Jericho's body lay motionless before the divine ore, completely unresponsive.
Then—
light.
A brilliant glow burst outward from his form, flooding the chamber in blinding radiance. The air trembled. The Evolgia Ore pulsed like a living heart—
—and suddenly Jericho gasped.
His back arched as he sucked in air like a drowning man pulled from the depths. His eyes flew open, glowing faintly for just a second before returning to normal. His chest rose and fell violently as he struggled to breathe.
Reality slammed back into him.
Then—
The memory of Nea Zoi's voice struck his mind like divine thunder.
"GOOD LUCK WITH THE LADIES, JERICHO—!"
Jericho's face ignited.
He let out a strangled sound of pure mortification and collapsed straight to the floor, covering his burning face with both hands.
"I swear it's not like that, Lord Nea Zoi!" he shouted to absolutely no one. "It's really not like that!!"
The chamber echoed with his despair.
He stayed frozen for a long moment… then slowly pushed himself up, every ounce of dignity he had left gathering around him like broken armor. Still red-faced, he stumbled toward the massive door, keeping his head lowered.
The door swung open.
Outside, Alice and ArchPriest Leon both jerked in surprise at the sudden movement.
Their eyes immediately locked onto Jericho.
Red-faced.
Avoiding eye contact.
Moving like a guilty man escaping judgment.
Silence fell.
"…Jericho?" Alice called softly.
Jericho froze mid-step.
ArchPriest Leon studied him carefully. "Are you well, my lord?"
Jericho slowly, very slowly, lifted his head. His face was still flushed, but his eyes were steady again.
"I'm… fine," he said quickly. "Perfectly fine. Spiritually stable. Absolutely not traumatized in any way."
Alice blinked. "…What?"
He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "The meeting is over. The gods have given me what I needed."
The moment his voice changed, both Alice and the ArchPriest felt it.
Something about him was… deeper now.
Stronger.
Calmer.
He turned to Alice.
"There's a place I'll need to go," he said. "And I'll need help preparing everything before that."
Alice's eyes sharpened instantly. "Where?"
Jericho's gaze darkened with purpose.
"A land no human should survive in."
A heavy silence fell.
ArchPriest Leon's expression shifted. "…You mean—"
Jericho nodded.
"Mist. The Island of Fiery Mountains."
Alice inhaled sharply. She was the first to break the silence.
"M-Mist…?" she repeated slowly. "You mean that Mist?… where the Island Nation of Tery allegedly last stood?.
Jericho nodded once.
ArchPriest Leon's face hardened instantly. The warmth he always carried vanished beneath a layer of grave authority.
"it's not alleged dear Alice, that land was indeed once a great nation. But it's now a forbidden waste land," he said. "Not by law—but by fate. No expedition sent there has ever returned whole. Even the strongest knights—"
"I know," Jericho cut in calmly.
His composure sent a chill through the chamber.
"I also know what lies there."
Alice's breath caught in her throat.
"You're not saying this lightly… are you?"
Jericho met her eyes.
"There's a material there we will need. Something that can withstand soul energy without tearing apart. Without it, everything we plan to do will fail before it even begins."
ArchPriest Leon studied him for a long moment, then slowly asked:
"What exactly do you intend to do with such a material?"
Jericho clenched his fist.
"I intend to build the first true catalyst for soul energy. A weapon not meant to kill—but to awaken."
Silence.
Even the sacred air of the chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Alice stepped forward.
"Then you're really going to train people with this power, but you stated once that you yourself is new to this soul energy thing.…"
"Yes," Jericho replied. "But I was granted the knowledge from the six on the basics at least. I plan on starting with that first then as I also grow in more understanding you all will too. And also, Jace isn't waiting for us to catch up. He's moving. Recruiting. Corrupting. And next time he strikes, it won't be a forest that falls—it'll be a kingdom."
ArchPriest Leon closed his eyes briefly.
"…Then the world truly has entered its turning point."
He opened them again, resolute.
"The Holy Church will support you however it can."
Jericho blinked in surprise. "You will?"
Leon gave a small, bittersweet smile.
"If the gods themselves entrusted you with this task… then refusing you would be blasphemy."
Alice exhaled slowly.
Then—
Jericho suddenly staggered. His knee hit the floor hard.
Alice's eyes went wide. "Jericho!"
She rushed to his side just as he caught himself with one hand against the marble.
His breathing grew uneven.
ArchPriest Leon moved instantly. "the ore most have taken a lot out of you, and you are still stabilizing," he said. "The Evolgia Ore doesn't release divine contact gently. Your body returned—but your spirit hasn't fully settled."
Jericho tried to stand—and nearly collapsed again.
Alice caught him tightly this time.
"Don't move," she said firmly. "You're shaking."
Only then did she realize.
He was shaking.
Not from fear.
From overload.
His veins faintly glimmered beneath his skin, like silver lightning barely held in place.
"I'm fine," Jericho muttered through clenched teeth. "Just… energy backlash."
