The Tapestry of Fate—
The Domain of Fate revealed before Roy was a space composed of countless spindle threads. These threads were not physical but infinite mysteries etched into the void, depicting the manifestations of fate within this world.
Yet, facing these manifestations of fate, Roy merely glanced at them before losing interest.
'Fate' may sound profound and unfathomable, but in the end, it's just that—sometimes better understood as causality. At the very least, the woven fate before him was far from something that could make Roy take it seriously.
The fate spun by the God of Fate in this world may seem capable of manipulating the lives of Heretic Gods and Campiones, but that's all it is. It can only influence the general trends of Campiones and Heretic Gods, not the minute details.
Moreover, could the power of fate in this world affect a true Magic God? Obviously not. Thus, this power of fate has its limits—and is rather crudely wielded at that. For Roy, observing these things was merely to grasp their underlying principles. To expect him to regard them with any real reverence? Absolutely impossible.
Such forces of fate can only bind the weak. To those who have truly transcended all, it is nothing but a laughable concept.
Roy's goal is to transcend all of this, so naturally, he would never be obsessed with so-called fate.
This was a boundless expanse, a realm of thought where the limits were defined only by the imagination. Unlike the gray mist that shrouded Pandora's divine domain, the void of the God of Fate's domain was filled with spindle threads woven from destiny itself. Beneath one's feet stretched an endless carpet, vast and unbroken.
These carpets were crafted from threads, each one representing a single strand of fate. Countless threads intertwined, symbolizing the inscrutable and entangled nature of destiny itself.
Then, Roy lifted his gaze toward the void above—
There, hovering in midair, was a girl who appeared no older than seven or eight. She was unclothed, her skin as pale as snow, with golden hair cascading over her shoulders, resembling a delicate porcelain doll.
Yet, she was indeed a doll—her golden eyes devoid of focus, empty of any flicker of consciousness. She was merely a shell, a central mechanism. No matter how exquisite her appearance, it stirred no emotion, for such a soulless creation could easily be replicated by Roy through magic or alchemy, should he so desire.
With Roy's power and knowledge, he had long transcended the need to judge beauty by mere appearance. To him, outward form could be altered at will, while the essence of a being—its soul and will—was what truly mattered.
This young girl, seemingly no more than a child, was none other than the God of Fate—or rather, the governing mechanism of destiny itself.
In Norse mythology, there were the three Norns: Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld.
In Greek mythology, the three Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.
From this, it becomes clear that in mythology, fate is always interconnected. The original form of the Three Fates was, in fact, a single ancient goddess—perhaps Ananke, or perhaps some other deity. But to Roy, this was utterly irrelevant, because in truth, the so-called God of Fate was merely a mechanism established by the gods. Like the Seventy-Two Pillar Demons of Solomon, it was simply a programmed system.
The Goddess of Fate before him served as the bridge between the gods and the Last King. The Last King's divine sword of salvation and the Covenant of the Great Law were, in fact, bestowed by the God of Fate. And the reason the God of Fate possessed such power was because it was the spokesperson of the gods' collective will.
In truth, it was not a God of Fate at all. It lacked even a sense of self, functioning only as a machine that obeyed the will of the gods.
Humanity wove incomprehensible natural phenomena into myths, giving birth to gods. And when gods broke free from the constraints of myth, Heretic Gods descended upon the world.
Yet, mortal flesh could not withstand the might of Heretic Gods. If left unchecked, their rampages would bring humanity to the brink of extinction—and if humanity perished, the gods too would fade away.
Thus, the Campiones were born. Their emergence was also the will of the gods to protect humanity, shielding them from the devastation of Heretic Gods and allowing civilization to flourish. But if Campiones were allowed to roam the earth unchecked, humanity would revere them instead of the gods. And so, the gods collectively forged the Hero who would slay the Demon Kings.
Then the cycle began anew—Heretic Gods descended, Campiones rose, the Hero vanquished the Demon Kings… This was the Ring of Fate, interlocking endlessly without pause. It was the rule the gods had set for this world.
But now, that rule had finally been broken. The Demon King known as Roy Crowley had chipped away at the gods' perfect circle, unraveling the threads of fate so they could no longer be woven.
"Then, let this fate come to an end!"
Roy did not speak these words to the Goddess of Fate before him. He knew that no matter what he said, she would not respond—because the Goddess of Fate was nothing more than a preordained mechanism, closer to a machine than a living god.
...
Roy raised his right hand, and a crimson longsword fell into his grasp, its tip pointed at the deity before him.
Countless fragments of knowledge surfaced in his mind. No matter how the Goddess of Fate operated as a program, as long as she was a god who descended upon the earth, she was a Heretic God. And to allow her to govern the intertwined fates of Campiones and Heretic Gods, the gods had no choice but to bestow upon her the true title of Goddess of Fate.
In other words, the Goddess of Fate before him was the amalgamation of all fate-wielding deities across every myth, past and present.
If an ignorant person were standing here, even wielding the Sword of Wisdom, they wouldn't be able to deliver this strike. But Roy possessed an exceptionally vast reservoir of knowledge, with countless mythological insights flowing through his mind. He wouldn't dare claim familiarity with every myth related to fate across the world, as there would always be obscure regional legends beyond complete comprehension. Yet Roy could confidently assert that the knowledge he had mastered encompassed over ninety percent of the world's fate-related myths.
...
And that was more than enough!
Roy gripped the hilt with both hands and raised it high. The golden sword usurped from Verethragna had already merged with his own Sword of Judgment. As long as Roy possessed the corresponding knowledge, he could sever anything. Therefore—
"By this sword above, fate below, I hereby pronounce thee guilty!!"
With the chanting of these words, the Sword of Judgment descended. A crimson sword light scattered into countless streaks, severing all woven threads of fate in its path. The carpet beneath their feet turned to ashen dust, while the blood-red sword light surged toward the God of Fate.
In the next instant, Roy's heart clenched. He sensed some strand of fate being tugged, and through his own 'karmic ties,' several figures suddenly appeared before the God of Fate, intercepting the strike meant to sever destiny.
Roy focused his gaze and recognized them—they were all familiar faces, every Heretic God he had ever slain!
Archangel Michael, the Heavenly Scribe Metatron, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven Sun Wukong, Susanoo-no-Mikoto of the Three Noble Children of Takamagahara, and the Eastern God of War Verethragna. Except for King Solomon from another world, every Heretic God connected to Roy was gathered here!
The God of Fate plucked the threads of destiny's spindle, using Roy's 'karmic ties' as a guide. It invoked its sole combat Authority, summoning Heretic Gods to descend!
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