Days had passed since Hokori regained all of its territory.
The war still lingered…
but for the first time in years, the map was not in flames.
It was then that the Kingdom of Kaigen, playing the role of neutral arbiter, summoned every state to the central building of the S.S.E.
The feared, ignored, and bureaucratically useless:
Supreme Assembly of States.
A white dome where nations pretended to have morals…
and the weak dreamed of justice that never came.
There, representatives from every nation appeared.
Except three.
Neither Genshin (Hokori),
nor Shinsei Kōji (Sainokuni),
nor Zanka (Enketsu)
deigned the place with their presence.
In their stead came the loose pieces of each board.
From Hokori: Shirota Karakuri, the man least capable of looking serious even if he tried.
From Sainokuni: Setsura Kaname, a diplomat as cold as his signature, an expert in looking down on others.
From Enketsu: Kagenami no Hoshigumo, bearer of shadows, with no official rank… yet with authority no paper could deny.
---
The air was solemn.
Too solemn.
Until the Grand Priest Maharen, envoy from the Sacred Lands of Reimei, opened his mouth.
He wore robes heavier than his words.
"Brothers… war is the poison that corrodes the divine vessel of the world," he intoned, voice deep.
And so he went on.
Half an hour.
Forty minutes.
A full hour of oratory with more adornment than substance.
Several leaders were nodding off.
Others whispered with their guards.
Kagenami, seated, shaped his own shadows across the table.
A bird.
A dragon.
A serpent devouring a crown.
Shirota, meanwhile, was reading a book titled:
"Advanced Tactics for Seducing Old Ladies and Inheriting Their Fortune."
His eyes gleamed.
Not with diplomacy.
But with the promise of chapter nine: "How to Pretend You Love Floral Tea."
---
Silence was finally broken by the only voice that still carried an edge.
Princess Yukihana, heiress to the Kingdom of Yūbetsu.
"This meeting… is useless," she said, without removing her gloves of ice.
"Not one of you has proposed real solutions.
Meanwhile, three nations are at war."
Every gaze turned to her.
"I propose the S.S.E. act.
That we intervene with force.
And eliminate Hokori, Sainokuni, and Enketsu if necessary."
Faces shifted.
"And furthermore!" she continued.
"Enketsu has intervened in favor of Sainokuni.
Violating Article 3 of the Pact of External Non-Aggression!"
---
Kagenami rose slowly.
He did not speak.
But his gaze was enough.
Dark.
Sunken.
As deep as a whispered promise of death.
The princess pressed her lips together.
---
Then, all turned to Shirota.
"And you, Hokorian?
Do you not intend to defend your nation's integrity?
Or are you still reading trash?"
Shirota lowered his book.
Closed it gently.
And smiled.
"War?
Pointless.
Like debating philosophy with a chicken."
Silence.
"I am here for a deal.
Not for a country that rotted long before I was born."
The representatives shifted, uncomfortable.
"Do you not care for your people's safety?"
"My people?
My people stop me in the street to ask for autographs on erotic novels, not war treaties."
A pause.
"Besides… have you ever seen a nation that wanted to save its people after selling them as circus meat?"
---
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
But impossible to refute.
Because even lies need rest.
---
The moon shone timidly over a land that still did not know whether to rebuild… or die in silence.
The province of Kagetsuki
(影月 – Moon of Shadows)
now served as a refuge for those without a home.
A place of mountains and frozen rivers, improvised with tents, peasants' old houses… and dreams too shattered to be mended.
There lay the survivors of Tsuyoi.
Some walked like ghosts.
Others no longer cried.
Not because they didn't want to…
but because they had no tears left.
Children clutching empty clothes.
Elders repeating names without reply.
Mothers staring at the sky as if they still believed God could hear them.
---
In a small room, Donyoku tried to rest.
Eyes closed.
Back against the wall.
Soul… still trembling.
Then Aika entered.
Without a word, she sat beside him.
"I'm glad… at least we're alive," she whispered.
Donyoku opened his eyes, but didn't answer immediately.
"Though it hurts… not being able to do anything.
To watch so many die…
and remain so useless…"
Her words drifted like smoke.
Slow.
Exhausted.
She leaned her head softly on his shoulder.
"I just wanted to feel like I mattered."
Donyoku didn't push her away.
Didn't offer a heroic phrase.
Only murmured:
"I'm glad… I'm still alive too."
Silence.
But not for long.
Donyoku felt something strange.
He turned his head left…
And there it was.
A dark figure.
Standing.
Watching.
Silent.
"AAAAGHH!
What the hell—?!"
Aika jumped.
"Who—?!"
The figure blinked.