"This isn't 'fine,'" Alice snapped. "This is what happens when you strain yourself, you haven't rested at all since we returned, and you are doing much more, this is a sign for you to rest, remember you are also fairly new to soul energy yourself."
ArchPriest Leon placed a hand over Jericho's chest and muttered a brief incantation. A soft golden glow flowed into Jericho's body.
Slowly… the trembling eased.
Jericho exhaled.
"…Thanks."
Leon withdrew his hand. "You will not be fighting anything for a few days."
Jericho immediately protested. "We don't have—"
"That wasn't a request," Leon interrupted.
Alice nodded firmly. "Agreed."
Jericho looked at both of them… then sighed in defeat.
"…Three days," he compromised.
Leon considered it.
"…Acceptable."
Alice tightened her hold on him.
"You're not sneaking off to Mist in three days either," she added.
Jericho hesitated.
Alice narrowed her eyes. "You were thinking it, weren't you?"
"…Maybe a little."
She bonked his forehead lightly.
"Ow."
After it was agreed that Jericho would rest for three full days, he and Alice departed the Holy Church and returned to the royal castle to inform Erica and William that the training of the chosen knights would be postponed.
The castle halls were quieter than usual as they arrived. Evening light spilled through the tall stained windows, painting the stone floors in gold and crimson. Guards saluted as Jericho passed, though many lingered with curious eyes—whispers of his awakening had already begun to spread.
They found Erica and William in the training courtyard.
Erica was in the middle of a sparring drill, her blade flashing like lightning as she pressed William backward with relentless precision. The sound of steel echoed sharply across the stone.
Jericho cleared his throat.
Both of them stopped instantly.
Erica turned first, her sharp eyes narrowing the moment she noticed Jericho's pale complexion and the faint exhaustion still lurking beneath his calm.
"You look like you died and came back in one piece," she said plainly. "Again."
Jericho gave a weak smile. "You're not far off."
Alice stepped forward. "The meeting with the gods took more out of him than expected. The ArchPriest ordered him to rest for three days."
William crossed his arms. "And the soul energy training?"
Jericho lowered his head slightly. "Postponed. I don't think am in any shape to do something like that yet," he said. "besides Alice might end me."
She stepped forward. "Good. You're finally listening when your body tells you to stop."
She then turned serious.
"But that means whatever you learned… was important."
Jericho nodded.
"There's a place I need to go. After I recover."
William's gaze sharpened. "Where?"
Jericho's voice dropped.
"Mist. The Island of Fiery Mountains."
William's expression darkened instantly. "That's suicide."
"And yet," Jericho replied calmly, "it's also the only way forward."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Erica folded her arms. "Then after your rest, we start preparing properly. No half-measures. If we're walking into hell, we have to make sure we are properly prepared for it… so the training will have to come first Jericho… and yes I said we, there's no way we will let you go alone.
Alice looked at Jericho. "And you're not allowed to argue this time."
Jericho chuckled softly. "…I figured."
For the first time since returning from Ego Elysium, despite the danger ahead, Jericho felt something warm settle quietly in his chest.
He wasn't alone.
—
At the very heart of the Human Continent sat the Dynasty of Menssai.
Once, it had been a nation of merchants and light—a place of open gates, golden trade roads, and laughter that traveled freely between borders. In those days, Menssai stood proudly as the fourth most powerful nation in the world, ranking just beneath Warmark, Righteous, and Kosuke.
But that was before the war.
Before the death of its emperor.
Before the fall of its crowned prince.
And before Jace took the throne.
Under his rule, Menssai did not weaken—it evolved into something far more terrifying. The nation rose higher than ever before in raw power… but it did so through blood, conquest, and fear. Jace ruled with an iron fist, and the world learned quickly that the warmth Menssai was once known for had frozen into something merciless.
Now, even the strongest nations spoke its name carefully.
Deep within the imperial capital, inside a vast obsidian hall carved with ancient tyrant runes, Jace sat upon his throne before the leaders of his expanding dominion—kings who had bent the knee willingly… and beings who followed him by choice.
Before him gathered the Grand Four Generals.
Beings feared even in their own lands.
⸻
Pyon.
A Demonoid from the Demonic Nation of Blac—once the proud head of its royal guard. A prodigy of raw demonic power, feared even among his kind. When Blac's new king sought peace and unity with other nations—including humans and Drakziel—Pyon rebelled.
He called it weakness.
His disagreement became treason.
His loyalty became exile.
Now a fugitive general beneath Jace's banner, his presence alone was enough to make entire battalions kneel in terror.
⸻
Nalia.
A Drakziel princess of the Kingdom of Dom—once first in line for the throne. Unstable, violent, and spiraling. Cause of that, her father passed the crown to her younger sister instead.
That decision shattered what little stability remained in her mind.
In madness and rage, she took her father's life.
She fled her kingdom a murderer—until Jace gave her power.
