[The First Day of Destruction, 4:30][Sanctuary of the Six Great Gods — Kami Miyako, Capital of the Slane Theocracy]
The air within the deepest recesses of the Holy Capital was not merely stagnant; it was crushing. It was a physical weight pressing down upon the shoulders of the men gathered there.
To the outside world, the Slane Theocracy stood as an unshakeable monolith of human supremacy, a beacon of faith. Yet, within the circular chamber where the silent statues of the Six Great Gods cast long, judgmental shadows, the atmosphere was thick with the acrid scent of impending ruin.
The men seated around the heavy oak table—the Cardinals, the Heads of Government Branches, the Grand Marsha, and the Pontifex Maximus —were individuals who had steered the ark of humanity through centuries of darkness. They were not men prone to hysteria. They were experienced, shrewd, and, when the situation demanded, utterly ruthless.
But today, their collective wisdom felt as fragile as a candle flame in a hurricane.
"Raymond."
The Pontifex Maximus spoke. His voice, usually a clarion call of authority, was dry and brittle, like ancient parchment crumbling to dust.
"Report. What is the status of Torantell?"
Raymond Zarg Lauransan, the Cardinal of Earth and commander of the Six Scriptures, a former Third Seat of the Black Scripture, sat with his hands clasped so tightly on the table that his knuckles had turned the color of bone. He was a warrior who had stared down monsters and heretics without blinking, yet now, a tremor he could not suppress vibrated through his frame.
"...What status is there to report?"
Raymond exhaled a breath that was a mixture of a sigh and a growl of frustration.
"Apologies, Your Holiness. But according to the remote viewing of the 'Thousand Leagues Astrologer'... Torantell has not merely been defeated. It has been erased."
He paused, allowing the gravity of the statement to permeate the room before delivering the coup de grâce.
[AN] *Coup de grâce (pronounced koo duh grahs) is a French phrase that literally translates to "stroke of mercy". It refers to a final, decisive action that ends a process, often one that has been gradually weakening or failing.
"The Astrologer reports that the defensive garrison, the city's population, and local scripture members were annihilated. And on the opposing side... among those insectoid abominations... not a single one fell."
"Wait." Dominic Ihre Partouche, the Cardinal of Wind, leaned forward, his heavy brows furrowing in sheer disbelief. "What did you say? Did I mishear you, Raymond?"
"You did not. Not. A. Single. One."
Raymond enunciated each word with the heaviness of a grave marker being driven into the earth.
Monsters, Raymond thought, a cold sweat tracing a path down his spine. We always assumed we were the predators. We possess the Scriptures. We possess the God-kin. But those things... they are not part of this world's ecosystem. They are an invasive species from a nightmare, beings that defy the laws of reality.
"Those insects possess physical defense and regenerative abilities that defy common sense," Raymond continued, forcing his voice to remain analytical despite the chaos in his mind. "Unless one has stepped into the Realm of Heroes, resistance is futile. It was a slaughter. The Astrologer... she was forced to watch as thousands were torn apart like wet paper. She is currently vomiting in the scrying room, unable to stand."
"She must be exhausted," Yvon Jasna Delacroix, the Cardinal of Light, muttered, massaging his temples as if trying to push away a migraine. "Her mental state was already fragile after... that incident on the Katze Plains involving the Dark Young. Did she receive enough rest?"
"Rest?" Raymond slammed his fist onto the table, the sharp crack echoing through the chamber. "How can she rest?! I wish I could grant her mercy! I wish I could let her sleep for a year! But if she rests, who will be our eyes and ears? Who will tell us where the Sorcerer King's scythe will swing next?!"
"Do not let your anger consume you, Raymond. Impatience breeds mistakes."
The speaker was the Pontifex Maximus. However, his voice lacked its usual command. He appeared diminished, as if the weight of the last few hours had aged him a decade.
"But, Your Holiness!" Raymond stood up, pacing the confined space behind his chair like a caged tiger. "The situation is beyond critical. Those insects liquidated the armed forces of Torantell in less than an hour. However... there is an anomaly."
The room fell into a sudden, expectant silence.
"An anomaly?"
"Yes. While the soldiers and men were butchered indiscriminately, most of the female Elven slaves were spared. They were herded together, untouched."
The Cardinals exchanged glances. This fragment of information was like a drop of ink in a glass of clear water, swirling and changing the color of their assumptions.
"Elves?" Dominic stroked his beard, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in his eyes. "Gentlemen... is it possible this has nothing to do with the Sorcerer King?"
"Elaborate," the Pontiff commanded.
"Manipulating insects... protecting Elves. Does this not bear the hallmarks of a Forest Druid? Or perhaps a Ranger of the Beast Master discipline?" Dominic reasoned, his voice rising in pitch. "Considering this, should we not assume the Elf King is still alive? Perhaps that long-eared bastard has finally unveiled a forbidden technique to strike back at us?"
Hope. It was a pathetic, fragile thing. They were clinging to the hope that their enemy was the Elf King—a known quantity, a mortal they could eventually kill—rather than the incomprehensible cosmic horror known as Ainz Ooal Gown.
