["In short, Tayzzyronth's fall seems directly related to Preservation. I think only that divine-power-wreathed giant hammer could possibly pierce another god's body. But the full picture of history is surely far more than this. It's really hard to determine how Aeons clashed…"]
——
Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?
In the dimly lit basement of the church, Hestia swings her fair legs while sitting on a wooden crate and mutters, "So the Preservation Aeon used the hammer in THEIR hand to smash another Aeon to death?" She tilts her head, black twin-tails draping over her shoulders. "Isn't that a bit too plain?"
Bell sits cross-legged on the floor and looks at the girl beside him. "What does Our Goddess think a battle between Aeons should look like?"
"Hmm…" The goddess puffs out her cheeks and traces shapes in the air with her finger. "They're Aeons, you know! The battle should be super grand, right? Like one hammer swing sending shockwaves that shatter billions of star systems and stuff!"
"Huh? Then what exactly were THEY preserving…"
Bell scratches his head. "I actually think battles between Aeons might not be all flashy and explosive. They each represent their own Path. Just like Propagation's ascension was only a brief moment, I think THEIR fall might have been just a moment too."
Hestia rests her chin in her hand and muses, "You mean Qlipoth might have ended the fight with a single hammer blow, directly smashing the very concept of 'Propagation' out of existence?"
"I can't be certain…" Bell looks up at the endless wall stretching across the screen. "The concept of Propagation definitely still exists. Even after an Aeon falls, the universe still has rapidly breeding swarms—but maybe they were sealed by the Preservation Aeon? Like hammering THEIR body into pieces and sealing each fragment separately…"
"But that method doesn't sound very stable. What if someone picks up a fragment of Propagation's corpse and tries to use the lingering power for evil?"
"Our Goddess, it's not even certain anyone picked one up…" Bell mutters quietly. "If someone really did, we can only hope they're a good person, right?"
——
[The tavern is filled with a strange odor.]
[Stelle sits on a wooden stool in the corner, staring at the mug of ale in front of her with a glowing beetle steeping inside. The insect's wings slowly unfurl in the amber liquid, like some eerie piece of art.]
[Besides the one in front of her, more people are experimenting with brewing alcohol using bugs born from the Swarm Disaster. At the counter, a scholar wearing a monocle rolls up his sleeve, lifts a young true sting insect that's been soaking for a long time out of the vat, pours a cup of bug ale, and hands it to Stelle. "Hey buddy, trust me… this stuff's super nourishing."]
["…Thanks." Stelle quietly pushes the mug farther away.]
["Now you're one of the Masked Fools." Herta's voice sounds beside her. Stelle turns to see Herta's holographic projection fiddling with the steeped true sting insect. She purses her lips. "According to records, Elation also participated in this war among gods. Naturally, THEIR followers the Masked Fools wouldn't miss out on this universe-scale fun."]
["This has something to do with Aha too? THEY also fought Propagation?"]
[Herta shrugs. "That I don't know. But you can learn some truths from the Masked Fools' actions."]
[As they speak, Stelle notices something odd in the mug before her. Ripples of chaotic indistinct waves spread across the ale—not just hers; the same pattern appears in the cups of the other Fools around her.]
[Someone says the ripples mean "grill more bugs and add extra cumin." Someone else says it's Propagation's silent accusation… In any case, the people in the tavern argue about it for three days and three nights, finally concluding it's Aha's revelation—"Stop drinking and go help the gods!"]
[But how to do that is the problem. Fortunately, the idea king suggests they can steal the Mourning Actors' gondola.]
["We're all on the Path of Elation. Isn't using the word 'steal' a bit inappropriate?" Stelle corrects solemnly. "It's clearly borrowing! We're all family—saying 'steal' makes it too distant, doesn't it?"]
["Ooooh! This buddy's got some real insight!" The leading Masked Fool shows an appreciative expression and waves grandly. "Let's go! We're borrowing their gondola!"]
["Stelle… I'm starting to think you've got real potential as a Masked Fool." Herta silently rubs her forehead. "But these Masked Fools really are way too laid-back."]
[In the blink of an eye, Stelle finds herself aboard an interstellar ship—this must be the gondola the Fools mentioned.]
[The ship is bustling with activity. On the journey to help the Aeons, it has gathered enthusiastic people from many Aeon factions—even Nameless passengers. But after counting several times, Stelle realizes there's not a single Masked Fool among them.]
[—Those guys had already run off long ago, handing over the entire big ship to them as a "gift."]
——
The Boys.
"Those Masked Fools are fucking cowards. Though I gotta admit, their taste in drinking is something I respect. But pulling shit like this? They deserve to die."
Soldier Boy raises a glass of whiskey, coldly eyeing the bustling crowd on the ship.
Butcher takes a drag on his cigarette, the corner of his mouth curling into a smug grin. "Come on, I actually think these lunatics suit my taste just fine." He exhales a smoke ring. "Tricking a bunch of self-important idiots into going off to die while they sit back and watch the show—that's a brilliant move! I'm almost in love with these bastards."
Tricking… Butcher glances at Soldier Boy beside him and suddenly realizes the Masked Fools' script could apply to him and Soldier Boy too.
The smile on his face deepens.
"But anyway, even if those guys wanted to help the Aeons, what could they even do with their strength? Serve as bug chow? Or get casually smashed by the Amber Lord's hammer?" Soldier Boy says.
"Who knows? Maybe they're acting as 'war correspondents'?"
"Oh, now that I get… that's actually pretty fucking important. Back when I heroically fought in Normandy, battling the Nazis… it was those war correspondents who captured footage of me fighting."
"Oh…"
Butcher rubs his temples, feeling his skull start to ache. This bastard is about to start spouting nonsense again—talking about his fake macho show experiences like they're real history. Quite the talent. The key problem is it's not convenient to call him out right now—they still need him to deal with that asshole Homelander…