GOD IS AN IDIOT

Chapter 7 – The Guest

'"I'm having a lesson in 'Slane'."'

'"That sounds lovely, Lord Momonga. I reckon you are having fun?"'

Albedo answered in his head via the [Message] spell, while he contemplated the cast shaker between the beer cups on the sturdy long table. He knew the two dices under it showed a four and a three, or 43. Barn Omo Sef – Short Barn, as he was nicknamed, the owner of the tavern – had called a 41 when placing the shaker.

Momonga's gaze shifted from the frozen wiry old man across from him to the next in turn of the drinking game, the equally-still soldier he (Barn) had a shouting match with. Private Sill Am Umi was a blond and athletic young man, barely scrapping twenty years of age. He had called Barn a liar, so he would lose.

'"I am making fun of it."'

The black armoured hand of Gazef Stronoff, the identity he had taken, reached for the shaker and changed the 43 into a 33. He saw no need to encourage the private to drink more, but the old man could prove to be a gold mine of information. Once he loosened up…

'"Please, pardon me, Lord Momonga, but I do not follow."'

'"I am playing a game of dice with the locals, Albedo."'

'"Do you consider this as a petting zoo?"'

'"Exactly."'

'"Did no one ever teach you to not play in the mud?"' His second in command asked, but when he looked at the dozens of time-frozen people surrounding their table, he saw not one shit stain. There were a few young soldiers in their light blue loose uniforms among them, but most were middle-aged to old humans in well-made clothing and good health. The rustic tavern they sat in might have been simple, but it sported running drinking water, magical lighting and heating.

Their life seemed adequate.

'"It's not that bad. Maybe not the quality of life I could have in Nazarick, but it's still quite enjoyable. You just have to bear a few awkward moments to acquire the taste,"' Momonga sent back, while he filled up the small cup meant for the round's loser with more of the dark red wine brand the Slane enjoyed, besides their pilsner like beer.

The crowd pressing from all sides on the table already seemed to have had enough of it. Their faces glowed red from the fireplace, alcohol, laughter, and anger. The open round of the dicing game, as he had shown the locals, had become the centre of the evening. The Slane might have had comfortable homes, but they still preferred to gather after work and enjoy more than one or two cups.

So far, the folk of Theocracy proved to be a quite worldly people. He almost felt inclined to shoo away the MILF material from the priest Leif So Ha's lap, and ask on the God of Life's opinion on the matter. Alas, he rose with the almost-empty wine bottle and gracefully wound through the people and various unsavoury objects stuck in the air, despite the plate armour he wore. He felt like passing through a laser trigger course when he finally reached the bar and found a fresh bottle.

'"What were you doing?"' Momonga added while he emptied half the liquor into the sink, so it equalled the previous bottle before he had frozen time.

'"I was reviewing item requests, balancing chances and risks versus reality and our meagre resources. Nothing special, but thank you for asking. Pandora's Actor sends his regards."'

'"Sounds tedious. Thank you, really, for taking that off me,"' Momonga sent, making his way back.

'"Please think nothing of it, my Lord."'

'"But, for now, I do. Do you never have feelings like 'That ought to be enough!' or 'I'd rather do this or that instead, now.'?"' He asked. He had resumed his previous position on the table, resting on his elbows with a beer cup in one fist.

'"It is not the place of a servant to complain. I cherish the trust you place in me."'

'Must all of the Guardians be so polite?'

'"Okay, but what would you do if there was no Supreme Being to cater to? What would you do then?"'

'"See the world burn, my Lord."'

'Ouch. Sounds like a spurned lover. Maybe a different angle.'

'"Naturally, Albedo, but try imagine the following situation, just in theory. There are no Supreme Being, but it is no reason to be angry or sad-"'

'"How could I not be sad without a Supreme Being to serve?"'

'"Because they are now at a better place, thanks to your efforts."'

'Far from it.'

'"But why would I ever make the Supreme Beings leave?"' Albedo asked, and Momonga noticed he had started drumming his fingers.

'"Because they asked you to, and you would not deny a Supreme Being, do you?"'

'"No. I live to serve."'

'"And they told you to live a happy life."'

'I hope that will be incentive enough. Why can the Guardians finish ridiculous problems in breakneck speed, but cannot cope with such simple ideas?'

'"I am sorry, Lord Momonga. The thought of the last creator leaving is just too terrible. I could never life a happy life without you."'

'DAMN IT!'

'"It's just a theoretical scenario."'

'"It is an impossible scenario, not worth thinking about."'

'I give up. I'll just ask straight.'

'"Forget it, Albedo. All I wanted to know is what you do in your free time?"'

'"I have no free time. I use every moment to serve you, my Lord."'

'"And if there are no more tasks left? What do you do then?"'

'"I am thinking of new ways to serve you."'

'"You have already served me perfectly. There is nothing left to do."'

'"There is always something do."'

'Screw this; it's is going nowhere. Her work ethics are just too ridiculous high.'

'"We'll let the matter rest for now, since we are clearly talking at cross-purposes."'

