Supreme Assembly of States (S.A.S.)
The silence filling that chamber was heavier than any sword.
The walls, veiled in ancient tapestries and the standards of every realm, could not hide the palpable tension. A vast circular table of black onyx gleamed beneath a dome of smoked glass, through which a blood-red sky loomed—as though even the gods themselves bore witness to the prelude of catastrophe.
In one corner, seated with a sly grin as he carved a slice of perfectly cooked meat, sat the King of Hokori, Genshin no Ikkaku. He wore dark robes threaded with gold, crowned with an ornament of jade. At his side, standing like a silent sentinel, was Kyomu, encased in his towering black armor forged from the steel of Mount Akuma. His crescent helm lay at his side, exposing eyes void of all emotion. His very presence was enough to freeze the blood of any commander.
At the far end of the hall sat Shinsei Kōji, the self-proclaimed Chosen of God, sovereign of Sainokuni. His white robe, embroidered with sacred sigils, shone as though the sun itself bent only toward him. He did not eat. He did not stir. He simply watched, serenity cloaking something more unsettling.
Between them, at the center, loomed Zanka, tyrant of Enketsu, his fingers clad with rings of bone, his cloak trailing blood across the floor. Beside him stood Aram Khan, Supreme Commander of Sabaku, arms folded, hawk eyes cutting through the chamber. Next to him, Princess Yukihana of Yukiguni, wrapped in a faint frost that shielded her from the oppressive heat of politics. And beyond, the aged yet unbroken High Priest Maharen of the Sacred Lands of Reimei—staff in hand, his gaze still pious though frayed by decades of wars that should never have been.
Empty chairs abounded—minor kingdoms, vanished rulers, clans without voice. A symbolic scene of a world no longer diplomatic, but afraid.
Genshin no Ikkaku broke the silence, biting into his meat and drinking carelessly.
"Sending an ultimatum," he said, wiping his mouth with a black silk cloth, "is nothing but a coward's way of declaring war. At least have the balls to say it to our faces."
Shinsei Kōji did not flinch. Not even a blink.
"We seek only to reclaim what was ours by divine right. The lands lost are but an extension of the celestial promise granted to Sainokuni. This is no war. This is restitution."
Zanka shifted in his seat but did not speak. Aram Khan's fists tightened. Yukihana lowered her gaze. With each word, the air grew heavier.
Then Maharen stepped forward, voice trembling, yet held firm by faith.
"This is madness… God would never wish His children to slaughter one another. We could negotiate—share the land. The souls of this world have already borne too deep a wound."
But Genshin scoffed, his brow creasing with contempt.
"Negotiate? With cockroaches hiding behind their god?" He spat the last morsel of meat onto his silver plate. "This food tastes like shit because of your words. And if you lack the courage to withdraw your blessed ultimatum—" he paused, folding his arms, his gaze slicing through the hall like a spear, "—then let the drums resound. The war begins."
---
The echo of tension still clung to the chamber.
Genshin no Ikkaku rose unhurriedly. With effortless elegance he adjusted his silk cloak and walked, every step ringing against the black marble like the beat of war drums.
Zanka spoke bluntly, voice deep as collapsing stone:
"By rejecting the ultimatum you've lit a fuse that will devour nations. Do not deceive yourself, Genshin—this war could swallow even those who think themselves untouchable."
High Priest Maharen clutched his staff, raising his voice in plea:
"Please, in God's name… there is still time to turn aside. There are other paths. It is not too late."
But then, a voice soft yet venomous rose. Yukihana, Princess of Yukiguni, stood with delicate grace. Her steps were like snowflakes—beautiful, but cold. Her smile gleamed like polished ice.
"At this pace, Hokori will cease to be a kingdom and become a calamity in itself." Her frozen eyes locked on Genshin's. "Be wary, Your Majesty. To play king of the world always has a price… and not always paid by the guilty."
With an elegant sweep of her silvered robe, she departed, her guards of mist in tow.
Zanka only chuckled low, pulling two bottles of coarse ale from beneath his chair. One for him. The other for no one. He drank as though the end of the world tasted of glory.
Genshin did not look back. He raised a finger.
"Kyomu, we're done with these charlatans."
Kyomu obeyed in silence, and the doors closed with a thunderous finality.
Shinsei Kōji, still seated, lifted his gaze and spoke as though issuing divine decree:
"Then let war commence, King of Darkness. Let us see whether God's faith… or your cruelty proves the stronger."
