The story of the Battle of Oakhaven spread like a psychic shockwave through the upper echelons of the Aethelian Empire. It was not a tale told in taverns, but a terrifying whisper exchanged between generals, arch-mages, and spies in the dead of night.
The official story, meticulously crafted by the Emperor's propaganda machine, was that a "minor geological disturbance" had been "expertly and cleanly handled by the Crimson Vanguard." But the truth, the story of the impossible beam of light, the instantaneous eradication of a Class-10 threat, and the sky-searing aurora, was impossible to contain among those with the power to see.
This truth did not unite the Empire in fear and reverence. It broke it.
For the Emperor and his loyalists, the event was the final, terrifying confirmation of their strategy. The Librarian was a primordial force to be placated at all costs. The Tranquility Quarantine was no longer just a good idea; it was the single most important state project in Imperial history. Appeasement was their only path to survival.
But for a growing, dissenting faction within the Imperial court, led by the fiercely devout High Priest of the Unblinking Eye, the story meant something entirely different.
"It was not a 'warning,'" the High Priest, an austere man named Vorlagos, thundered in a secret conclave held deep beneath the Grand Cathedral. He was speaking to a circle of influential nobles and zealous military commanders who believed the Emperor's fear had made him weak.
"It was a miracle!" Vorlagos proclaimed, his eyes burning with fanatical light. "A display of divine power meant to awaken us, not cow us! The Unblinking Eye, our god, has long been silent. Perhaps because he was not silent at all, but waiting! Waiting for a vessel worthy of his power to manifest on this mortal coil!"
This was a radical, heretical idea. The Emperor was the divine regent of the Unblinking Eye. To suggest another held that favor was high treason.
A skeptical nobleman, Duke Ferrus, stroked his pointed beard. "But the Emperor himself insists this entity is a force of nature, a cosmic landlord..."
"The Emperor is a politician!" Vorlagos spat. "He seeks to manage this power, to contain it, to keep it as his own private terror! He builds a wall around a messiah and calls it a quarantine! He seeks to placate what should be worshipped! He offers it tasteless biscuits and trinkets when he should be offering the praise and devotion of a grateful Empire!"
The logic was intoxicating to the zealous and the ambitious. The Emperor's fear was an opportunity. If this Librarian was truly the vessel of their god, then the faction that recognized and worshipped him first would be elevated to a holy status.
"He does not wish to be left alone!" Vorlagos's voice boomed, twisting the truth to fit his narrative. "His miracles—the pacification of the assassin, the humbling of the envoy, the annihilation of the demon—are a cry for recognition! He is showing us his power, waiting for us, his true faithful, to answer the call!"
This was a schism. A holy war brewing in the heart of the Empire. The loyalists, who believed the Librarian wanted peace and quiet, and the heretics—the True Believers—who believed he wanted worship and glory. Both sides were basing their entire worldview on a profound misunderstanding of a man who just wanted a decent sandwich.
"The Emperor's policy of 'tranquility' is blasphemy," Vorlagos declared, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "It is an attempt to starve a god of the faith that is his due. We cannot allow it. We must act. We must make a pilgrimage. We must break through this cowardly quarantine and offer the Master the adulation he has so clearly earned."
Duke Ferrus looked intrigued. "A pilgrimage? Dros and his Crimson Vanguard guard the zone. It would be a civil war."
"Then a holy war it shall be!" Vorlagos roared. "Better to die fighting for the truth than to live placating a coward! We are the Children of the Eye, and we will go to our father!"
The Heresy of the Devout was born. Their first, sacred goal: to march on Oakhaven, breach the quarantine, and throw themselves at the feet of a bewildered bookstore clerk. They would not be bringing trinkets. They would be bringing songs of praise, holy sacraments, and thousands of screaming, fanatical worshippers.
It was the one thing, other than a giant monster, guaranteed to horrify Lyno more than anything in the known universe.
The news of the schism reached King Xylos in Mordus through his few remaining spies. He had been spending his days in a state of profound, strategic paralysis. Attacking the Librarian was suicide. Ignoring him felt equally foolish.
But this new information... this was different.
"So, the mortals tear themselves apart over him," he mused, looking at the report. "One faction tries to build him a cage of silence, the other tries to build him a cathedral of noise. They will inevitably go to war. With each other."
A slow, truly demonic smile spread across his face for the first time in weeks. A new plan, born of his rival's utter failure, began to form.
His first agent, the subtle knife, had been dismissed.
His second agent, the blunt hammer, had been annihilated.
He could not win with subtlety or with force. But chaos... chaos was a different matter entirely. He could not defeat the Librarian, but perhaps he could help break the world around him.
"This is better than any invasion," Xylos whispered to the shadows of his throne room. "I don't need to attack the Librarian. I just need to help his most ardent, and most foolish, worshippers succeed."
He turned to a cloaked figure that had been waiting patiently in the corner. It was his chief diplomat, a silver-tongued demon lord known as a 'Whisperer.'
"You have your mission," Xylos commanded. "Go to the human lands. Find these 'True Believers.' Find this High Priest Vorlagos. You will not offer him armies or demonic pacts. You will offer him... anonymous logistical support. Information on patrol routes for the Crimson Vanguard. Untraceable funds to hire mercenaries. Anonymous tips to sway undecided nobles to his cause."
The Whisperer bowed low. "We are to fan the flames of their holy war, my King?"
"Precisely," Xylos purred. "We will become the secret patrons of the Librarian's most devoted cult. We will help them reach their god. We will help them give him the grand, noisy, spectacular festival of worship he so clearly... doesn't want."
The Demon King's genius had finally found a new path. If he couldn't get close enough to flaw the ritual himself, he would simply fund and equip a thousand screaming, trumpet-blowing, praise-singing fanatics to do it for him. He would weaponize the very concept of a noisy neighbor.
The forces of the universe were now aligning into three distinct, profoundly misguided factions:
Those who wanted to leave Lyno alone.
Those who wanted to worship him loudly.
And those who wanted to help the second group annoy the hell out of the first.
And Lyno... Lyno was about to receive a grilled cheese sandwich.