"The Principle of Equivalence."
"Aren't you curious," Haimer said, "about what kind of place I'm taking her to?"
At those words, Hiruko Kagetane — who had already begun to turn away with the unhurried ease of a man making a graceful exit — paused mid-step.
He went completely still.
The curiosity bleeding through his body language was something he couldn't hide, no matter how he tried.
"I'd be delighted to hear it," he said.
"What does the world Your Majesty the Demon King speaks of actually look like?"
As Hiruko Kagetane posed that question, Tendou Kisara — who was herself headed for that same world — pricked up her ears and listened.
"In that world," Haimer began, "the gods no longer sit on high, gazing down upon the mortal realm from the clouds."
"They sealed away their own divine power. Willingly broke their own wings. And descended to walk the earth."
"They drink themselves into a stupor at taverns, just like any mortal. They clasp mortals by the hand and call them brothers. They wheedle and pout and throw small tantrums at the children of their own Familia over a handful of coins."
"In that world."
"Even the most wretched orphan has the chance to become a hero — someone the whole world looks up to."
Haimer spoke unhurriedly, letting each word settle into the air.
"Regardless of race..."
"So long as you dare to close your hand around the blade. So long as you dare to challenge the Dungeon — that great abyss that descends into the depths of the earth."
"So long as you possess the qualities that draw the gaze of the gods."
"You have the chance to receive a god's Grace."
"To become a beloved member of a god's Familia."
"And especially — when you challenge the Dungeon that leads to the abyss again and again. When you slay the monsters that dwell within, and return bearing wounds all over your body."
"What will greet you."
"Will be your god's expectation. The cheers of everyone around you. And the ballads that wandering bards will compose in your name."
At that, Haimer tilted his head slightly downward, his gaze settling on Hiruko Kohina.
"Is it... real?"
Hearing those words, Hiruko Kohina looked up at him, her voice trembling. The small hands that had been clutching the hem of her father's coat so tightly began, ever so slightly, to loosen.
"Can Kohina become a hero, too?"
Those red eyes of hers — always so full of bloodlust, always so blindly fixed on her father's will — held something in them now for the very first time.
Something called longing.
"Of course."
Haimer crouched down.
His hand came to rest gently on top of Kohina's somewhat disheveled short blue hair.
"In that world, a hero has only one definition —"
"To accomplish great deeds."
"It doesn't matter whether you were born high or low. It doesn't matter what you've done before."
"So long as you achieve something that makes even the gods turn their heads."
"Even if you're a murderous demon who has bathed in blood — so long as you can stand at the top of everyone else."
"From the moment you rise from Lv. 1 to Lv. 2."
"You are a hero."
"And what's more."
"I believe Kohina will do very well there."
"Because Kohina's purity is exactly the kind of potential it takes to become a hero. It's the very gift that the gods of that world most cherish."
"And in my Familia, there are already many members — just like Kohina — swinging their blades day after day, pushing themselves to grow stronger, all for the sake of becoming heroes."
"And I promise Kohina this."
"They will welcome her with open arms."
"So — doesn't Kohina want to try? To swing her blade and see what it feels like to make even the gods look up?"
"..."
Hiruko Kohina stood there, frozen.
Seeing that expression on his daughter's face — an expression he had never once seen her wear in front of anyone outside their small world of two — Hiruko Kagetane knew.
He had done it. Everything he had set out to do here.
"Then, Your Majesty the Demon King — I entrust Kohina to you."
And so.
Hiruko Kagetane took one elegant step back.
That single step.
Did not merely widen the distance between them.
It was the dividing line between life and death. Between the old era and the new world.
"Since this child possesses a purity that no ordinary person can reach."
"Since she carries an aptitude that even Your Majesty the Demon King has deigned to notice."
"Then let her bloom in that paradise called Orario — like the most vivid splash of crimson in the world."
"As for me..."
"I shall remain on this stage that is already crumbling to pieces."
"And write the final period at the end of this grand, absurd farce."
"Your Majesty the Demon King — I wish you, and my daughter..."
"Fortune in battle!"
Farewell.
Go. Fly.
Fly toward that sky without a single cloud of shadow.
With those final words spoken.
Bathed in the light of the fire blazing across the heavens — and beneath the piercing wail of police sirens rapidly closing in, drawn by the commotion — Hiruko Kagetane once more removed his tall black top hat.
Like a grand performance finally reaching its final curtain. Like the leading man standing alone at center stage before an empty house of seats — taking his last, deepest bow.
