BOOM!
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
Blinding bolts of lightning shot into the heavens, each thunderclap exploding like a mine in the ears, pounding the eardrums like a heavy hamr.
The trendous roar of thunder bridging heaven and earth shook even the skies, its reverberations visible to the naked eye—wave after wave of resounding blasts, distant and muffled at first, then swiftly nearing, sharp and deafening.
Crack-crack-crack—!
From the very foundations of Elkia’s royal castle, cracks spread like countless serpents crawling madly outward.
Snap, crackle, pop~
In that instant, every citizen near the royal castle saw it—the incandescent glow of lightning, godlike in brilliance, bursting from the fissures of the great hall.
"The royal castle?!"
"Isn’t today the final day of the ’Royal Selection Tournant’ gambling cycle?"
"The coronation of the new king... what happened?!"
People murmured anxiously.
"This... this doesn’t look like a ga. It looks like a fight? Wait—! A fight?!"
Almost instinctively, the realization sent chills through every Elkian. Thoughts of curiosity vanished, replaced by raw survival instinct.
"Impossible!"
"A battle?! But the First Covenant of the Ten forbids all killing, war, and plunder!!"
But before the citizens could sort through their chaotic thoughts—
BOOOOOOMMMMM!!
A greater shock struck. The stone-paved avenues shattered in an instant, shockwaves tearing through flowerbeds and gardens around the castle, sending fountains of debris surging more than ten ters high.
The oncoming blast of force made the watching citizens stumble, nearly falling flat on their faces.
At the sa ti, panicked footsteps and shrill cries echoed from the castle’s trembling gates.
"A new god! A new god has co!"
"The gods’ war is beginning! The Ten Covenants of the God of Gas have lost their power!"
"Great God of Gas, where are you?!"
They were the nobles of Elkia, who had co to witness the coronation.
But now—those once dignified aristocrats were indistinguishable from commoners, their finery forgotten, reduced to terrified, scrambling wretches fleeing for their lives.
"AAAAHHHHHHH—!!"
"We’re going to die, going to die, going to die!!"
A red-haired, spiky-headed boy hefted his fragile, doll-like younger sister onto his back and yanked a crimson-haired girl with him, screaming madly, his voice shrill and desperate.
"Stephanie! Didn’t you say it was just gambling?! Why are they fighting? With our flimsy bodies, one lightning strike and we’ll be ash!!"
The boy ran amid the stampede, his sharp eyes scanning in every direction, his instincts guiding him to dodge the collapsing walls and falling stones with astonishing precision.
"Brother..."
On his back, the frail white-haired girl buried her face against him, her long ssy bangs hiding her crimson eyes as she whimpered like a frightened animal.
The sudden storm of lightning and killing intent had terrified her completely.
"Don’t be afraid, Shiro. Brother is here. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I—"
CRASH—BOOOOM!
Another thunderclap tore through the air. Long after, the tremors still rattled their eardrums, leaving the boy fearing he had gone deaf.
Closing his mouth, the red-haired youth kept running. Yet perhaps from curiosity, or that reckless impulse unique to a certain kind of teenager, he dared glance back.
In his crimson pupils was reflected the sight of the royal hall collapsing completely, and the pillar of blue-white lightning piercing the heavens.
The sunlight was blotted out completely by thunderclouds. Bolts of lightning, thick as barrels, filled the sky, forming massive whirlpools of light, suffocating in their intensity.
Honestly... God of Gas, can I go ho?
The thought suddenly appeared in the mind of the boy nad Sora.
So different from the arrogant, confident, and cocky declaration he had made just minutes earlier: "At last, I’ve co to a world where I can be reborn... Then I’ll beco king, reclaim territory, and play to my heart’s content!"
This wasn’t him quitting halfway—it was him being tricked!
Yes. My na is Sora, eighteen years old. I once lived with my sister Shiro in another world.
One day, in a chess ga, we defeated a god nad Tet—the God of Gas. And then he brought us to this strange fantasy world called ’Disboard.’
A world where gas decided everything, where winning a ga ant gaining everything—it thrilled .
Soon after, Shiro and I arrived at the last human nation of Disboard—Elkia. There, we t Stephanie Dola, granddaughter of Elkia’s late king.
Through a series of encounters, I ca to see Stephanie as a kind and gentle girl. I decided to help her defeat Kurami Zell, who had cheated with the aid of other races to win.
But...
Tet, you said you were the only god, that in this world even gods could not kill one another, right?