With the strength he bestowed upon her, she crushed those who hunted her. Now, she moves openly toward reclaiming Dom by force, dragging her homeland into civil war.
One of the few Drakziel to fully master complete dragon transformation—a rare and terrifying talent.
Brilliant.
Unhinged.
She is also a someone highly in Jace favor — as they both have more than a platonic relationship together.
⸻
Drako.
A hot-headed Drakziel who grew up not among his own kind, but in the Human Kingdom of Righteous as a mercenary. His childhood was stained with blood, contracts, and corpses. He learned no mercy. Only strength.
Fearless.
Battle-crazed.
Alive only when fighting.
He does not care who stands before him. If they are worthy—he will fight them to the death.
The stronger the enemy, the more his blood sings.
They call him the Grim-Ripper.
And he earns the name every time.
⸻
Nass.
A Demonoid from a small forgotten town near the nation of Veviara. Once respected. Once rising in status. Until she was framed—destroyed by lies and greed she could not fight alone.
That day shattered her faith in the world.
And birthed her desire to reshape it.
She found Jace not as a savior—but as a necessary weapon. Calm. Calculated. Always thinking several moves ahead, she is the most dangerous kind of intelligence.
Not loud.
Not reckless.
Unavoidable.
⸻
They now sat together in the Audience Hall of Menssai, having arrived from their respective territories scattered across the world.
A massive rectangular table of black stone stood at the center of the chamber, carved with conquest sigils and ancient war crests. Ten seats lined its sides—every one occupied by rulers, warlords, and generals who held entire nations in their hands.
At the head of the table sat Jace.
Behind him stood Kolpa and Demiurge, one on either side—a silent wall of intimidation, their presence alone bending the air with pressure.
The hall was utterly silent.
Then—
Jace slowly leaned forward.
And began to speak.
Jace slowly lifted his hand, the faintest smile resting on his lips.
"I am glad you all took the time to answer my summons," he said calmly. "Especially with your… demanding schedules. And the great distances your territories span across the world."
Pyon immediately bent forward in his seat, lowering his head with reverence.
"Of course, Lord Jace," he said fervently, adoration shining in his eyes. "Compared to your greatness, we are nothing more than insects. To defy you would be nothing short of suicide."
A low scoff cut through the air.
Drako leaned back in his chair with clear irritation etched across his face. "So why are we really here, your lordship?" he sneered. "I was in the middle of something before you dragged me here. I hope this isn't a waste of my time."
The temperature of the room dropped.
Kolpa's eyes flared with murderous fury as he stepped forward. "You filthy little insect—no… even that disgraces real insects. You speck of dust. How dare you speak to the Lord of the World in that manner?"
Drako stood up slowly, cracking his neck as he faced Kolpa head-on. "Well… well, fancy pants. I talk however I want to whoever I want. I answer to no one. I'm only here because your lord invited me. I don't owe him—or you—anything."
Kolpa's aura erupted.
The air thickened violently as his soul energy flooded the chamber, crushing down like an invisible mountain. The stone beneath his boots cracked under the pressure as he advanced slowly.
"Oh… you truly do not know who you stand before," Kolpa said darkly. "I only pray realization comes too late—because I will savor ripping out your soul and feeding it to the dogs of the underworld."
The tension became unbearable.
Then—
"Kolpa."
Jace's voice cut through the pressure like an absolute command.
"Stand down."
But the words that followed were not spoken for all to understand.
[He is still useful. You will not destroy him yet. Step back.]
The language of the gods flowed silently between them.
Kolpa froze.
Then, with visible restraint, the crushing pressure vanished. He stepped back slowly, returning to Jace's side—but his eyes never left Drako.
Drako smirked. "Yeah… that's right. Listen to your master."
Kolpa only smiled in return.
Behind the table, Nass remained perfectly still—yet inside, fear rippled through her mind.
{I have a feeling Young Master Jace just saved Drako's life…} she thought, a bead of sweat sliding down her temple. {Those two behind him… they are not ordinary humans. That aura… I'm not even sure they are human at all.}
Jace rose to his feet.
Instantly, the room shifted.
Chairs scraped softly as the kings and generals adjusted their posture in fear and reverence. No one dared meet his gaze.
"And you, Drako," Jace said calmly, stepping forward.
His voice lowered.
"I understand your circumstances differ from the others present here. Still, I would advise you to restrain your… unruly temperament."
His smile sharpened.
"Or I will be forced to remind you why I bear the title of Lord of the World."
The temperature plummeted.
"No one," Jace continued softly, "is irreplaceable."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I suggest you remember that the next time you open your mouth in my presence. For your sake."
Drako felt a cold shiver streak down his spine.
Sweat formed at his temples.
"…Yes, Lord Jace," he muttered in defeat.
"Excellent," Jace said pleasantly as he returned to his seat. "I'm glad we understand each other once more."
He leaned back and crossed his legs.
"Now—before I address the true reason for your summons, I would like a report on each of your assigned objectives. Tell me of your progress."
The room exhaled as one.