'"I am sorry to disappoint you, Lord Momonga..."'

'I am, too.'

'"...but maybe I will understand another time, if you could show me."'

'Show her, eh? That actually not so bad an idea.'

'"I'll keep that in mind. For now, do not work too hard; you are doing good. I'll speak with you later."'

'"Thank you, my Lord. I will be waiting."'

'[End Message]' Momonga canceled the spell and checked his position and appearance one last time. Cup in hand, elbows on the table, the right eye lid slightly hanging. He was ready.

'[End Time-Stop]'

At once, the laughter and noise of tavern returned.

"That's never a 41, Barn!"
"Sure it is!"
"You have no idea of probability."
"Did somebody order a pint?"
"Shut it, know-it-all!"
"I have to go, now!"
"Beer after wine, that is fine, but wine after beer leads to a trouser smear."

Momonga, of course, focused on the tavern owner and soldier across from him. Barn's grin gradually widened as he reached for the shaker, while Leif nervously followed his movement.

"Haha!" The old man laughed triumphantly into Leif's face as he raised it, but instead of rewarding him with an expression of defeat, Leif began to grin himself and laughed back.

"Ha!"

"What? How did- I knew I saw a four!" Barn blurted as he looked at the table, where the two dices showed each a three, or 33. Leif already offered him the loser's cup, which he accepted, eyes still hanging on the cubes. He hesitated a moment when he brought it to its lips. "Why is the cup so full? I filled it myself."

"Just drink up," Momonga encouraged as he leaned over the table and pushed the cup's base up. Barn whisked him away, but kept drinking till he crashed the cup on the table and retched. Momonga wasted no time and dutifully filled it up again.

"You must be going senile, geezer," Leif teased, while he cast the shaker again. He took a sneak peek under it, before offering, "21."

"I believe you," the woman next in line said and shook the shaker, and, without looking under it, offered in return, "31!"

The game went on, and 'Gazef Stronoff' proved again his uncanny luck– or, rather, Momonga's [Time-Stop] spell – in avoiding the loser's cup. When it circled back to Barn, the old man excused himself and handed Leif the shaker, before returning to the bar. Momonga also rose from the table and followed.

Sitting down on one of the lonely bar stools, he asked, "What's the matter, Barn? Old age catching up with you?"

"Sh-Shut up!" Barn barked back, and scratched his temple incredulously at the sight of the small bottle piled in the corner. "How much did we drink...?"

"You. I didn't get one drop, yet. Guess I'm just too good at my own game," Momonga corrected him.

"Hnn…" Barn grunted as he tossed the first dirty cups in the sink and opened the faucet. "You were really good at it… almost too good, Gazef."

"Are you suspecting me of cheating?" Momonga asked back, which provoked a snort from the red-nosed man behind the counter.

"Right, no point in a drinking game you generously paid a silver shilling for in advance. Sorry for the implication. That was rude of me."

"You can make it up by handing me beer and entertaining me with a good story." Momonga smirked, giving a pointed look at the barrel behind Barn, who understood and filled him a fresh one.

"Don't know what you're expecting, Gazef, but I am just a tavern keeper, not one of you hero or adventurer types. There isn't much to tell. I was born here, in Braesla, did my tour, met my wife during it, and afterwards opened up my business with the money earned during my service to the state. Not much more to tell. End of story." Barn shrugged his shoulder at his own life's path. "I am a boring model citizen."

Momonga took a big gulp of his beer, letting it vanish in his inventory, and made a point of exhaling in delight, before saying, "Boring to you, but it is still new to me. This poor fugitive wants to know more of his new home. So please tell me in more detail, what kind of life my future sons and daughters would live here."

"Didn't the captain-"

"He's still understandably reserved about me."

"Hnn… if that is so, I am not sure I should tell you."

"I'm not asking for any secrets or exact places. Just the general points. My departure from the Re-Estize Kingdom wasn't exactly planned long in advance, so I had no time to read up on it."

Barn stared for a moment with clouded eyes at him, studied carefully 'Gazef's' face, before finally giving in. "Okay, I guess a few pointers really can't hurt.

"First, son or daughter doesn't really matter. We in Slane take pride in using the talents of every citizen, not matter the sex. That might sound strange for a foreigner, but that has always been the way in Slane. Only the man's family name is generally adopted by his wife, but it is tradition in many families to leave the right of choosing the firstborn's name to the mother."

"Does this equality include political power?"

"Of course. We have had many men and women in, up to, and including the highest ranks of Theocracy. Five of the six current cardinals are men, actually an unprecedented number in our history – so you see, we take equality seriously," Barn said, proudly hammering his chest.

'And here I thought he would boast about their first female mayor. Guess I am the bigot.'

"Fascinating. And what does Slane expect of its citizens?"

"You mean, what will the Theocracy expect of you?"

"Yes," Momonga admitted.

Barn thought hard – his wine-addled head had to – before answering, "I am not sure. I never met a turncoat before, so I can't tell you how they will treat your missing tour. That is, if the government does not simply terminate you just to stay on the safe side."

