Jaine attended the celebration.
And what she witnessed there shattered every assumption she had carried into Eterna.
Before her eyes, King Atem stood at the center of the ceremony and evolved his majin followers one by one—calmly, decisively—elevating them into existences that could only be described as True Demon Lord–class beings.
Not one.
Not two.
But many.
Without backlash.
Without hesitation.
Without consequence.
No… no way…
This can't be real.
I'm not dreaming, am I?
Jaine was so stunned she couldn't even breathe, let alone scream.
She had always known that Atem was dangerous. That much was obvious the moment he established Eterna. But this—this went far beyond anything she had imagined. It was not merely dangerous.
It was unreasonable.
Her original purpose for coming here had been clear: to confront Atem about how he intended to handle the Primordials. Jaine believed in him—she truly did—but a Primordial was not a being one could simply "accept" and move on from.
Once unleashed, they warped the balance of the world itself.
And this war had proven exactly that.
The elite forces of the Imperial Army—nine hundred and forty thousand soldiers, including their strongest commanders—had been annihilated without leaving so much as a trace.
It was fortunate, terrifyingly so, that Atem stood on their side.
But there was no guarantee that such a relationship would last forever.
That was why Jaine had come as a representative—to assess the situation, to measure the risk, to decide what stance the Western Nations should take.
When she first greeted Atem, his reaction had been… unchanged.
Calm.
Composed.
Immovable.
Just as he had been before.
That alone had unsettled her.
So she pressed him.
Harshly.
She raised her voice, criticized his actions, questioned his judgment—intentionally provoking him, trying to peer into his thoughts by force.
The result was immediate.
And absolute.
Atem's gaze hardened.
The air itself seemed to tighten.
"Know your place," he said coldly.
"Do not ever raise your voice before me again."
Jaine froze.
There was no anger in his voice—only authority. The kind that did not need to shout to dominate. For the first time, she truly felt it: this was not a negotiator, nor a naïve ruler stumbling into power.
This was a king.
Then he spoke again, his tone unyielding.
"I will do what is necessary," Atem continued.
"As king, I will take whatever measures are required to protect my kingdom and my people. I do not require permission. I do not seek approval."
There was no justification in his words.
Only declaration.
Jaine realized then that her anger meant nothing here.
She bowed and apologized...
Still, she forced herself to ask the question she had come for.
"Is this Diablo… the same as the Black Primordial? Noir?"
"…He is," Atem answered without hesitation.
He did not deny it.
He did not soften it.
And more importantly—he did not lie.
Jaine's experience told her that much immediately.
If that was the case, then there was nothing more she could say. No argument left to make. Any further protest would be meaningless.
There had been a fear—deep and lingering—that Atem might become arrogant, drunk on power.
But standing there now, Jaine understood.
She had been wrong.
This was worse.
Even if the Primordials becoming his subordinates had been unavoidable, mass-producing True Demon Lord–class beings was nothing short of catastrophic from a world-balance perspective.
And yet…
She could not sense malice.
Atem was not acting out of cruelty, nor ambition, nor conquest. He truly believed he could shoulder every consequence himself. He was convinced—utterly—that no problem existed which he could not resolve by his own hand.
That conviction was terrifying.
Perhaps he believed there was no longer any point in hiding things, especially after being criticized so relentlessly over the Primordial issue. His openness was not carelessness.
It was confidence.
And trust.
If so, then Jaine herself bore part of the blame. She should have warned him earlier. She should have taught him the limits of common sense—assuming such limits even applied to someone like him.
But now—
It was far too late.
This world…
The balance of power in this world is breaking…
Jaine nearly fainted as she watched the celebration continue without incident. One by one, Atem's subordinates stabilized their newfound power. The flow of energy was systematic, controlled, deliberate.
There was no doubt about it.
In the span of a few hours, Eterna's military strength had multiplied beyond measure.
A massive war state was being born at the heart of the Great Jura Forest—one that dwarfed even the Eastern Empire.
Regret stabbed through her.
If only we had acted sooner.
But the conclusion was the same as always.
There is nothing we can do.
That had been King Gazel's judgment before. And it would remain so in the future.
The war with the Empire was not yet over. Their forces were still deployed. Atem was already in contact with them. The next plan was clear: a decisive strike on the Imperial capital.
That meeting—coordination for that very plan—had been Jaine's original reason for coming here.
And now…
I've never been this confused in my life.
At this point, calling them an "Empire" is meaningless.
I must inform King Gazel. A True Demon Lord—no, something beyond that—has fully emerged.
For a brief moment, Jaine considered pretending she had seen nothing. Turning away. Escaping reality.
But she had no such right.
She was the one who had demanded answers before. She was the one who had pressed Gazel about the Primordials.
Silence now would be hypocrisy.
"Dolph," she said abruptly, turning away, "I'm returning first."
"Huh? Why?" Dolph blinked. "The meeting's tomorrow, isn't it?"
"You can attend in my place," Jaine replied. "That will be sufficient."
She paused, then added quietly—
"I'll return by magic. I don't need an escort."
"O-okay…"
Dolph did not understand.
He could not feel the pressure still lingering in the air.
He could not sense the shift in the world itself.
Jaine almost envied him.
As the magic activated and the scenery dissolved, only one thought remained in her mind—
The era of balance is over.
Lucia and Claire—the Two Wings—stood frozen beneath their flawless, mask-like expressions.
Lucia, with her blonde hair.
Claire, with her silver.
Outwardly calm.
Internally, in complete turmoil.