And yet the attacker who appeared just now recited a litany of divine nas... and every one of them sounded terrifying. Not to ntion the sheer power was overwhelming.
Even though I bolted the mont things went wrong, I still caught the words: End, Destruction, Slaughter, War...
Listen to that! Those domains make Tet’s ’Gas’ sound laughable by comparison.
Why is it that I’ve barely arrived, played a few gas, and already gods are at war?!
Just then, a soft, trembling voice broke through my thoughts. "Stephanie, what’s wrong?"
Shaking off his panic, Sora realized he had to pull harder on Stephanie’s hand to keep her moving. Her pace was slowing.
She stopped altogether, then suddenly tore free and ran back. "Eh?! Are you crazy, Stephanie?! It’s dangerous!"
"I am a Dola! Guarding Elkia is my responsibility! The library—it was my grandfather’s life’s work! I can’t let it be destroyed!"
Her erald eyes shone with determination. Though tears brimd at the corners, she overca her instinctive terror of the thunder and sprinted toward the royal library.
Sora didn’t understand why, but he instinctively followed.
For so reason, he felt an unusual fondness for this girl he hadn’t known long. Was it attraction? Or a bond like family? He couldn’t say. It was as if it had always been there.
The last ti he’d felt this way was when his father remarried, bringing into his life a new little sister—Shiro.
A genius girl, born with unmatched intellect.
And her brother, born with innate flaws, his abilities lacking.
Too abnormal to fit in, the two matched more perfectly than real siblings ever could.
"Stephanie, down!" Sora shouted.
In that instant, he lunged, tackling her to the ground. A heartbeat later, a thunderous blast shook the air as a section of wall collapsed, and a brilliant slash of lightning carved through, scattering rubble.
BOOOOM!
One after another, cascading strikes poured down like a waterfall, the sound swelling like waves before ending in a crashing impact like a mountain falling.
"You okay?"
Sora pushed himself up, sniffing the air. The acrid scent of ozone filled his nose, the sll of air scorched by lightning’s searing heat.
"Brother..."
Shiro crept up beside him, her eyes shimring with tears. Pitifully, she raised her phone, encased in a pink bunny cover. "My phone broke..."
The violent electromagnetic aftershocks swept across them again and again. With no military-grade shielding, civilian electronics had already failed. Smoke thickened in the air.
Sora could already picture it—his ga consoles and tablet, brought from his old world, were probably dead too.
This world is too dangerous. Shiro and I should just go back...
"Staying is suicide. This place is too dangerous. So long as we live, there’s always another chance," Sora urged desperately.
"But..."
The responsibility of royal blood made Stephanie hesitate. Then suddenly, her erald eyes widened. Trembling, she pointed behind them. "Sora, Shiro—behind you...!"
"A phone? An electronic device with no place in a dieval fantasy world... So, you two are the so-called outsiders?"
A woman’s charming laugh echoed with the click of heels crunching over stone. Out of the smoke of collapsed walls carved open by lightning, a tall, black-robed woman stepped forth.
Her wine-red clawed rings glead like the scythes of death itself. From the haze shone serpentine pupils—rose-red eyes glowing ominously. Shiro shrank back behind her brother, trembling.
"Stephanie Dola, descendant of Elkia’s royal line... and two extraordinary yet utterly feeble outsiders. It seems my luck is good."
"I surrender! I surrender! I demand protection under the Geneva Conventions!"
Exposed by a single glance at their phone, hearing words like ’dieval’ and ’fantasy’ spoken aloud—Sora flung his arms wide before the black-robed woman, shouting with all his might.
If they refused to play gas, refused to fight with brains, and instead put a blade to his throat—what else could he do?
"..."
At his cry, Natasha Cioara gave a short laugh.
As expected. Outsiders. Just like them, these two were foreigners to Disboard...
"Take them. If they resist, execute at your discretion."
"Yes, ma’am." ×N
From the shadows, Imperial infiltrators erged. In the terrified eyes of the boy, the girl, and Stephanie, they clamped on shackles, chains, and gags, then bundled them roughly into sacks.
When it was done, Cioara pressed her earpiece. "Spectators dispersed. Three targets secured. Electric Dragon, do you need assistance?"
"No. Cioara, clear out the civilians and seal the castle."
"You’re rciful. From what I know, the Luna Wolves soldiers don’t see these humans as kin at all."
"They’re irrelevant. Within the bounds of Imperial law, this is my personal choice."
Clang—!
