On that day, an earthquake rippled across the world.
Not one born of shifting tectonic plates—but of fear.
The calamity-class monster, Storm Dragon Veldara, had disappeared.
The living disaster sealed away for three hundred years.
The embodiment of annihilation.
A force that had shaped borders, politics, and war itself simply by existing.
And now—she was gone.
At first, panic spread like wildfire.
If Veldara had vanished, it could only mean one thing:
She had returned somewhere in this world.
Yet, merely twenty days later, the Western Holy Church made a declaration that stunned every nation bordering the Great Jura Forest.
> "The presence of the Storm Dragon Veldara has been completely extinguished."
No trace.
No residue.
No sign of revival.
And with that declaration, the Church severed all ties.
---
Count Nidole Maigam was furious.
"As if such a ridiculous thing could be true!!!"
The shout echoed through his chamber as he slammed his fist into his desk.
Just recalling the words of that man made his blood boil.
Cardinal Nicholas Shpertas.
Even the name itself was enough to sour his mood.
> "The threat known as the Storm Dragon Veldara has disappeared. Therefore, all provisions and monetary support from the Holy Church shall be terminated immediately."
With that one-sided proclamation, the cardinal had ended the discussion—no rebuttals, no negotiations.
Worse still, Nidole had been forced to wait three hours before hearing that verdict.
Three hours of deliberate humiliation.
Yes, the funds provided by the Church had been invaluable.
But Nidole's lands—bordering the Great Jura Forest—were the first line of defense for the entire Farmas Kingdom.
That responsibility didn't end there.
Those borders also protected the Western Holy Church's own territory.
Even sealed, Storm Dragon Veldara had served as a deterrent.
A sword hanging above the forest—one that kept monsters, nations, and empires alike in check.
And now?
Her disappearance could only mean one thing.
Monster activity would increase.
Yet instead of strengthening defenses, the Church chose to abandon them.
That contradiction was the source of Nidole's fury.
How am I supposed to protect my lands now?
Mercenaries were expensive—and unreliable.
The Free Guild's adventurers were competent, but unpredictable in emergencies.
And now, even the Church—his final safety net—had turned its back on him.
Appealing to the king was an option…
But merely picturing that man's face filled Nidole with despair.
Explaining how the Church's funds had been spent would be difficult—dangerously so.
Without an obvious threat, defense budgets would be the first to be cut.
And if this was mishandled…
Taxes.
The thought alone made him grimace.
As his carriage rattled toward his domain, Nidole's mind raced endlessly.
Monsters.
Defense lines.
Supplies.
He was so consumed by looming dangers that he failed to consider something far worse.
He was not the only one troubled by Veldara's disappearance.
---
The Farmas Kingdom was a nation of moderate strength.
Even if disaster struck, it would likely be contained at the frontier.
As expected, cabinet ministers were already pushing to reduce military spending.
But for the smaller nations encircling the Jura Forest?
Such complacency was impossible.
Those kingdoms could not afford hesitation.
Emergency councils convened across the region, each ruler scrambling to devise countermeasures.
One such meeting took place in the tiny nation of Brumund.
---
Baron Belyard, minister of Brumund, sat stiffly behind his desk.
"There is only one reason I summoned you," he said coldly.
"You have heard about the Storm Dragon Veldara, I assume?"
The man standing before him was short, stern, and unwavering in posture.
He met the Baron's gaze without flinching.
"Of course, Baron."
His voice was deep—rough like weathered stone.
"As expected of the Guild Master," Belyard sneered.
"Or should I say so?"
He leaned forward, his tone sharp.
"So—what does the Free Guild plan to do?"
"Nothing in particular," the man replied calmly.
"No plans that I am aware of."
"…What?"
Belyard blinked.
"You mean to tell me you have no countermeasures?"
"That is correct."
The Guild Master spoke as though the answer were obvious.
Belyard clenched his teeth.
"With the Storm Dragon gone, monster activity will increase! And you claim no action is necessary?!"
"That is an odd statement," the Guild Master replied flatly.
"Countermeasures are the responsibility of nations. We are a Free Guild—not volunteers."
It was an undeniable truth.
The Free Guild existed outside national authority.
Its members paid lower taxes, held limited citizenship, and received no state protection.
Their freedom came at a cost.
Citizens enjoyed walls, guards, inheritance rights.
Guild members protected themselves.
This system bred resentment—deep, unspoken hatred.
Yet despite that, the Free Guild wielded power surpassing any single nation.
An organization that thrived beneath the surface of every country.
"Protecting citizens is the duty of a state," the Guild Master continued.
"Protecting our members is ours. We both carry heavy burdens."
The words were shameless.
Belyard's veins bulged.
"Enough talk!" he snapped.
"How many mercenaries can you send? How many capable adventurers? How many can defend this city?!"
The Guild Master sighed.
