The war triggered by the confrontation between two intersecting alliances—[Roman Catholicism + Russian Orthodox Church + Cross-faith allied nations influenced by religion (mainly from the Old European continent and North African countries)] versus [Academy City + Anglican Church + emerging secular regimes dominated by scientific power (primarily North America and pan-Pacific nations)]—
This is the most widely accepted academic viewpoint on the formal outbreak of World War III.
Some even go further, arguing that this was never a mere conflict between Roman Catholicism and Academy City, nor simply a war between nations. It was the uprising of emerging forces against the old world order.
And the reasoning is quite sound.
Both camps had factions from both the magical and scientific sides.
Roman Catholicism and the Russian Orthodox Church were entrenched beneficiaries of the old order. Roman Catholicism in particular, posing as the shepherd of God's will on Earth, claimed dominion over the "management and operation of the world," reaping countless benefits.
Meanwhile, Academy City only emerged in the 20th century, a clear representative of the new powers. Its rise inevitably shook the foundations of the magical world. A collision was only a matter of time.
As for the Anglican Church—tch, the eternal troublemaker.
Yes, it emerged quite early. Back in the latter half of the 16th century, when King Henry VIII broke with the Vatican, the Roman Catholic Church in Britain became a tool of royal governance, led by the monarch.
Within the church, some devout believers called for the removal of Catholic remnants from the national religion. Their doctrine was labeled "Puritanism," and they became known as Puritans. Thus, the Anglican Church formally distinguished itself from Roman Catholicism.
At one time, as the British Empire basked in its global dominance, the Anglican Church became another major stakeholder in the old order—thanks to its long-standing policy of "continental balance," it even became the greatest beneficiary.
Alas, that's all ancient history now. Two world wars later, despite its best efforts, the empire on which the sun never sets has long faded into twilight.
And Roman Catholicism's favoritism—or betrayal—is self-evident. France, after all, was known as the "Eldest Daughter of the Church."
In the world of Index, even in times devoid of overt monsters and gods, the most powerful and dominant entities were never sovereign states. Take Roman Catholicism at its peak: more than 2 billion adherents (regardless of devotion level), influence spread across 113 countries.
By the 21st century, England's voice on the continent had been all but drowned out by its old rival, France.
Tried to steal a chicken, lost the rice instead—now once more isolated offshore. Whether Britain brought this on itself, well... that's for the wise and the just to debate.
Centuries of British-French rivalry. The clash between U.S.-centric and Euro-centric economies. The currency war between the euro and the dollar...
Every theory seems to hold some merit. Truly, the world is chaos.
And this sort of thing never ends... World War III is simply another reshuffling of the global deck.
Look at that—no sooner had the Third Princess Carissa assumed regency than she took up arms and marched off to have a physical "chat" with France.
Across the globe, aside from the direct clash between Roman Catholicism and Academy City in the Battle of the Strait of Malacca, the fiercest combat is the Battle of Calais between England and France.
Both sides deployed strategic magical arsenals. In France, along the Calais–Gravelines line, the leaders of both nations—Princess Carissa and the "Maiden of Versailles"—were already in brutal, close-quarters battle.
There was also the Battle of the Bering Strait between the North American coalition and Russia, the Allied landings in Central and West Africa (traditional French strongholds), and the Russian air and naval siege against the Japanese archipelago…
The scent of gunpowder had spread across the globe. Among each camp's respective allies, most had already given up hope for a swift resolution.
Civilians stockpiled supplies, built shelters in the countryside, and prepared for a prolonged war like the previous two world wars—or even nuclear escalation.
Selene's response to all this was—decapitation operations.
She wasn't Khorne, after all; she wasn't about to behead over two billion people one by one.
Vatican City had already been blown to dust by her. As for the Russian Orthodox Church, dealing with it was both incredibly difficult and laughably simple.
Bishop Nikolai Tolstoy, a war-hungry and greedy loose cannon—was physically erased.
Then the Archbishop, who looked like a submissive pushover with "easily controlled" written all over his face, was extracted from captivity and ordered to withdraw the Russian Federation from its war against Academy City, shifting all blame onto Roman Catholicism.
Just like that, more than half the problem was resolved.
If anyone objected, the red-robed nun at her side would handle it.
Now armed with righteousness, any number of wartime purges could be justified. In a place like Russia, where leadership style tended to be... blunt, this was par for the course.
Vasilisa, as the leader of the Russian Orthodox Church's elite magical combat unit, the Annihilatus, was also a powerful mage in her own right. Her true age was unknown; the magic she practiced kept her body ageless, making it impossible to guess her age from her appearance.
...Probably another ancient monster.
"So it's like a blade resting against the throat, huh? That's about right. Roman Catholicism was destined to be obsolete. Europe only needs one voice."
A ripple of space-time, visible to the naked eye, surged around the silver-haired beauty.
Her silky waist-length silver hair fluttered in the night breeze, the hem of her dress embroidered with sacred lilies twisted amid shimmering particles of light. Her raised arm moved her white gloves and shoulder cloak.
Her battle attire, styled like an evening gown, clung tightly to her slender form—both practical for combat and alluring in design. The white-gold outer skirt, embroidered with white blossoms, parted in narrow vertical slits around her hips, baring her shapely legs with each stride, thighs and calves smoothly from folds of flowing fabric down to the delicate shine of her high heels.
Buzz—!
The rift in spacetime vanished. Through the cathedral's corridor windows, one could see the morning sun beginning to rise.
"Ugh… uuuh!!"
Now that the terrifying shadow had left, Krans R. Tsarskiy—still not yet sixteen—wanted to scream, but it felt like something had clogged his throat. Not a single sound came out.
