Roy instructed the driver to head toward the Tiber River.
In the car, Erica and Liliana sat on either side of Roy, their expressions tense.
Knowing what they were worried about, Roy reached out and took each girl's delicate hand in his, smiling as he said, "...Don't worry. Rome won't be harmed."
As Italians, Erica and Liliana cared deeply about their country's safety. They feared that if Roy and the Heretic God clashed within Rome, the destruction would be catastrophic—Tokyo and Kyoto had already set grim precedents.
Though the two girls' magical associations were based in Milan, under Roy's leadership, the entire Seven Sisters Alliance of Italy had become truly united. Erica and Liliana now considered all of Italy their territory.
"Mmm."
Erica gave a soft hum. She glanced at the driver up front, then pressed a button to raise the partition, separating the front and rear seats. As Liliana blushed shyly, Erica nestled her slender body into Roy's embrace, letting his large hands caress her sensitive waist and smooth, jade-like skin.
...
The Tiber River, Italy's third-longest river, flows through Rome in its lower reaches. When the car arrived at the riverbank, Roy stepped out with Erica and Liliana and dismissed the driver.
The three then strolled along the riverbank, enjoying the leisurely afternoon as if on a Roman holiday—though the tension on Erica and Liliana's beautiful faces betrayed their unease.
After all, they were about to meet a Heretic God. Even though they trusted Roy to defeat it, facing a calamity beyond mortal resistance was enough to put anyone on edge—except Roy, of course.
Before long, as Roy led the two girls to a less crowded area, even Erica and Liliana found themselves drawn to the figure of a young man standing by the river.
There stood a youth dressed in desert-style attire, his once pristine white garments now stained a dirty brown. The boy appeared to be only fourteen or fifteen years old, with jet-black hair cascading to his shoulders and skin bearing the weathered hue of constant exposure to sun and wind. Despite his disheveled and grimy appearance, nothing could obscure his striking beauty or the extraordinary aura that set him apart from ordinary people.
Like Roy, this youth possessed an almost androgynous appearance—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that many powerful beings had features that blurred the lines of gender.
Even though the boy exuded no trace of magical energy, merely laying eyes on him filled Erica and Liliana with instinctive dread and wariness—a primal reaction etched into the human soul when faced with a divine presence.
"What a peculiar scent," the youth remarked as Roy approached, his expression brimming with curiosity. His words carried an archaic cadence. "Thou art a Campione, yet I feel no instinctive hostility toward thee. How strange that I should address thee thus."
"Have you recovered?" Roy asked abruptly as he walked beside the youth, both gazing at the tranquil river flowing before them. His question seemed cryptic and out of nowhere.
Erica and Liliana were puzzled, but the youth understood immediately. He shot Roy a startled glance and asked in surprise, "...Thou knowest?"
"Of course," Roy replied with a smile, pointing to his own double-pupiled eyes. "In this world—this world alone—nothing can escape these eyes of mine." He didn't even glance at the youth beside him, instead leisurely admiring the riverside under the afternoon sun, as if the one he spoke to were not a Heretic God but just an ordinary boy.
The youth broke into a cheerful grin, clapping his hands. "...I have nearly fully recovered. At the very least, I remember who I am and whence I came."
"Then who are you?" Roy asked again, his question just as abrupt.
"Verethragna—the ancient Persian God of War, guardian and servant of the Light God Mithra!" declared the boyish war god, his tone devoid of divine arrogance, as if merely introducing himself to a friend.
"Then why are you still here?" Roy pressed.
"My nine avatars have merged into one. Only the final form remains incomplete," Verethragna explained. "Yet I know that once I fully regain my identity as a Heretic God, the will of defiance shall consume my mind. Though I may resist, as the Guardian of Light, I shall inevitably bring calamity upon the people. Thus, before I wander, I wish to behold this land once more—of my own free will."
Verethragna spoke joyfully. He was no malevolent deity—in myth, he was a god of heroes and protection. Yet no matter how benevolent a god might be, their descent as a Heretic God would invariably bring disaster.
"Then, O Demon King, hast thou come to slay me?"
"Of course," Roy replied. "Is it not the nature of Campiones and Heretic Gods to battle one another?"
"Yet thou liest," Verethragna countered. "Thy relationship with the Heretic Goddess Athena is not so adversarial. Else, thou wouldst address her as 'Goddess Athena'—not 'Heretic Athena.'"
Verethragna suddenly revealed a cunning smile, his handsome and adorable features likely to elicit screams from many older women. Unfortunately, the only ones present here were Roy, Erica, and two others—none of whom would be charmed by Verethragna's appearance.
"Oh? You know me well, Verethragna."
Roy finally turned his head to look at the youth beside him, his tone tinged with surprise.
"Do not be deceived by my appearance—this is merely the 'Form of the Youth.' Of course, I know the name of the Campione who stands before me."
Verethragna's tone gradually grew arrogant and haughty, befitting the demeanor a god should possess. That shy, youthful demeanor did not truly belong to Verethragna.
.....
"Hah, very well. Truthfully, I am not here for the so-called grudges between Campiones and Heretic Gods. I came for your power, Verethragna—the ancient Persian God of War. Your authority resonates strongly with me. Once I obtain it, I will undoubtedly achieve the final breakthrough, attaining the most perfect form before my battle with the Last King!"
Roy's voice gradually rose, and an almost tangible surge of magical power emanated from his body. The mere ripple of this power caused the once-calm river before him to roar into a raging torrent, breaking through its banks and sending distant pedestrians screaming in panic, mistaking it for an incoming flood.
Verethragna's smile slowly faded. His expression grew solemn as he observed Roy. Such dense, overwhelming, and sinister magical power far surpassed that of a Heretic God like himself.
As a God of War, faced with such an immense disparity, he had already concluded that defeat was inevitable.
But—
"Excellent! Truly worthy of the title of the most powerful Demon King in history! Such formidable strength is precisely what I, the Undefeated God, should challenge. Victory shall belong to me!"
Even knowing he was outmatched, the "God of Victory" would never cower before battle. He faced Roy with the stance of a challenger, his gaze growing stern.
To act arrogantly in the face of overwhelming power was the behavior of the weak. Even though they stood on opposing sides, Verethragna granted Roy the utmost respect—a respect befitting a warrior who could make the God of Victory question his own triumph, a strength worthy of facing as a challenger!
***
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