"I don't wish to be misunderstood," he said calmly.
"If mobilized jointly with the state, we can provide ten percent of our members. Any more requires proper compensation."
Ten percent.
In Brumund, that meant seven hundred fighters—out of seven thousand guild members.
Anything beyond that would require taxes, contracts, negotiations.
And time.
Time they didn't have.
Belyard's voice dropped.
"Enough. Fuze… what are you really thinking?"
The Guild Master froze.
For the first time, he truly looked at Belyard.
"We had a non-aggression pact centered around Veldara's territory," Fuze said slowly.
"Now… the Eastern Empire may begin to move."
"Exactly!" Belyard slammed his desk.
"They were holding back—out of fear of damaging the seal or provoking her! But now they're advancing!"
His voice trembled.
"If the Empire claims the forest, every surrounding nation will fall. The Church won't intervene."
"They never do," Fuze replied quietly.
"To them, only monsters matter."
Silence filled the room.
Fuze studied his old friend's exhausted face.
They were childhood companions—yet politics had forced them into masks of hostility.
This country could not withstand what was coming alone.
But panic alone solved nothing.
"The Empire hasn't revealed its intentions yet," Fuze said at last.
"I'll investigate. Jura Forest. The Empire's movements. Don't expect miracles—but I'll gather information."
"…Thank you."
With a nod, they parted.
Both men carried a burden as heavy as a mountain.
Cardinal Nicholas Shpertas watched Count Nidole Maigam's retreating figure with a thin, benevolent smile plastered on his face.
"That leech…"
The words slipped from his lips softly, almost lovingly.
With a gentle sigh, Nicholas folded his hands together, the image of a pious servant of God perfectly intact.
Doesn't believe in God, he thought.
Yet flocks to the Church's gold and authority like a starving rat.
Count Nidole Maigam was not unique.
In fact, Nicholas had been testing him—and others like him—for quite some time.
Not just Nicholas.
Every high-ranking official within the Western Holy Church shared the same unspoken belief.
> "Those who believe in God should swear allegiance to the Holy Empire Ruberios."
To them, this was not doctrine—it was truth.
The Western Holy Church merely adopted the Empire's faith and crowned a Pope to act as its sovereign.
In reality, the Holy Empire Ruberios was the Church's true core.
Its capital was the headquarters of faith.
Its citizens were God's chosen believers.
And those who lived beyond its borders—yet still dared to pray?
They were tolerated only temporarily.
Deceit would be punished.
God stood above nations, above kings, above borders.
Those who clung to excuses—who refused to become citizens of the Empire while claiming faith—deserved no mercy.
That was the consensus among Nicholas's subordinates.
As for Nicholas himself?
He believed something even simpler.
Heretics who do not believe in God should be exterminated.
Cleanly. Thoroughly.
Yet—
There was one person who had met those words with a scornful smile and calmly overturned his way of thinking.
An Otherworlder.
Sakaguchi Hinata.
Her words had been blunt—mercilessly so.
> 『A waste of effort. Changing the hearts of those who believe in other gods requires tremendous force.』
> 『Rather than that, extend your hand—and accept theirs. This method has already proven itself.』
> 『Save them from monsters. Convince them that you are justice.』
> 『Wars won't disappear. When trouble comes, offer support. Monsters are humanity's common enemy—but humanity itself is not.』
> 『There's no need to provoke hostility unnecessarily. Normal people are idiots. Save them when they're desperate, and they'll believe anything.』
> 『Isn't that the very reason the Church exists?』
Nicholas had been stunned.
The girl spoke without faith—yet understood religion better than most priests.
She was an atheist.
And yet, she did not reject religion.
She simply used it.
For Nicholas, it had been a revelation.
Pragmatic. Cold. Efficient.
Then—
She had looked at him.
Her gaze had been so frigid it felt capable of killing.
> 『All you need to do is wait.』
> 『Let the strength of other nations erode.』
> 『And when they are weak enough—demand your dues.』
Nicholas had shuddered.
He could not tell whether the feeling was excitement… or fear.
But he obeyed.
And the results spoke for themselves.
In just ten years, the Church had transformed.
In seven, its influence had grown so vast that every nation was forced to acknowledge it.
Power. Authority. Fear.
As a reward, Nicholas was promoted—from bishop to cardinal.
All thanks to that girl.
"Well," Nicholas murmured, his smile returning,
"Just as she said… even a leech can be made useful."
His thoughts turned to the present.
The Empire's intentions remained unclear.
Monster activity was steadily increasing.
Turbulent times are approaching.
I will be busy from now on.
And that girl—
How would she move?
Contacting her might be wise.
At present, she was…
The Commander of the Holy Knights,
Head of the Imperial Guard,
Directly serving under the Pope himself.
Sakaguchi Hinata.
Nicholas's smile deepened.
The storm was coming.