A white radiance flared. The on ring of sanction manifested. Crimson oni horns jutted from her brow, her armor reflecting violet lightning. From the void, Raiden i drew the thunder-clad blade, the Domain of Sanction. Its crackling wail matched the sparks along its edge, framing her sharp eyes beneath her violet princess-cut hair.
The elf Fiel Nilvalen’s khaki cloak was in tatters, her body seared with countless blackened burns. Bloodied indentations marred her skin, the proof of battle’s toll.
"I’m curious," i said coldly. "From what I know, humans in elven lands are less than cattle—slaves. And yet you, an elf, risk your life to protect this puppet. Even to the death."
"What makes her so special? Or were you given a death order to guard her?"
i knew nothing of Kurami Zell and Fiel Nilvalen’s bond. All she knew was what intelligence had told her. And the harder Fiel fought to shield Kurami, the more curious i beca.
This elf was willing to risk everything to protect a human girl. Instinctively, i judged: Kurami Zell must hold a secret of imnse importance.
"Very well. Let’s see what makes her so different!"
BZZZZT—BOOOOM!!
Raiden i’s brows drew tight with killing intent. Violet-red lightning burst outward, the ring of thunder blazing bright behind her, crimson oni armor manifesting. Her divine majesty was like a prison, like a queen of thunder descending upon the world.
"Impossible! How could Fiel lose? The elves’ magic never loses to any race—that is why they are Disboard’s greatest nation. To face them head-on is certain defeat, without exception."
The frail, black-haired girl Kurami Zell struggled to push off the rubble pinning her down.
Her veil was gone, her mourning garb in tatters, her body sared with dust and stone fragnts. Her small face was cut with sharp scratches. Despite the elf Fiel Nilvalen’s desperate efforts to protect her, the weakness of the human body was all too clear.
Even the shockwaves alone had sent her sprawling, her head ringing, her movents sluggish and unsteady.
Raised in the elven nation of Elven Gard, she had grown up accustod to elven victories. Now, faced with her mistress Fiel’s defeat, her worldview shattered. She could hardly believe it.
(PS: Due to the elves’ system of slavery, Fiel Nilvalen was nominally Kurami Zell’s master. But in daily life, the two addressed each other as friends.)
"Kurami... cough, cough... I will protect you."
Fiel forced up another defensive spell. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Though capable of wielding seven-layered spellwork simultaneously, she had never once fought a real battle. Born after the Great War, she had only ever used magic to assist in gas.
But against Raiden i—this was a real fight. And with Kurami at her side, a burden to defend, she was more cornered than ever.
"Unbound by the Ten Covenants... an Old Deus..."
Her eyes lifted to the blazing thunder ring above, a manifestation of lightning itself.
A terrifying thought crossed Fiel Nilvalen’s mind.
Why had Tet, the God of Gas, not intervened?
She had studied the Nilvalen family’s archives regarding the Old Deus.
The Old Deus—
First of the Ixseed. Beings born of wishes and concepts, arising from the planet’s essence, granted divinity through prayer and desire, thus attaining the Divine Essence.
Lightning, too, held the potential to give birth to such a god.
Just like her people’s Creator God—Kaeneth, the Forest God.
The Ten Covenants bound the Ixseed, yes. But against the first of them, the Old Deus, such restrictions held little weight.
The God of Gas was only the representative of that race.
Should a new god arise—especially one born from the primal concept of lightning itself—unless Tet used the power of the Suniaster, even he might be unable to stop it.
"If you seek the world’s faith, if you an to gain strength through prayer and worship, then so long as you spare Kurami..."
"I, Fiel Nilvalen, head of the Nilvalen family of Elven Gard, hereditary High Council mber and acting senator, swear this: I will lead the elves to worship you."
"And if Kurami is crowned Queen of Elkia, all humanity will bow to you as well."
Her decision was instant. If Raiden i truly was Old Deus, then there was no point in continuing. Defeat was absolute.
So races could slay gods—but not the elves.
In Disboard’s history, only two had done so. One had nearly been exterminated for it. The other—created as weapons by gods themselves—had annihilated the divine entirely.
And now, Fiel sensed other powerful presences closing in, their killing intent locked onto Kurami.
"I surrender. May we speak?"
"Surrender?"
She was no Astartes, bred for slaughter. Despite her cold exterior, Raiden i’s heart was far softer than Durandal, the fleet commander.
Slowly, she descended. With a casual sweep, she set the thunder-clad blade—the Domain of Sanction—against the elf’s slender throat.
"I can promise it."
Hands raised, unresisting, Fiel Nilvalen t her gaze, unwavering, her voice firm as she declared her vow.
—
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