Shoutout to |Raimonds Skuja|—the latest to claim the Supreme Being rank. Your support keeps the Wi-Fi on and the chapters coming!
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The next morning, Helant gently pushed away Albedo's warm, soft body. A small, disappointed cry escaped her lips.
"Lord Helant~" Albedo propped her chin on one hand. A satisfied blush colored her cheeks. "Sleep a little longer~"
"Get some rest. We will continue tonight." Helant reached out and pinched her fair cheek lightly. "The forged history Demiurge prepared is ready. I need to go take a look."
Albedo's overwhelming charm tested his resolve. Helant had to forcibly suppress rising desire with cold logic and quickly leave the bed.
Even though he genuinely wanted to turn the morning into a second round.
However, the Holy Domain God Lord urgently required a believable origin story that the world would accept without question.
Ignoring her exposed skin, Albedo sat up immediately to help Helant dress. Her jade-like hands glided over every line of muscle, causing her own body to tremble faintly. Her voice softened with reverence. "I have already made arrangements on the Holy Kingdom's side. We are only waiting for the history Demiurge created, and for you, the Holy Domain God Lord~"
Mentioning that title brought last night's "battle" vividly to mind: Helant's exquisite form where divinity and raw desire intertwined so perfectly.
Haah~ Lord Helant is the best!
Once Helant was fully dressed, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I am heading out."
Under Albedo's tender, wife-like gaze, as though seeing her husband off to work, Helant's figure flashed and vanished from the room.
A second later, Albedo's gentle expression melted into a doting, almost predatory smile. She sprawled across the bed, inhaling deeply the lingering scent Helant had left behind.
"Sluuurp, Lord Helant~ the first time was so wonderful~"
….
Inside a quiet reception room in Nazarick.
Demiurge sat on the sofa, still wearing his immaculate orange suit.
His thin back remained perfectly straight, and even the demon tail behind him coiled neatly, betraying none of the inner turmoil.
On the low coffee table before him rested an ancient-looking book. It appeared freshly excavated from some forgotten tomb: pages yellowed and tattered, edges frayed, sections incomplete.
The blurred, archaic handwriting revealed only scattered legible fragments: "Holy Domain God Lord," "Sorcerer King," "Jaldabaoth."
Demiurge leaned forward slightly. He clasped his hands together to support his chin in a pose of deep contemplation.
This was the first mission directly entrusted to him by the great Supreme Being, Lord Helant: forging a complete historical record for the Holy Domain God Lord and the Sorcerer King.
"The Holy Kingdom, the Theocracy, and the Empire… this history will be 'accidentally' fall into the hands of those who should know it. Now, all that remains is for Lord Helant to inspect it…"
Demiurge slowly straightened his back again. His hands rested on the crisp fabric of his suit trousers. The veins on them stood out faintly.
This marked his first time reporting work directly to a Supreme Being. Nervousness, fear, and unease rose involuntarily within his otherwise rational mind.
He had completed the task entirely on his own. Lord Helant had delegated full authority from the beginning, stating only, "I trust your abilities. You only need to show me the final result."
Those words placed an invisible mountain of pressure on Demiurge's shoulders.
As an NPC, he cared far too deeply about the opinions of the Supreme Beings.
"What if… what if the Supreme Being is dissatisfied with my results…"
The veins on his hands and forehead bulged noticeably. His tail began to sway through the air of its own accord, betraying the agitation beneath his composed exterior.
As per Lord Helant's explicit request, he was to report only after every arrangement had been finalized.
In other words, if Lord Helant found fault with the outcome, there would be...
Will Lord Helant stop trusting me for his future plans?
Being criticized was a minor concern. Far worse would be the possibility of jeopardizing Lord Helant's grander plans because of some overlooked flaw.
With a heart full of apprehension, Demiurge settled into a long, tense wait.
Perhaps a great deal of time passed. Perhaps only a brief moment.
Helant's figure appeared silently before him.
Demiurge shot to his feet and bowed deeply. "Lord Helant, the forged historical documents are here."
He bent forward slightly, but his movements were extremely stiff, like a taut orange rope pulled to its limit.
Seeing this, Helant smiled helplessly and sat down on the opposite sofa. "Do not be nervous. Sit."
Why does Demiurge look exactly like a corporate employee reporting to the boss's office?
Demiurge rigidly straightened his back and sat upright once more. Yet his tone remained remarkably calm as he handed over the document. "Lord Helant, these are the forged historical documents."
His eyes, hidden behind reflective lenses, followed Helant's every movement with nervous intensity.
Helant accepted the ancient tome. A faint scent of damp earth and aged parchment drifted toward him.
He ran his fingers lightly over the pages, feeling their moist, soft, fragile texture.
The effect was remarkably similar to genuine unearthed ancient texts from his memories.
He let out a soft chuckle. "Hmm, not bad."
Receiving even this initial approval, Demiurge's tail gave a small, involuntary wag before stiffening again.
Because Helant's finger now pointed toward the contents of the pages.
Demiurge knew that perfecting the exterior appearance of the ancient book was merely the first step. The actual written history within carried far greater weight.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His hands clasped together reflexively.
Flip… flip…
Helant turned a few pages casually. The deliberately aged, cramped handwriting proved difficult to read comfortably, so he simply stopped and looked up at Demiurge.
"I trust your work."
Those simple words placed even greater invisible pressure on Demiurge.
Now came the moment to reveal the true results.
To ensure nothing could go wrong, he had exhausted every ounce of his intellect to guarantee the forged text would naturally reach exactly the intended recipients.
"Let us start with the Empire." Helant set the ancient book aside and leaned back lazily on the sofa. "The candidate for the Empire is Fluder."
"Yes."
Demiurge stood immediately and cast a surveillance spell.
An illusory water mirror condensed in the air before Helant. An image soon resolved within it.
An elderly man appeared: white hair and long beard, dressed in flowing white robes.
Demiurge introduced him formally. "Fluder, the Chief Court Mage of the Baharuth Empire. A man who has lived for over two hundred years and can wield Tier Six Magic. He is known across the continent as 'Humanity's Strongest Magic Caster.'"
At this point, Demiurge clenched his fists. His body tensed once more.
Fluder was undoubtedly the most powerful magic caster active on the surface of this world. If even he accepted the forged history as truth, then Lord Helant and Lord Momonga's plans would proceed without flaw.
But the problem remained: even the ants of this world possessed a surprising degree of wisdom.
Especially after Demiurge had already noticed the girl named Renner. That individual displayed intellect rivaling his own.
Because of this, Demiurge felt even greater concern. What would happen if Fluder detected even the slightest inconsistency?
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