"Did I just interrupt a lovers' talk between sweethearts?" asked Seita, face neutral as the universe itself.
Donyoku glared.
"Seita… in life there are things called private moments."
"So you were in sweetheart mode?"
Aika blushed so much it seemed Donyoku's shoulder burned her.
"N-No, it's not that—!"
Just then, Chisiki entered with a tired smile.
"You can deny it all you want…
but from outside you looked like two lovebirds flirting."
Donyoku finally let out a small laugh.
"Tch… idiots."
Seita tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand something not found in books.
---
Meanwhile…
In an old, filthy tavern,
with a broken lamp and ash covering the floor,
Reiji and Seimei shared a jug of beer.
Both… drunk.
Both… silent.
Both… haunted.
"We couldn't save them all," Seimei whispered, words slurred.
"It wasn't our mission to save the world," Reiji muttered, dragging syllables.
"But still… it hurts."
A drink.
Two.
Reiji smiled.
"Celebrate while we're still alive…"
And he collapsed onto the table with a soft thud.
Seimei watched him.
Said nothing.
He lifted him carefully
—like a child to be protected from the past—
and carried him to a small tent outside.
Covered him with an old blanket.
Watched him a moment longer.
Then returned to the tavern.
Sat down.
And ordered two beers.
The tavern keeper frowned.
"Two?"
"Yes," Seimei said with a sad smile.
"But… there's only you."
Seimei didn't look at him.
"The other is for an old friend…
one who'll never return."
---
On the battlefield.
Enemy lines retreated…
not from fear.
But because reality was stronger than faith.
Kenshiro Gai, the King of War, walked at the front of the army like a storm given flesh.
His enemies screamed, prayed, cursed…
and died.
Not a single sacred soldier had managed to even touch his skin.
And that… without Kenshiro unleashing his Shinkon.
He didn't need it.
His sword was a sentence.
His presence alone… an unbreakable wall.
In his sight, nothing survived.
---
The recovery of the last forest marked by the enemy brought a fragile peace.
Temporary.
The world… took a breath.
---
The S.S.E., under pressure from middle kingdoms, declared a period of forced negotiation.
But that meeting had already failed.
No treaty signed.
No guarantees offered.
Only words.
And half-measures.
---
Decisions taken in the shadows:
— The Kingdom of Kaigen offered part of its provinces as temporary refuge for Hokori's displaced.
— The Kingdom of Sabaku, proud of its warriors, promised to send veterans to aid Hokori "for honor, not for politics."
— The Sacred Lands of Reimei declared themselves neutral… for now.
— And the rest of the continent simply…
looked away.
Because as long as the conflict didn't touch their gates…
blood had no scent.
---
In makeshift military barracks built atop still-warm ruins,
Kenshiro Gai stood firm.
No speeches.
No meetings with nobles.
No negotiations.
He waited.
Before a map covered in red marks, his sword lay like a sleeping beast.
His gaze fixed on nothing.
His body unmoving.
Only one question circled his mind:
What will the King decide?
For if Genshin said advance…
then even gods would have to hide.
---
In the heart of Sainokuni's palace,
stained glass shone with divine light…
but the hall reeked of sake, sweat, and ambition.
Shinsei Kōji, the self-proclaimed Chosen of God,
walked barefoot over carpets embroidered with sacred scriptures.
His robe, white as a perfect lie,
swayed with each step as he spoke to himself—
and to his only company.
"This is boring."
"Hm?"
Zanka, sprawled across a velvet futon with three empty bottles around him and a fourth in hand, cracked open an eye.
"I said this is boring," Shinsei repeated softly.
"Sitting here.
Waiting for reports.
Listening to hollow prayers."
He took a map of the continent and rolled it up like trash.
"My people die out there…
while I sit here, pretending to listen.
No.
This time, I will disobey God."
Zanka barked a dry laugh.
"At last!" he roared, raising the bottle as if to toast the universe itself.
"That deserves more sake!"
He cracked another open without looking.
"Don't you always say you're his Chosen?" he asked between gulps.
"And I am.
But even the chosen have the right to march."
Shinsei looked out at the horizon from the palace terrace.
His gaze… was not human.
It held the clarity of a martyr.
And the madness of an emperor unchained.
"This time…
I will face them myself."
The Demons of Hokori.
He turned back to the hall.
And with each name he spoke, the air grew tauter.
"Kagemaru no Shūen, the Faceless General.
Yodaku… that dog. The executioner who thinks taking lives is service.
Narikami Gou, the Lightning of Death.
And… Kenshiro Gai.
The King of War."
Zanka let out a mocking whistle.
"Planning to die with style, or win without mercy?"
