car door. "Outside the con, everyone's just ordinary people."
But then—
The sky flashed.
A dazzling light erupted overhead, like a second sun exploding into being.
Everyone on the street froze, looking up in shock.
"Eh? What's happening?!"
By the time they reached home, the answer was already everywhere.
Every news channel screamed the same headline:
[America's Council of Gods annihilates the "Heavenly Court" defense system—declares war on the First Emperor!]
"They actually dared?!" Sanjiro shot up in shock.
The [Heavenly Court] defense system was the Empire's strongest deterrent—an equivalent to the Council of Gods.
In this era of Heroic Spirits, only those two behemoths possessed such superweapons.
A system capable of unleashing devastation greater than nuclear weapons, with global strike range.
And yet—
The Council had blown it to pieces.
They had openly declared war on Shikotei.
Athena's warning had come just minutes ago.
And now?
Barely half an hour later…
Those bastards had really done it.
"Is war about to begin?"
Kirina's face was equally full of shock.
"Who knows how many people will die!"
Every top-tier Heroic Spirit was the equivalent of a mobile nuclear arsenal—enough for one person to wipe out a small nation.
Only Heroic Spirits could oppose Heroic Spirits.
A small nation without Heroic Spirits stood no chance at all.
They possessed the First Emperor and many Heroic Spirits, while America had the Council of Gods.
Both sides were overwhelmingly powerful.
It was truly a terrifying clash on the scale of Mars colliding with Earth.
Once a real war began, who could possibly know what kind of horrifying casualties it would cause?
Turning on the television, they saw the Council of Gods holding a press conference—
"We, the gods, have already declared the Seven Sins of the Emperor! Such a tyrannical and inhumane despot shall be judged by us—the representatives of humanity's hope! Surrender the War God councilor you despicably ambushed, as well as that Nameless Heroic Spirit.
Come obediently to America and submit to our judgment!
"God has spoken: You are guilty!"
Behind the spokesperson, on the massive projection screen, appeared warships hanging across the heavens.
Yes—starships!
The Council of Gods, having fully completed their analysis, could now reveal the true forms of the Machine Gods.
Each Machine God's body was, in fact, a colossal starship—brimming with overwhelming, infinite deterrent force.
At their unreserved declaration of war, the entire world exploded into chaos.
The countless citizens who moments before had been raring to fight suddenly fell into terror—
"What the hell is going on? Why does America have starships?!"
"Damn it, this has to be a dream! Even we haven't managed to build one, so how can they already be conquering the stars?!"
"Shit, shit, shit! I must still be asleep—there's no way this kind of thing could appear a hundred years early!"
"We're doomed. If they attack from orbit, how are we supposed to fight back?"
"Are we really going to hand over Nameless?"
"No, no—we must believe in the Emperor! We can still win!"
…
One starship after another loomed across the sky, exuding a suffocating pressure.
After all, throughout all of history, wars had always been fought on Earth's surface.
But now, the Council of Gods had brought out starships—the kind that had only ever existed in science fiction movies.
It was equivalent to skipping across multiple eras—to launch a dimensionality-reducing strike on them!
"What should we do?"
Kirina was also falling into panic.
The declaration of war itself wasn't the issue—the real problem was, what the hell were those starships?!
It was like modern humans crushing stone-age tribes!
"What a bunch of lunatics…"
Sanjiro let out a heavy sigh.
He realized his peaceful daily life was about to be ended by those bastards.
It seemed that unless those false gods were eliminated, he could no longer enjoy peace.
Ding-dong~
Just then, Sanjiro saw a new notification pop up on his phone—
[The UP master you're following has uploaded a new video! Come check it out!]
He looked at the title and couldn't help but smile.
Because the new video was titled—
[Lostbelt No. 3!]