---
Meanwhile…
At the Karakuri Mansion, Shirota let his wine slip from his hand as he stared at the riven sky from his marble terrace. The clouds were torn open, steeped in ominous purple, as though a god's side had been split and left bleeding.
"A storm…" he murmured. "But not a natural one. This one comes to erase names—and cities."
In the depths of Hokori's Central Prison, Enma stirred awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, already knowing what loomed. The ancient bars trembled.
"It begins again…" she whispered.
Beside her, Yagameru snored like a drunken beast.
"Snrrrgghhh… sake… damn it…"
---
In the Village of Tsuyoi
The dry leaves crackled underfoot.
Donyoku and Chisiki walked in silence along the forest's eastern path, not far from the village. The air hung heavy, as though even the wind refused to ease the weight. Wandering souls drifted near—those that did not scream, only trembled. As if they longed to weep, as if their pain begged to speak. But they had no words left.
Donyoku swung his weapon with ease, slicing through their cores in a single stroke. He had grown stronger. Faster. Less human. Each soul erased seemed to erase a part of him.
Chisiki loosed his arrows with surgical precision. Each shaft struck the spiritual heart of the aberration. Yet his face showed neither pride nor triumph, only a calmness that veiled his inner strain.
In a clearing, Aika waited with a small blanket laid upon the grass and a wooden box of freshly prepared onigiri. They sat quietly. Backpacks at their side. Wounds bandaged. Hearts… just a little lighter.
"Do you think this will be the last time we share lunch in peace?" Aika asked, eyes turned skyward.
"We don't know," Donyoku answered, still chewing. "But if it is… at least we won't die hungry."
Chisiki chuckled softly.
"Hunger may be the least of our worries in a war between great realms." He picked up a black seaweed onigiri. "At least you'll die with a full stomach, Donyoku."
"Lucky me," Donyoku muttered.
The scene bore a melancholic beauty: three youths on the brink of chaos, pretending at normalcy beneath the clouded sky.
But then—
"Any left with salmon?"
The voice struck like ice. They froze.
Slowly, they turned.
There stood Seita. Silent. Motionless. His face blank as a funerary mask. No one had heard him approach. No one had felt his presence. He was simply there, as though drifted from another world.
The three shouted at once, startled.
"How long have you been there?!" Chisiki cried, leaping in fright.
Aika dropped her onigiri, which bounced once on the blanket before tumbling tragically to the dirt.
Donyoku choked, coughing between curses.
"Why the hell do you appear like that?! I nearly had a heart attack!"
Seita only tilted his head slightly.
"My apologies. I did not mean to disrupt your… 'food ritual.' I thought you might share."
"Ritual of—?" Aika stared as though he spoke another tongue. "We're just having lunch!"
Seita stepped closer, voice flat as stone.
"Then… may I join?"
The silence was absolute.
Until they looked at one another… and saw all their onigiri scattered on the ground.
"Since you dropped them," Seita said, "may I collect them?"
"No! Make your own!" the three shouted in unison.
And so the scene ended with four of them beneath the shade of a tree, sharing the most awkward lunch of their lives. And though none spoke it aloud… they all knew these were the last onigiri of peace before the world began to break once more.
---
Hokori's Central Prison was not built merely to cage bodies… but souls.
The air was heavy with damp and silence. The walls were black stone that drank in light, lined with rusted chains that hung like relics of forgotten sins. The cells were fissures in the rock, barely wide enough to stand without brushing the ceiling. Some were caked with mud, others barren. No mattresses—only boards, or nothing.
In one such cell, Enma lay with eyes open, staring at the cracked ceiling. She tried to sleep… but could not. Not from cold. Not from silence. But from truths. The kind that weigh more than any punishment, the kind that do not let you close your eyes without facing them. Because sleep meant returning to memories. And there, in memory, she still ran. Still lost. Still wept.
A guard stopped at her cell, dragging a heavy chain.
"You," he growled. "And you too, beast."
Yagameru stirred, hauling his massive frame from the dark with a groan.
"Another torture? Another noble's show?" he muttered.
"Not this time. King Genshin has requested an audience."
---
The Throne Hall was a temple of power.
A vast chamber, its columns carved with reliefs of wars long past. At its center, raised upon steps of black stone, loomed the throne of obsidian—sharp as truth, cold as betrayal.
There sat Genshin, King of Hokori, imposing even at rest, his hand idly resting on the throne's edge. His eyes… were abysses. They showed no wrath, no compassion. Only an inhuman depth that made one wonder: what kind of god hides behind such eyes?