He gave one final, long look at the small figure now standing at the god's side — eyes still carrying a glimmer of uncertainty, but no longer turning back.
Beneath his mask, the corner of his mouth curved into the faintest arc.
And with that.
With one last cry ringing out — carrying within it every note of his signature lunatic laughter — Hiruko Kagetane spun on his heel, swept his coattails behind him, and vanished utterly into the depths of the all-consuming fire.
Leaving behind only a string of wild, echoing laughter that drifted through the air above the ruins of the Tendou Family Estate and refused to fade for a long, long time into the night.
—
But even after all of that was over, there was no room to rush.
Because there was still a problem standing right in front of him.
The Cursed Children of the world.
Across the entire globe at this moment, the number of Cursed Children who had registered as Initiators — according to the IISO database — stood at approximately two hundred thousand.
But that was only the tip of the iceberg.
Far more of them were hiding in the rubble of collapsed buildings. Huddled in drainage ditches. Living in the blind spots of human society, invisible to any searching eye.
The true number was staggering. By the most conservative estimate — five million.
Five million people.
What kind of scale was that?
To put it in perspective: Orario — the Labyrinth City that called itself the center of the world, the gathering place of gods and adventurers alike — was certainly prosperous. But constrained as it was by its circular walls and the lay of the land, its maximum population capacity was only a few million at most.
If Haimer actually lost his mind — whether out of pity or some other impulse — and tried to cram all five million Cursed Children into Orario at once...
The resulting chaos would be something else entirely.
Ouranos — who spent every waking hour sitting in the Guild's underground chamber in prayer, forever going on about "the balance of Orario" — would probably sprint out of his basement in a panic, and might very well find himself slapped with the label of "enemy of Orario" for good measure.
And that wasn't even touching on the housing problem.
Even if every last Familia headquarters in Orario were commandeered by force. Even if all fifty floors of Babel Tower were cleared out. Even if the upper levels of the Dungeon itself were converted into dormitories.
They'd still be packed in like sardines.
And beyond the housing issue, just feeding five million mouths every single day — handling the basic necessities of food, water, and sanitation — would be enough to drive the entire Demeter Familia, responsible for Orario's agriculture, to hang themselves from the ceiling en masse.
But there was a more fundamental problem beneath all of that.
Not all Cursed Children wanted to fight.
The vast majority of them.
Were, at their core, just ordinary little girls who wanted a roof over their heads, three meals a day, and to walk down a street without being pelted with stones or spat at by passers-by.
All they wanted was to live like normal people.
As a god, Haimer might carry a divine nature bristling with sharp, warlike edges.
But he was not some warlord so hungry for power that he would grab at anything to swell the numbers of his Familia.
Nor was he the sort of ambitious schemer who reduced human lives to entries in a ledger.
What he loved were living, breathing, individual lives — the light of hope for the future he could see in each of their eyes.
"Come to think of it."
"It would probably be best to reshape things here first."
Haimer murmured to himself, tapping his fingers lightly against the air beside him.
Since he couldn't take them all.
Then — settle them here, in this world.
Using divine power, carve out a patch of absolute sanctuary in this world. Build a small Eden that belonged entirely to the Cursed Children.
A place free from the threat of Gastrea. A place without the discrimination of a generation defined by exploitation.
They could go to school there. Play. Grow flowers. Live the life that ordinary children were supposed to live.
As for logistics and provisions — Haimer already had a rough framework taking shape in his mind.
The Gastrea had already been brought under his command.
Putting them to work hunting, standing guard, even handling basic construction — none of that would be difficult.
And beyond that, he could open a cross-world gate.
A bridge connecting both worlds.
Open at fixed quotas each day.
For those Cursed Children who were curious about the outside world. Who wanted to see what "the city where the gods live" actually looked like. Or who simply wanted to try the adventuring life.
They could go to Orario. Sightsee. Experience something different.
If a child truly yearned for the life of a dungeon delver — truly wanted to grow stronger, to become an adventurer who commanded the respect of others — then she could be brought into the Familia and cultivated as elite.
If she only wanted to peek at the world and satisfy her curiosity, then it could simply be a cross-world excursion. A way to broaden her horizons.
And further down the line.
Once his foundation in Orario was solid. Once his influence there was substantial enough.
At that point, he could gradually increase the quota of Cursed Children permitted to settle in Orario permanently — achieving a smooth, stable transition over time.
That was the long-term solution.
The most prudent and most responsible approach available right now.
As a god. Since he had descended into this world. Since he had involved himself in this matter. Since he had offered hope and made promises.
