A city bathed in a gentle glow—its brilliance sealed within a sacred barrier.
This was the capital of the Holy Empire Luberios, the holy city known simply as **Luberios**.
The barrier surrounding it was not just any protection. It was the culmination of centuries of study, refinement, and prayers offered by its people. A barrier that had endured for over a thousand years, warding off any intrusion, ensuring that no enemy, no calamity, could ever taint the sanctity within. It was so absolute that even the rays of the sun bent to its will, shifting in harmony with the passing of day and night.
Inside, the temperature remained unchanging—summer never scorched, and winter never froze. Farmland yielded crops through all seasons, ensuring no mouth would ever go unfed. Children were educated without fail, citizens assigned work suited to their talents, and harmony governed every detail of life.
It was a utopia. A paradise born of order and faith.
Hinata walked down the stone-paved street that led directly to the cathedral. The air was mild, the streets orderly, the citizens smiling as they passed. Every gesture, every glance, painted a picture of peace and contentment.
And yet…
Her sharp eyes detected what others would miss. That peace felt too immaculate. Too rehearsed.
This was the difference between **Luberios**, the city of perfect order, and **Ingracia**, the free city where the Western Holy Church's headquarters resided. The two capitals were bound by a vast magical circuit, allowing instantaneous transfer between them. For six centuries, their knowledge had intertwined—Ingracia offering its expertise in teleportation magic, Luberios sharing its supreme barrier arts.
Hinata had been chosen to spread the Church's doctrine in Ingracia, a city of progress and freedom. But every time she returned to Luberios, she felt the same incongruity.
The free city of Ingracia and the holy city of Luberios. Two worlds, two ideologies.
Her gaze lingered on a group of children near the cathedral, their hurried footsteps echoing against the marble walls. They were late for their lessons, but instead of competing, the faster ones clasped the hands of the slower, pulling them along with serene smiles. All of them bore the same expression—gentle, composed, almost unnaturally so.
Hinata frowned.
She remembered how children behaved in Ingracia. There, latecomers stumbled through the gates breathless, laughing nervously as teachers scolded them. Friends teased one another mercilessly, triumph flashing in their eyes. And yet, even in their playfulness and chaos, there was life.
But here…
Even the laughter of children was muted, their smiles identical to the placid expressions of the adults. It was harmony, yes—but harmony forged in uniformity.
Hinata muttered under her breath, "This… is too perfect."
The words of **Atem**, that enigmatic Demon Lord, rose unbidden in her mind. He had spoken of children once—of their unpredictability, their raw vitality, their freedom to stumble, fall, and grow. His tone had been calm, but his conviction had been like steel.
And now, as she watched the children of Luberios run with serene resignation, she felt that steel pierce her thoughts.
Her mood darkened, an uneasy weight pressing on her chest. Was this truly paradise? Or was it a cage gilded so finely that its captives had forgotten what freedom felt like?
Hinata's steps slowed, her violet eyes narrowing as the great cathedral loomed ahead.
Hinata shook her head, forcing her doubts aside. She couldn't allow herself to waver now—not when she was about to face *them*. Her teachers. The ones who had shaped her blade, her mind, her very path. The **Seven Days Elders**.
The cathedral loomed like a fortress of light, but within its heart lay the **Inner Sanctum**, a place few in the empire had ever seen. That was where they waited for her.
Last time, when word of the Storm Dragon Veldora's revival had reached them, she had been summoned here. The envoy who had returned from the monster nation of **Eterna** had given his report, and in that moment, she had seen all seven Elders gathered together for the first time.
Even in her days as their disciple, she had never seen them all at once. One taught her until her trial was complete, then another would take their place. They had appeared to her as shifting guardians of fate, always instructing, always testing, yet never gathered. Even after she rose to the rank of Holy Knight Captain, when their orders reached her, it was usually through intermediaries—or at most, half of their number.
Which meant… if all seven had been present then, and all seven awaited her now, the weight of the matter was beyond question.
The revival of Veldora. The growing might of **Atem**, Demon Lord of Eterna. These were not ripples. They were tremors threatening to fracture the human world's foundation.
Hinata clenched her fists at her sides as she walked, her mind racing. She had never witnessed Veldora's reign of destruction firsthand. To her, it was only legend—ruins and ash left behind in distant lands. Yet the terror that name evoked in every council chamber across the world was real enough. And Atem…
Her steps slowed. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Was Atem truly the evil they claimed? The Church's doctrine was clear. Monsters were evil. Monsters were to be purged. That had been her guiding law since the day she pledged herself to the faith. And yet…
Her thoughts drifted back to their encounter. To his eyes—piercing, unyielding, yet not cruel. To his voice—calm, commanding, but not without warmth. He had spoken of ideals that resonated with her own. A society without conflict. A future where children would not suffer.
She exhaled sharply, realizing her own hesitation.
"So even I… can waver."
A wry smile touched her lips. It was unbecoming of her, yes. But admitting it, even to herself, felt like a weight lifted from her chest. She was not a machine. She was human. And even she could doubt.
Her true goal had always been to build a world of equality, where none would be abandoned, where even the weakest could live without fear. That dream might have been naive. Unrealistic. But she had found strength in it nonetheless. When the Holy Church appeared before her as the embodiment of that ideal, she embraced it wholeheartedly. She spread its teachings with conviction, unlike her mother who had clung to faith only to escape despair.
Hinata did not worship god. She wielded doctrine as her weapon. What mattered was not divine truth, but the pursuit of her goal. That had been her unshakable belief—until now.
