"Old hag…"
That single phrase struck Riveria right on her most sensitive nerve.
Under normal circumstances, anyone who dared mock her age would immediately suffer the retaliation of Orario's strongest magic user.
But today was different.
Because the person standing in front of her was different.
Riveria knew it well: she only became the strongest mage after the decline of the two great Familias—Zeus and Hera.
She had never challenged the "strongest" of that era—she didn't even think she had the right to claim the applause that title carried.
So Riveria had never been willing to call herself "the strongest."
To someone who had lived through that age, such self-proclamation was almost laughable.
And the "strongest mage" in Riveria's eyes… might be the woman before her now.
The greatest mage in history—the one who had slain Leviathan with magic.
Her name was Alfia.
Back in the Orario of that time, she was publicly acknowledged as the single most talented person among all Familias blessed with divine Falna.
And the outside world's evaluation of her always revolved around that talent—
A woman pampered by talent.A symbol of talent.A monster ruined by talent.
It was said she'd been born with a terminal illness.
It was said she'd reached Level 7 at fifteen or sixteen.
It was said her illness had been strengthened by Falna and transformed into a skill—a curse that could never be erased.
It was said that if she hadn't been cursed by her own talent, she would have become the strongest adventurer of all.
Riveria knew those "it was said" stories were all true.
The Hera Familia had exhausted every method they could think of to treat Alfia.
Everyone believed that if Alfia could stay healthy, she would be the only hero capable of slaying the world-ending One-Eyed Black Dragon.
"So? Was I wrong?" Alfia said impatiently when Riveria didn't press the attack. "A two-hundred-year-old old hag who's still weaker than me?"
"I'm not two hundred!" Riveria snapped out of her memories, instantly furious. "I'm not even a hundred yet!"
"Not even a hundred and you're only this strong—are you proud of that?"
Alfia had already lost interest in talking.
Sending only two Level 5s at her was… disappointing.
Riveria forced her magic power to surge, preparing for a final resistance.
Even though the woman before her looked as fragile as a flickering candle, Riveria didn't believe she could win.
Continuing to fight an enemy you absolutely cannot defeat—this was nothing but an adventurer's pride.
Riveria suddenly regretted something.
Regretted never falling in love even once before dying.
But before the battle truly began, she had to ask one question.
"The former hero of the Hera Familia… why have you become part of the Dark Faction?"
"Because I'm disappointed."
...
Suppose there existed someone who could annihilate everything with a single strike—ordinary civilians, adventurers, even the ground beneath their feet.
What would you call such a person?
Such irresistible tyranny—naturally, you would call them an Overlord.
In the city streets swallowed by darkness, an unstoppable beam of dreadful radiance cleaved down.
Its target wasn't any single individual.
It was everything in front of it.
"AAAAAH!"
"The whole street got destroyed?! In one hit?! Is that real?!"
"My leg—my leg!!"
Anyone with even basic understanding of terror could tell: the black-armored powerhouse was unstoppable.
And yet, several adventurers still stepped forward, blocking the man's path.
Because as adventurers, their duty was to protect the civilians.
"Commendable courage—but you're too weak!"
Zald smiled and swung his great black sword.
He didn't spare them in the slightest for their bravery—if anything, he brought down an even more vicious slash.
With a single blow, he shattered the alliance of the brave with ease.
But the brave kept coming—one after another—continually throwing themselves into his way.
Zald still didn't hold back, using the simplest and most efficient cuts.
Not a single adventurer managed to delay that dreadful radiance by even the tiniest fraction.
Every step Zald took sent corpses scattering and splashing outward.
"I'm just swinging my sword in the simplest way—I haven't even used the power of devouring. Has Orario really become this fragile?!"
Their courage had given Zald a moment of joy.
But now that faint good mood was gone, leaving only boundless anger.
When the two great Familias still existed, Orario was not this weak.
"That's enough!"
A cat-man—Allen Fromel—blocked Zald's path.
Cats didn't sound powerful. "Cat-man" didn't sound like much either.
But this man was different.
He was the Freya Familia's vice-captain, a Level 5 known as "The Goddess's Chariot"—the fastest adventurer in Orario today.
With Orario's supreme speed, Allen thrust his spear at the joint where the black armor connected.
A normal Level 4 couldn't even see the attack with their naked eye.
But Zald merely flicked his hand, casually using the bracer on his arm to block it.
"…You've got to be kidding."
A single failed strike wasn't enough to shock Allen.
But the tremor in his grip was another matter.
The opponent didn't even seem to exert force—just that light motion nearly shook Allen's weapon out of his hands.
The gap in raw strength was at least tenfold… maybe a hundredfold.
Even if Allen wasn't a strength-type, the difference shouldn't be this absurd.
"Your speed's pretty good," Zald said, narrowing his eyes at Allen. "But that's all you've got. Especially your strength—are you scratching my itch?"
That was only a look.
And yet the fastest cat-man felt as if he'd fallen into a swamp—unable to move.
The cowardice of his own body enraged Allen. Just as he was about to force himself forward, someone grabbed his shoulder from behind.
"Allen. Leave this man to me. Get out of here—now."
The speaker was Ottar—the Freya Familia's captain, and Orario's only Level 6.
"What a joke! How could I run from the battlefield?!"
Allen exploded, practically hissing at Ottar.
He could die here—but he could not withdraw like a coward, leaving without even a single wound to show for it.
"Allen—if you recognize me as your captain even a little… then leave. Immediately."
Ottar wasn't negotiating.
His tone was closer to pleading.
"…Then you'd better win."
In the end, Allen left—because Ottar was the Freya Familia's captain.
All Allen could do was believe.
And then believe again.
"I recognize you," Zald said. "The pig-man acknowledged by the 'Braver'… the pig-man acknowledged by the 'Empress.'"
Seeing a familiar face finally eased Zald's irritation a little.
He also knew that in today's Orario, there was only one Level 6—
The man standing before him.
At least… a decent enough candidate.
"Are you Zald?"
Facing this familiar man, Ottar couldn't hide the tremor in his heart.
Not because Zald was an enemy Ottar absolutely could not defeat—
But because he could not understand.
He asked the same question Riveria had asked.
"The former hero of the Zeus Familia… why have you become part of the Dark Faction?"
"Because I'm disappointed."
...
"N-no way…"
Cid stared at the scene in front of him, his body trembling.
It looked like shock—
But in truth, Cid was excited.
Attacking all of Orario… the Dark Faction actually dared to do it!
This was a scene he'd seen in his dreams.
A scene he'd wanted to encounter more than anything.
Seeing him shake, Hestia couldn't help feeling heartbroken.
He was brave, yes—but he was still young. Of course he would be scared.
And he came from the side of justice—surely he couldn't bear to see a scene like this, right?
"Cid, I'll find somewhere to hide on my own. Don't worry about me. Are you going to join the battle?"
"Join the battle—yes. I'm going to fight!"
Cid realized Hestia was genuinely considerate.
A patron goddess who knew to hide herself in a crisis—how reassuring!
"Cid… even though I really don't want to, let's fight together!"
Ahti drew her longsword and prepared for combat.
She didn't like fighting—but this wasn't the time to run away, and it definitely wasn't the time to preach peace.
"…Fine. We'll work together!"
Only then did Cid notice Ahti was still here and hadn't left.
That wouldn't do.
He—Shadow—had to act alone.
His eyes flicked, and in an instant, Cid had already written the next script in his head.
Hestia watched the two walk side by side, and this time she offered nothing but blessings.
"Come back safely—and may you have great fortune in battle!"
....
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