He was too afraid. He wanted to crawl back to the monastic palace—the only place he felt safe. But after being lifted into the air by Selene and carried through space, his body was drained. He couldn't even muster the strength to twitch.
All those years in captivity, barely seeing any outsiders—and now this overwhelming shock…
"Archbishop, we must immediately issue a ceasefire declaration. With every second we delay, countless Russian Orthodox believers lose their lives in this cursed, meaningless war."
Vasilisa gently took Krans by the hand and led him toward the exit of Saint Basil's Cathedral.
"Once I do what she asks... will she let me go?"
Trailing behind her, Krans raised his head after a long silence.
Vasilisa didn't answer. She knew full well—this was just escaping one wolf to fall into the jaws of another. Krans's fate would be nothing more than a puppet controlled by Selene. And she... had no choice.
Sasha had been captured by Fiamma of the Right because of her special magical constitution—"tactical adaptability against all scenarios." According to Selene, she had been taken to the South Asian subcontinent, heading toward the Strait of Malacca.
Vasilisa had no power to save her. All she could do now was serve as Selene's tool in seizing control of the Russian Orthodox Church. But if Selene could rescue Sasha, what did heresy matter? Could anything be worse than open war?
...
Strait of Malacca.
Dawn had barely broken. Amid the drifting snowfall, as far as the eye could see, snow had blanketed all of Sumatra. Green and brown had been replaced entirely by white—pure, unbroken snow.
Rumble—!
Fierce winds raged. The entire strait plunged into darkness. A blizzard blanketed the sky and blocked out the light, plunging the hundreds of kilometers of surrounding sea into what looked like a new Ice Age.
In the next moment, the clouds collapsed inward and began to swirl, forming a massive ring of storm clouds revolving around a towering central ice spire.
Boom!
In the distance, the deafening sound of an enormous ice anchor detonating upon impact with land echoed out.
This was no fire-based explosion.
It was an eruption of frost sand!
The ensuing shockwave manifested as countless ice spears—each hundreds of meters long, sharper than steel—bursting in every direction, numbering in the tens or hundreds of thousands.
The earth itself was gouged open. Massive amounts of snow and twisted black metal fragments flew into the sky. Clearly, the Academy City base buried deep underground had been breached. The sheer scale and power of the strike meant even the most hidden bunkers would have their metaphorical "skulls" pried off.
Cracked wide-bore cannon barrels and the remnants of armored vehicles plummeted from above, slamming into the snow and scattering. So many circuit boards rained down that the excess triggered visible electric arcs.
"Hahaha… finally cracked open your little turtle shell. Whether it's the 'Son of God' or the Queen of the Adriatic Sea, the Cross Faith has countless tales of calming storms and safeguarding ships. My domain is wind and air—and oceanic storms are fundamentally wind and water combined."
Surrounded by hundreds of icy escort ships, the radiant moonlit flagship, the Queen of the Adriatic Sea, shimmered under the storm. On the prow, Vento of the Front grinned maniacally.
"Hey, idiot! You see how the Queen of the Adriatic Sea is supposed to be used now?! Who cares if those old fossils are dead—so long as God's Right Seat remains, this isn't over!"
Under that openly scornful gaze, the bruised and battered Biagio Busoni dared not refute her.
It wasn't just the vast gulf in ability to command the Queen of the Adriatic Sea. More importantly, he had just learned of Vatican City's annihilation, and the deaths of the Pope and the cardinals.
This might be Roman Catholicism's final, large-scale organized magical combat unit... He felt lost. Seizing power while no one was watching?
Forget it. At this point, taking over wouldn't be reaping the rewards—it'd be painting a target on his back!
Unless he had the power to turn the tide. But did he?
He wanted to, but the harsh truth was—he didn't.
Arrogant, perhaps, but not stupid. He knew his limits.
"Hmph." Seeing Biagio recoil, Vento of the Front snorted.
Crackle!
Suddenly, arcs of electricity erupted wildly from a crater of twisted metal in the earth. The bluish-white arcs deepened in hue, shifting toward navy blue.
Nearby, the remains of armored vehicles began to converge under the magnetic influence, fusing into a conical black mass. As the metals melded, a deep rumbling filled the air.
A railgun...? Vento's fingers twitched around her flail. Staring at the arc-wrapped metal spike, her lips curled.
"Perfect!"
The massive conical ice anchor at the prow lifted, glowing white under her command like a giant bulb.
BOOM!!
Almost simultaneously, a brilliant thunderbolt shot down from the sky like a heavenly spear.
Then—CRACK!—
The glowing lightning and the icy anchor collided. A blinding flash froze in the sky for a split second—like time stood still—before...
Crack!
The anchor shattered from the inside out. Its sheer scale made the explosion deafening. Fragments blasted away in every direction, carried by the shockwave.
Shards of ice, several meters long, rained down across the Queen's fleet like artillery, turning the frozen sea into a cratered mess resembling the moon's surface.
Even the ice railing near Vento cracked under the barrage.
"Nice hit!" she shouted gleefully. Her tongue flicked like a serpent's, and with a metallic ting, a thin metal chain slowly slid from between her lips.
Buzz!
"Come on, give me more!"
The entire Queen's Fleet pivoted. Their ice-based cannons mounted along the ship's sides groaned as they locked onto the lightning's origin.
BOOM BOOM BOOM—!
The sky turned icy white. Even if the shells were made of ice, the sheer spectacle of the barrage was overwhelming.
In the next second, another railgun beam precisely intercepted the rising ice shells. From within the smoke clouds, a figure burst skyward, breaking the sound barrier. White end-times wings unfurled from the steel forest below, followed by streaks of lime-green beams...
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