Now, for the first time, the Church's doctrine and her own ideals clashed.
And so… she needed her teachers. She needed the Seven Days Elders.
Her violet eyes hardened with resolve as the vast doors of the Inner Sanctum loomed before her.
She placed her hand on the cold surface, steady, unflinching. The golden sigils embedded in the cathedral's stone glowed softly as if recognizing her touch.
With a push, the doors opened, and Hinata stepped into the sanctum where the Elders—her masters—awaited her.
The moment Hinata crossed the threshold, the air itself changed. It felt denser here—sealed, sanctified. This chamber was an absolute defensive space, a buffer that protected the holy emperor's private domain. Beyond it lay halls no one could enter without permission. Even the light seemed different: quieter, as if the room listened.
She kept her composure as she walked the short, stone path up to the mansion where the Seven Days Elders met. Four of them were already seated when she arrived—four who took their turn among the seven. Their faces were hidden by masks; only their voices would tell her who spoke.
"Apologies for the wait. Thank you for seeing me," Hinata said, kneeling in the practiced way of someone who respected ceremony.
The four bowed in return. Then the chorus of disguised voices began—soft, layered, as if more than one mind spoke through a single mouth.
"Rest, Hinata. No need for formalities here."
"Well met. You came because of Veldora, I assume?"
"You bear a look of concern. Tell us—what troubles you?"
Their tones were calm and oddly familiar, yet cloaked. It always felt like talking to the wind: precise and impossible to read. Even so, their message was unmistakable.
"There is nothing to be done against Veldora by ordinary means," one voice said plainly.
Hinata's heart tightened. "But—" she began.
"Listen," another cut in gently. "Dragon-types like Veldora are not ordinary monsters. They are closer to primordial spirits—massive aggregations of energy. They are not simply beasts you can cut down. To try is to throw away lives."
A third voice added, colder. "And there's more. Veldora did not act alone. He has aligned with the recently risen demon lord of Eterna."
The words hit like a blow.
"You mean Atem?" Hinata asked, steady despite the shock.
"Yes." The fourth voice was grave. "That demon lord crushed the forces of Falmus outright. Fifteen thousand soldiers—annihilated. One being, one slaughter. Now that Veldora and that lord are in concert, the danger exceeds what human arms can contain."
Silence pooled in the chamber like ink. The Elders' faces remained masked; their words weighed heavy.
Hinata swallowed. The doctrine of the Church made things simple: monsters were blasphemy, monsters had to be purged. But these weren't ordinary monsters. These were names that rolled like thunder across councils and war rooms.
"If that is so," Hinata said quietly, "then retreat will only let them grow stronger."
"You are right." The voices agreed as if finishing one thought. "Intervention may be necessary. But to act in haste is to feed their power. The scale of this threat demands utmost care."
A hard, furious thought rose in her chest. She had trained under these masters, taken their disciplines, and now they counseled caution. Still—she felt the old heat of duty flare inside her.
"If you permit it," she said, looking up straight into the masked faces, "I will not turn away. I will go. I will face Veldora or Atem myself and bring victory."
A softer voice sighed. "Your courage is unquestioned, Hinata. Few match your resolve."
"But hear this," another voice added. "This is no mere battle. If Atem has truly matured into a demon lord of that magnitude, sending ranks of troops is meaningless. You could lose a thousand paladins for no gain. A surgical strike—your hand and a small company of elite paladins—is the only path that preserves lives."
Hinata's jaw tightened. She'd already thought that through. "A hundred paladins at most," she murmured. "Precision, not numbers."
One of the Elders' masked heads tilted slightly. "Precisely. A small, perfect force under your blade. You are right to think this way."
Her teachers' approval steadied her, but a deeper conflict had not vanished. When she remembered her encounter with Atem—his voice even, his reasoning unsettlingly near to her own ideals—she felt a prickle of something that was not fear. It was doubt. Could she wield the Church's doctrine as absolute when a man—no, a sovereign who had once been human—spoke of common ground?
Hinata pushed that thought away with disciplined patience. Doctrine is doctrine. She had built her life on it; she had made certainty into armor. Monsters were evil. Monsters killed. Her job was to protect people from monsters.
Still, the Elders watched her closely, voices folded into a single quiet judgement.
"There is one more thing," the softest voice said at last. "Atem is not a common enemy. He is not merely a destroyer. There are things in his makeup—strange origin, unheard-of powers, and an order to his will. If you face him, go with eyes unclouded by sentiment. Trust only your blade and your judgment."
Hinata bowed her head. The old certainty that had guided her life steadied returningly, slow but true. She could not allow emotion to sway her. Not now.
"I understand," she said. "I will prepare. I will not weaken."
The Elders' voices blended into a murmur of approval. Their masks reflected the dim light like still pools. Hinata rose, steadier now than when she had entered. She had come seeking counsel—and gained strategy, restraint, and a confirmation of what she already suspected: this would be a battle where lives were to be calculated like moves on a board.
As she turned to leave the Inner Sanctum, a single, distant voice—older than the rest—sounded like the toll of a slow bell.
"Hinata," it said. "If you must fight, ensure it is to protect the many, not to prove your own blade."
She paused, then left the sanctum with that final admonition following her down the stone path. Outside, Luberios shone tranquil and immaculate, but now the city's perfection felt like a fragile screen. Beyond it waited a storm unlike any she had known—one that demanded not only courage, but the cold clarity of unflinching judgment.