Shinsei smiled.
"Both.
For if I fall, the heavens will burn with me.
And if I win…
the entire galaxy will know fear."
His smile twisted.
No longer charismatic.
But dangerous.
Zanka adjusted his neck with the bottle still in hand.
"Well, if we're opening the heavens and breaking armies,
I'd better be drunk enough."
He raised the bottle, spilling drops onto the sacred floor.
"To heretics who don't know when to kneel.
And to gods who don't know when to retreat."
---
The night was quiet.
Too quiet…
for a world about to burn.
In an old inn on the edge of Tsuranome,
the six prepared to depart.
Donyoku.
Chisiki.
Aika.
Seita.
Seimei.
And at the front… Reiji Mikazuki.
They were not soldiers.
Not martyrs.
Not saviors.
They were what remained.
And they had a mission.
---
The scroll Kagemaru had given Reiji contained no order.
No tactic.
Not even a clear message.
What it held…
was blasphemy inked on parchment.
Forbidden knowledge, stolen from the bowels of Sainokuni.
A leak the King of Hokori himself could not reveal publicly without setting the continent aflame.
The high command of Sainokuni had been working for years on something that should not exist:
The creation of an artificial god.
An entity built from human suffering, fanaticism, and corrupted Shinkon.
A "miracle" designed to dominate.
A manufactured faith.
A god without a soul, yet with a cult.
A crowned abomination.
---
If the Sacred Lands of Reimei learned of it…
there would be no trials.
Only holy war.
A war where neither sinner nor saint would survive.
That is why…
they had to act first.
Infiltrate Sainokuni.
And stop the birth of that artificial god.
At any cost.
---
Reiji lowered his gaze, reading the scroll one last time.
"I should go alone," he muttered.
"This… isn't a burden you should bear."
Donyoku, seated on a crate, fixed his stare on him.
"We're not going to help Hokori.
Or any god.
We're going because I won't let anyone else take away what little remains."
Aika nodded, tightening the bandages on her arm.
"I won't let another city burn without at least trying to stop it."
Chisiki lowered his hood.
"This isn't about what we want anymore.
It's about what we've been given."
Seita, as always, said nothing.
But he already held the map.
And Seimei…
"Sometimes saving the world is a terrible excuse.
But stopping the birth of a divine aberration…
That's worth it."
---
Reiji looked at them one by one.
And in silence…
accepted the truth.
There was no turning back.
Not with that scroll in hand.
Not with that fate on the horizon.
If they didn't stop it now…
the current war would be only a prelude.
The true hell…
had yet to take form.
But it was already breathing.
---
Dawn brought no peace.
It brought smoke.
And not from any common fire…
but from a new beginning, baptized in blood.
Hokori struck.
With strategy.
With pent-up rage.
With a precision even Sainokuni's most fanatical clerics couldn't foresee.
This was no longer defense.
It was devastation's turn.
---
The Hokorian army's formations seemed torn from a forgotten war-poem:
— On the left flank marched Yodaku, the Executioner.
His division moved like a soulless horde, sowing panic before the clash.
— On the right flank advanced Narikami, the Lightning of Death.
Soldiers of extreme mobility, surgical precision, and a synchrony that felt unnatural.
— At the front stood Kenshiro Gai, the King of War.
They did not march…
they trampled.
And every step was a sentence.
— In the central column—the silent axis of the army—moved Kagemaru no Shūen.
None knew his exact place.
Only that… when something vanished from the map, he had likely passed through.
---
And while all of this unfolded at the borders…
The King of Hokori, Genshin, dressed for history.
He did not don his cloak.
Nor his ceremonial robes.
That day, he did not want to look like a king.
He wanted to be just another soldier.
He wore hardened battle-gear.
Black steel.
Scarred with old marks of battles few had survived.
It was not pretty.
Nor new.
Nor clean.
But it guarded him better than any palace.
An armor meant to bleed… not to be admired.
---
He marched toward the Empire of Enketsu,
with a retinue of nobles, strategists, heralds…
And at his side, like a voiceless shadow,
Kyomu, his Royal Guardian, walked without breaking gaze.
Not one of those with him fully grasped what was happening.
But all knew this:
When the King abandons the throne to walk the earth…
war is no longer a threat
it is a promise.
---
When even kings dirty their hands and prophets forget their gods…
only those remain who still bleed with meaning, who fight not for glory but to keep the world from becoming a sacred lie.
For this war is no longer between nations…
but between those who still feel the weight of a soul, and those who try to forge one out of nothing.
Thank you for stepping into this second arc, where war is waged not only with swords, but with wounds of the past, choices with no return… and souls that have yet to decide which side they belong to.