"Or perhaps," another Cardinal interjected, clutching at the same straw, "the Council State? Doesn't the 'Platinum Dragon Lord' possess allies with powers over nature? Could this be a surprise attack from the Dragon Lords, utilizing the chaos as cover?"
The room descended into a murmur of speculation. If it was the Dragon Lords, diplomacy might still be possible. If it was the Elves, they could be outmaneuvered.
SLAM!
A withered hand struck the heavy oak table, silencing the room instantly.
It was the Pontifex Maximus. His eyes, usually deep pools of placid wisdom, were now burning with a terrified clarity.
"Everyone! Regardless of who holds the leash, what is the reality before us? We are losing!"
He swept his gaze around the table, locking eyes with each man, stripping away their delusions.
"Whether it is the Sorcerer King, the Dragon Lords, or the Devil himself... the most urgent task is not guessing the culprit's name. It is deciding if the Theocracy survives the night."
Silence fell once more. An indescribable sense of defeat permeated the room, heavier than the stone ceiling above them.
It is over, Raymond thought, the realization hitting him like a physical blow to the gut. Our plan to feign surrender, to play the vassal state while we rebuilt our strength in the shadows... it was a child's game. The Sorcerer King did not even wait for us to kneel. He just... stepped on us.
"If it is the Sorcerous Kingdom," the Pontifex Maximus said softly, sinking back into his chair, "then the Sorcerer King is truly a being of terrifying intellect. He saw through our feigned submission before we even offered it. He decided that extermination was more efficient than conquest."
He looked up. "Raymond. The movement of the swarm?"
"Advancing northwest along the border," Raymond replied mechanically, his mind already visualizing the map. "It is a strategic route. They are cutting off our retreat. Let me be frank: Without the Extra Seat—without Zesshi Zetsumei—even if we mobilize the Black Scripture, we cannot stop them. We lack the intelligence, and we lack the raw power."
He looked down at his trembling hands. "The most terrifying possibility is that this insect swarm is merely a vanguard. A distraction. While we panic over bugs, a true catastrophe could be manifesting in the capital."
"What of the Windflower Scripture? The Clearwater Scripture? The armies stationed near the Great Forest?"
"Silence." Raymond shook his head slowly. "Complete severance of communication. They are gone."
Gone.
Tens of thousands of trained soldiers, magic chanters, and battle priests. Extinguished like a pinched candle.
"...How are the preparations for the Grand Ritual Magic, 'Downfall of Castle and Country'?"
"The user is ready, but... who do we target?" The Pontiff asked helplessly. "If we deploy the World Item against a swarm of insects, we expose ourselves. If the Sorcerer King is watching... that is the moment we lose our only trump card. We cannot fire a cannon at a mosquito when a dragon is watching."
"We need to find Zesshi!" Dominic cried out, slamming his fist into his palm. "We saved her mother once! The Black Scripture is stronger now! We must find her! She is the shield of humanity!"
Raymond gave a wry, pained smile. He did not have the heart to tell them that even she might have already fallen. If the Sorcerer King had captured her... then the Theocracy was not just fighting an enemy; they were fighting their own god.
"—Gentlemen."
The Pontifex Maximus spoke. His voice was different now. The panic was gone, replaced by the hollow calm of a man standing on the gallows.
"What are you going to do tonight?"
The question hung in the air, surreal in its simplicity. It sounded like a casual inquiry between friends deciding on a tavern. But everyone in the room knew the subtext.
Where will you die? Will you go home to your families? Will you pray?
Behind that question lay a deep, abyssal despair. Whether the enemy was the Undead King or the Dragon Lords, a second wave would come tonight. How many cities would burn before the sun rose?
The fear was primal. It was the helplessness of ants watching a boot descend from the heavens.
"We... we cannot get through this," the Pontifex Maximus said, his aged face grim, tears finally welling in the corners of his eyes.
He looked up at the statues of the Six Great Gods. They remained silent. They offered no miracles. No descent of Surshana.
"Let us begin," the Pontifex Maximus whispered, his voice trembling. "Initiate the 'Exodus' protocol."
The Cardinals stiffened.
"Your Holiness... you mean...?"
"We abandon the nation," the Pontifex Maximus declared, the words tasting like ash and bile in his mouth. "We organize a minority—the young, the magically gifted, the bearers of bloodlines. We take the treasury. We take the World Items. We retreat to the hidden Sanctuary deep within the mountains."
He gripped the armrests of his chair. "We act as the spark in the ashes. We prepare for a hibernation that may last a decade... or a century."
"But the people!" Dominic protested weakly, his face pale. "Millions... we are leaving them to be slaughtered!"
"If we stay, we all die!" Raymond roared, tears streaming down his face, his composure finally shattering. "If the leadership falls, if the World Items are taken, humanity has no future! We must be the cowards who survive so that our grandchildren can reclaim this land!"
Raymond stood up, saluting the Pontiff with a shaking hand.
"I will give the order to the Black Scripture. We will secure the escape routes. May the Gods... may the Gods forgive us for what we are about to do."
The First Day of Destruction was drawing to a close. And for the Slane Theocracy, the long night had only just begun.
AN: Is the capital of the Slane Theocracy officially named Shikurusantekusu or Kami Miyako in the light novels?
If there is a confirmed name, I would appreciate clarification in the comments.