At his right, Kyomu, the Silent Warrior, clad in black as the oldest night. He did not move. He did not speak. He simply existed.
Around them, nobles of Hokori crowded balconies and galleries, watching with morbid amusement and veiled tension. Some laughed in whispers. Others tightened their rings. All waited for blood.
Enma and Yagameru were led to the hall's center. Silence reigned, broken only by the echo of boots upon stone.
"Tell me," said the King at last, his voice low and heavy. "Why did you enter the Night of a Thousand Eyes?"
A suffocating stillness.
Enma held his gaze.
She felt the weight. The aura. The pressure. As if the very air thickened by locking eyes with him. As if her soul itself stood trial before something not human.
A smile curled faintly on her lips.
"Just as I suspected," she whispered. "Your eyes… are not of this world. They are an abyss, and in the depths, something hides. Something… like a god."
The nobles shifted uneasily.
Genshin did not react. He only repeated,
"I care nothing for what you see in my eyes. Answer the question."
Enma drew a deep breath. Her voice steadied.
"I wondered… how far the greedy would go for the truth of this world. How much they would suffer. How much they would betray. I simply watched. And acted… before you arrived."
Genshin narrowed his eyes.
"That is all? An observer without ambition?"
Her smile vanished.
"I had ambitions. But they all died…" she faltered, but her voice held, "…the day Hokori destroyed the only thing I had left."
The hall grew colder. Laughter hushed.
Some nobles averted their eyes. Others smiled sharper.
And the King… only stared. As though her words were meaningless echoes. As though her scars were nothing. Or as though… they were nourishment for a greater design.
Kyomu's hand tightened on his blade.
Yagameru muttered under his breath:
"This is going to get interesting."
---
The silence deepened. The air thickened.
From his throne of obsidian, Genshin, King of Hokori, leaned forward, voice laced with poisoned calm:
"Very well, Omnipresent… Then tell me: how do we make Sainokuni fall utterly?"
The title was no accident. It was a blade. A reminder of what Enma knew—and what she could withhold.
Before she could answer, Yagameru crossed his arms with a grunt.
"Why not just give them back the land you stole? Or better—send a threat so brutal they kneel before a fight even starts. Wouldn't that be simpler?"
Genshin's smile froze the chamber.
"No, Yagameru. This time I seek no truce. I seek extermination. Even if they surrender. Even if they beg. I will not let them live."
He paused, staring into the void as though revisiting an old wound.
"For if I let them live… they will rise again. Stronger. With more rancor. With more faith. And that—" he lifted his gaze, serene yet lethal, "—is the only thing I fear in them. This time, they must vanish."
Yagameru barked a laugh, rough and mocking.
"Fear of a fly? Please, Genshin. Sainokuni was never mighty. They grew strong only by accident—the arrival of that so-called Chosen of God. Without him, they're ants. Ants praying while men trample blind."
But Enma's voice cut through, calm and distant.
"Perhaps Hokori should tread more carefully. Perhaps… Sainokuni hides something."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Genshin's eyes gleamed sharper.
"What do they hide? Tell me."
Enma met his gaze. Unflinching.
And stayed silent.
One second. Then another.
At last she spoke, voice like a verdict:
"I will give no truth to someone so despicable. You do not deserve to know what the world keeps… in its darkest corners."
The air froze. Kyomu bowed his head, restraining himself.
Genshin reclined in his throne. Not angry. Not disappointed. Only resolute.
"Then you will not serve as sages… but perhaps as examples."
He snapped his fingers.
"Life sentence. Daily torment. I want to see if your wills hold any worth after being flayed slowly by time."
The nobles smirked. Some laughed. Others stayed silent.
Enma clenched her fists. But she did not beg. Did not weep. She thought only: Another prison. Another hell. Another day trapped in this farce called world.
Yagameru shrugged. Expected as much. But beneath, rage boiled. Not for himself—but for what he still could not protect.
Two elite guards chained their wrists. They were dragged once more into the abyss of prison.
And in the throne hall, King Genshin whispered to himself:
"The war… has already begun."
---
And so, as chains dragged away those who knew too much, the world held its breath. For a war of truths and extermination had already begun. And this time, not even the gods would find a place to hide.
Thank you for stepping into this second arc, where war is not only forged with blades, but with wounds of the past, choices without return… and souls yet to decide which side they belong to.