They had always known that Eterna, the land of monsters ruled by King Atem, was dangerous. It was home to powerful majins, beings that could threaten entire nations if left unchecked. They had even interacted with some of them directly—Geld being the first. Strong, yes. Dangerous, certainly.
But manageable.
That had been their conclusion.
No matter how many greater majins Eterna possessed, the balance could still be maintained. That belief had guided their judgment—right up until today.
Their mission had been simple:
Assess Eterna's strength.
With the war against the Nasca Namrium Ulmeria United Eastern Empire underway—the largest and most powerful human nation—logic dictated that Eterna would suffer losses. If so, Frey's long-anticipated project, the construction of the sky city, might be delayed. Reinforcements might be required. Adjustments would need to be made.
That had been the expectation.
Reality crushed it instantly.
"Zero casualties…?"
"I can hardly believe it. But judging by those smiles… it's true."
The report they received was impossible.
Eterna's army had suffered no losses.
They had joined the victory celebration relieved—only to be struck by something far worse.
‹This is absurd…› Lucia's thoughts trembled.
‹Executives growing to a level rivaling Frey-sama in such a short time is impossible…›
‹No—› Claire interrupted sharply. ‹Look. King Atem is moving.›
Claire's calm gaze followed the figures stepping onto the podium.
And then—
The ritual began.
Not ceremony.
Not symbolism.
Evolution.
One by one, Atem elevated his subordinates. Power condensed, surged, stabilized. The air itself screamed under the pressure of ascension.
This was no isolated miracle.
It was systematic.
Deliberate.
Planned.
‹We can't stay here,› Lucia said, panic finally breaking through.
‹We must report this to Frey-sama immediately!›
‹Agreed. We leave—now.›
There was no hesitation.
The Two Wings withdrew at once.
The topmost floor of the unfinished keep was quiet.
Too quiet.
Frey exhaled slowly, her breath heavy with tension.
"…What in the world is Atem thinking?"
A voice answered casually from behind her.
"Hey, hey. That gloomy look doesn't suit you, you know? A sigh like that ruins your charm."
It was Karion.
They had grown familiar as Milim's assistants, though neither would ever admit it outright.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Frey replied flatly.
Karion tilted his head. "What happened? Don't tell me the Imperial Army's giving you trouble?"
"That would've been easier," Frey said. "Then we could just send reinforcements and be done with it."
Karion frowned. "Then what? Did that Atem guy do something insane again?"
"—Yes."
Silence followed.
Then Frey turned to him. "Karion, let me ask you something."
"Hm?"
"Calling King Atem, Milim-sama's closest friend, 'that guy'—don't you think that's rude?"
Karion laughed. "Now you're worried about manners? You called him worse when you were with Milim."
"Tch. Forget it. Just listen."
Her sigh came again—lighter this time.
"All right," Karion said. "I'm listening."
She told him.
Not everything.
But enough.
"…Seriously?" Karion finally said.
"I'm completely serious."
"You're saying multiple Demon Lord–class beings were born under Atem?"
"Yes."
"And they might be stronger than us?"
"…At the very least," Frey said quietly, "the Two Wings felt that way."
Before the ritual, those executives had been comparable to her.
Afterward—
The increase was overwhelming.
Some were still stabilizing. But that was only a matter of time.
"…You're joking," Karion muttered.
Frey met his eyes. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
"No…"
"Then accept it."
Karion went silent.
If Frey's subordinates—who would never dare lie to her—reported this, then it was fact.
His thoughts drifted.
Then why didn't Alvis report this…?
And as if answering him, Frey added casually—
"Oh, by the way. Alvis-san is now engaged to Benimaru-dono, one of Atem's top commanders.
King Atem has already approved it."
"She actually did it!" Karion burst out laughing.
He had told Alvis once: Take it by force.
Apparently, she had listened.
"But second wife, huh?" he added. "Shame. Thought she'd be first."
"That's crude."
"Relax. You're the only woman I love."
Frey snorted. "My race is monogamous. And yours isn't. It would never work."
Harpies and beastmen were fundamentally incompatible.
Yet—
They respected each other's strength.
That dangerous balance held.
Karion waved it off. "Back to the point. What did Atem actually do?"
Frey's expression hardened.
"Do you remember Clayman's end?"
"Yeah. He suddenly got absurdly strong."
"That was an awakening."
"…Souls?"
"Yes."
Clayman had tried to collect souls to awaken.
Atem had succeeded.
"And the war?" Karion asked slowly.
"Eterna lost none. The Empire lost nine hundred forty thousand."
Karion froze.
"…You're serious?"
"I wish I weren't."
The conclusion was unavoidable.
Atem had gained an ocean of souls—and distributed them freely.
Benimaru hadn't shown visible change yet, but no one believed he was excluded. More likely, his evolution was merely delayed.
"A war with zero casualties…" Karion muttered. "That's not war. That's execution."
"I don't care about the Empire," Frey said sharply. "What matters is what we do now."
Karion grinned. "Then it's simple. We get stronger."
Frey blinked.
"If Atem can raise his subordinates to his level," Karion continued, "then Milim can do the same—or more. Why were we holding back?"
"…You're right."
They shared a look.
Resolve formed.
And then—
"Wahahaha! That's the spirit!"
The air exploded with laughter.
Milim appeared, arms crossed, eyes shining.
"I may not awaken my people like Atem," she declared proudly, "but I can train them! In the labyrinth, you don't die—so we can go all out!"
The decision was made.
Eterna had shaken the world.
And the heavens had begun to respond.