He owed it to these innocent children to see things through from beginning to end. To be responsible for what he had started.
Not to light a fire and walk away from the wreckage — not simply to satisfy his own momentary whims and vanity, leaving behind a mess far worse than what he had found.
But.
This was obviously not something that could be accomplished in a single day or night.
With that thought, Haimer raised his head and looked toward the east.
There.
The skyline that had been as black as spilled ink just moments ago was now touched by the faintest blush of pale grey-white.
The long night was drawing to a close.
Dawn was about to break.
That was a good omen.
"Well then."
"Let us begin."
Haimer slowly raised his right hand.
His slender fingers rubbed lightly together in the air.
Snap.
A single, crisp click of the fingers — the signal.
Divine Power stirred.
And at that same moment.
All across the world.
In that single instant.
Every Cursed Child — no matter where she was, no matter what she was doing — saw the same thing.
A golden light.
Like the very first sliver of morning sun breaking through the gaps between leaves.
It appeared before each of them without warning.
The light gathered. Slowly, it took the shape of a human silhouette. The features were impossible to make out clearly. But one could just barely discern that it was the outline of a man — tall, straight-backed, carrying himself with quiet authority.
"W... who are you?"
In the Outer District of the Tokyo Area, inside an abandoned underground subway station — a small girl who had been curled in a corner, shaking violently, clutching half a moldy tin can to her chest, gathered every scrap of courage she had and asked the golden figure before her that question.
Her voice was tiny. Thin as a mosquito's whine. Carrying within it the timidity that comes from years of malnutrition and a life spent making herself invisible.
But Haimer heard it.
Or rather — in that moment, the voices of hundreds of millions of Cursed Children all across the world flowed into his ears with perfect clarity, each one distinct.
"Congratulations."
"From today onward."
"You are children chosen by a god."
Haimer's voice rang out inside the mind of every single Cursed Child.
No translation required.
Whether they spoke Japanese, English, or some obscure regional dialect no one else remembered — what this voice delivered was not words.
It was pure meaning.
God.
For the Cursed Children, that word had always been impossibly distant.
As members of the generation born pure — born after the Gastrea War — the vast majority of Cursed Children had never spent a single day inside a classroom. Had never read a single book all the way through.
Their understanding of "god" was limited at best — perhaps something glimpsed in a passing fragment of overheard conversation, or in some half-remembered legend already blurred by time.
Some of them didn't even know what "god" was supposed to mean.
But now.
— A god had come forward. On his own.
"A god... is that like a really, really important person who has lots and lots of good food?"
The small girl clutching her tin can tilted her head, her grimy little face full of nothing but honest bewilderment.
In her world, someone who could fill your belly was probably the most powerful kind of god there was.
"Mm. That's right. Lots of good food — more than you could ever finish eating."
"I know you still have many questions."
"But there's no rush."
"Tonight I will — answer every single one of them."
"But first."
"Please allow me to do one thing for you."
With those words said.
The very next instant.
Every Cursed Child felt a warm current of power rising from somewhere deep inside their bodies.
It was a feeling none of them had ever known before.
Warm.
Safe.
"This is..."
The small girl in the Tokyo Area Outer District looked down at her own two hands.
She could feel it clearly — that restless, gnawing agitation that had always been simmering inside her, pressing at her from within, had suddenly gone quiet. Vanished.
"The Gastrea Virus inside each of your bodies has been purified by me."
Haimer's voice rang out once more.
"From this day forward."
"You never have to worry again about becoming monsters."
"And you never have to worry again about hurting anyone."
— !!!
They wouldn't become monsters?
Really...? Never?
Those words made the small girl's eyes begin to fill with tears.
Because from the time they were small, they had all been told — every one of them.
The Cursed Children carry a time bomb inside their bodies. Once the corrosion rate exceeds fifty percent, they will turn into man-eating monsters.
This was the Sword of Damocles that had hung above their heads every single day of their lives, never once disappearing.
But now.
That sword.
Had been taken away.
"Uu..."
Inside the subway station, the tin can slipped from the small girl's hands with a hollow clang and hit the floor.
She pressed both hands over her mouth. Tears rolled down her face like beads cut from a broken string — and she couldn't make a single sound.
The same scene.
Played out simultaneously across every corner of the world.
A chorus of voices began rising in Haimer's ears.
Five million children.
Five million voices saying thank you.
The Cursed Children — who had been so guarded, so frightened, just moments before — slowly, one by one, began to let their defenses down.
____
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