Faith Interface
Saints: 0
Apostles: 3
Fanatics: 1,212
Devout Believers: 1,686
True Believers: 682
Shallow Believers: 55
Over the course of a few months, Roland's church had grown rapidly. Fanatics alone now numbered over twelve hundred. Each fanatic produced ten points of faith every day. That meant over twelve thousand points of faith from fanatics alone. Combined with the devotion from lesser believers, Roland's daily intake had swelled to more than eighteen thousand faith points.
At that rate, a single month yielded over half a million points. Two months would surpass a million. His first divine spark was within reach, closer than ever.
Another week passed quietly since the last great ritual.
During that time, Effie had eaten a Fruit of Light and already learned to wield White Magic with impressive fluency. She conjured shields, summoned light arrows, and healed wounds with ease. Her mastery left others both impressed and envious.
Laffey, in particular, sulked more than once. The sleepy destroyer girl pestered Roland relentlessly, tugging at his sleeve and begging for her own Fruit of Light. Yet Roland always refused.
The reason was simple. Magic was wondrous, but it was not meant for shipgirls. Shipgirls, in Roland's view, were born for heavy firepower, naval combat, and technology. Magic belonged to priests, mages, and scholars. A warship's value lay in range and destructive force. As the old saying went, truth only existed within firing range.
To him, the proper path for shipgirls was not arcane tricks but overwhelming artillery.
Laffey pouted, but Bismarck seemed to understand. The proud battleship admired the magical beasts in Roland's realm but showed little desire to dabble in spells herself. Her pride would not allow her to beg for power that was not her own. Instead, she devoted her curiosity to exploring the creatures birthed by the fusion of Life and Light.
The apostles were especially drawn to these beings.
Effie adored her unicorn. Whenever she had time, she could be seen galloping across golden fields, hair flying in the wind as her mount leapt over hills and streams. Though the unicorn could not fly, its speed was staggering. It could reach nearly three hundred kilometers per hour, rivaling a bullet train. Its leaps were no less terrifying, clearing cliffs in single bounds, sometimes soaring nearly a hundred meters. For Effie, it was almost like flying.
Laffey gravitated toward the gentle nine-colored deer. Unlike the unicorn, the deer was not built for speed or leaps, but its antlers could project glowing barriers of protection. Even more impressive, the deer could run across the sky itself, stepping on air as if it were solid ground. Laffey loved to curl up against its warm side, often dozing off mid-ride.
Bismarck, ever the cold and commanding one, was different. She had no interest in docile beasts. Her eyes sought strength and majesty. She found it in a creature that had emerged from Roland's expanding realm: a western dragon. Among them, she chose a massive frost wyrm, scales glittering like shards of ice, wings spanning dozens of meters. Its breath froze entire lakes in moments.
Where others hesitated, Bismarck strode forward without fear. Her legendary power as an apostle allowed her to subdue the beast. In short order, the frost dragon bowed its head, accepting her as its rider. The bond suited her perfectly.
From then on, the three apostles filled Roland's realm with constant activity. Every day they competed with one another, racing their mounts, testing their powers, and showing off. Roland, far from annoyed, allowed it. Three women were like a play upon the stage, and as long as they did not harm his realm, he was content to be the audience.
Then, one morning, the outside world shook with news that dominated every screen in New York.
Breaking headlines screamed:
"Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, has been attacked by an unidentified terrorist group in the Middle East. His whereabouts are currently unknown."
The report sent ripples through the financial world. Stark Industries stock plunged thirty percent within hours. Panic spread among shareholders. The disappearance of the billionaire genius had consequences far beyond Wall Street.
Roland scrolled through his phone, watching the chaos with an amused smile.
"So the curtain rises. Iron Man is about to be born."
Effie, who had been kneeling near his desk, popped her head up with wide eyes. "Master, when you say Iron Man, do you mean Tony Stark?"
Roland's smile widened. "Exactly. The kidnapping is the beginning of his transformation. Watch carefully. Over the next few days, Stark Industries will be a nest of opportunists. I have little concern for the company's profits, but I will not allow anyone to tamper with my investments."
Effie nodded quickly, her eyes bright with determination. "Understood, Master. I will monitor the company closely."
Roland leaned back, satisfied.
Far across the world, in a nameless base hidden in the desert, a forge burned. Sparks flew as a hammer struck steel again and again.
A man worked furiously, sweat dripping down his brow, hair disheveled, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Piles of crude iron parts surrounded him. Among them lay the rough pieces of a suit of armor.
That man was Tony Stark.
Beside him, seated calmly at a workbench, was a thin, bespectacled middle-aged man. His hands worked with a welding torch, fusing plates together with steady precision. He was no ordinary prisoner. This was Yinsen, a brilliant physicist.
"The leader wants it finished by tonight," Yinsen murmured. "We do not have much time left."
Tony slammed the hammer down one last time, then held up a heavy iron mask, its surface still glowing faintly from the forge. His face was pale from both exhaustion and injury.
"It is done. We can begin assembly."
It had been days since their abduction. Days of grueling labor, sleepless nights, and constant pressure. Tony's chest ached with every breath. Shrapnel from the ambush had torn into him, and only the crude electromagnet Yinsen had built kept the fragments from reaching his heart. Without it, he would already be dead.
Even weakened and wounded, Tony Stark's mind had not slowed. In the shadows of captivity, the legend of Iron Man was beginning.
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