'Terminate me to stay on the safe side? Good to know, but who tells that someone straight in their face?'

"Ehm, they don't really do that, do they? You are making fun of me, right?"

"I sure am not."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"No."

"But what if they make a mistake and execute someone innocent, 'just to stay on the safe side'?" Momonga asked, air quoting with his fingers.

Barn neither looked amused nor offended by his remark, and shrugged it off. "That happened and will happen again. We are all human, after all."

"I bet you wouldn't say that if you were the one evaluated. Then it would be an outrageous tragedy," Momonga said while he shoved the now empty cup over to Barn.

"I would. My instructors in Humanitas educated me well. Our state does not attempt to hide such sacrifices for the greater good. A good citizen bows his head and accepts his fate as another service to the people. Who knows? Maybe I am a danger to the state, and don't even know it? What then? Magic and monster can do terrible things."

'They have no concept of individual rights. So refreshing… and handy.'

Barn filled him another cup, while Momonga mused, "Seems like I can only hope to make a good first impression. Who knows, maybe I could just catch up on my tour?"

Barn snorted at this, putting a fresh cup in front of Momonga. "You are about 20 years too old to start your tour."

'Say again?'

"How old do you think I am, old man?"

"Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Yes..."

'I guess.'

"See, far too old."

"Hold on a moment." Momonga put down the cup he had led to his mouth again. "When did you do your tour?"

"When I was twelve of course, as is customary."

"I didn't know the Theocracy uses child soldiers."

"Of course it doesn't. Child soldiers are only effective against other humans. We had no need for them for centuries. No, I spent the first half of my tour in Humanitas, where I got most of my education, before I entered military service at age 18."

"So the 'tour' is more than just battle training? Wasn't it hard to leave behind your loved ones and friends?"

Barn's gaze turned distant for a moment, before he answered with a fond smile, "Yes, I missed my mom and dad a lot, but most of my friends came with me, or followed soon after – a great relief at the beginning."

"It must have been a taxing time."

"Often it was – we had very strict tutors, but they were good men and women, and it wasn't like I was the only one who had to go through it. Every child goes to Humanitas to become a proper citizen, and learn in time the great fortune which has been bestowed upon it. Gazef, I see it in your eyes: You doubt me, but most Slane cherish their tour's memories. Oh, just thinking of all the friends I met there makes my old pump stutter."

'Institutionalized brain-washing…' Momonga thought, but simply indicated Barn with a raised brow to speak on while he drank on.

"Okay, not just friends, also girls."

"Like your later wife Saim?"

"Yes, although she wasn't my first girlfriend. That was sweet, sweet Acta."

"I can hear a sad note."

"Was I so obvious?"

"You said 'sweet, sweet'..."

"Oh..."

Barn sighed, and Momonga could see his eye's corners glisten, so he asked softer this time, "What happened? Did you break up in bad fight you regret?"

"No, we were perfect together… or so we thought, but the Theocracy knew better. It found a trend for near-sightedness in her family line and forbid the union."

"And what became of her?"

"She got sterilized, and last I heard she served in a nun order of the God of Life. Can't remember their name, only they have their abbey somewhere south-west of Humanitas. It's been over thirty years since last I talked to her, mind you."

'Eugenic programs...'

"I am sorry."

"Don't be, Saim is a wonderful woman in her own right, and we are happy."

"But she's no Acta."

"...no."

Momonga was about to put a sympathetic hand on Barn's shoulder, when he felt one grip his own.

"Stronoff, we have company."

It was the scarred face of Nigun who had disturbed their conversation, and it looked with worry to the new guests entering the tavern. One by one they rushed in, obviously glad to leave the cold spray rain outside and set their large backpacks down. Momonga could see a similar uniform to the captain's under one of their travelling coats, though it sported dark purple accents, and understood Nigun's agitation.

While Barn stumbled over to greet the newcomers, Momonga padded the empty stool to his side and leaned closer once Nigun had sat down. "Enlighten me, Captain. Another Scripture?"

"Because of the uniforms? No, there is no Scripture bearing purple colours, unless…" Nigun peeked again to the strangers, five in total now – four men and a woman – as they took off their wet coats and handed them Barn. They wore indeed Scripture uniforms with purple accents, and were each heavily armed with swords, axes, and undoubtedly more concealed blades.

"Who are y-" Nigun mumbled when he saw a flash of gold and blue under the last man's coat, the one with the large bundle hanging from his shoulder. He hastily turned Momonga back to the counter and hissed, "They serve the Black Scripture. The man in the fine armour, you saw him?"

"The one with the slicked-back blonde hair?"

"That is Screaming Blade, Sixth Seat of the Black Scripture, one of the strongest humans in the world."

"What's a lonely Scripture member doing here? I thought you guys like to gangbang," Momonga asked, leaning forward and plucking three fresh cups and another wine bottle from Barn's reserves. He filled one for Nigun, one for himself and also the last one, as he heard a rhythmic ching behind him. He toasted to Nigun when he added, "Hopefully he didn't suffer the same misfortune as you, Captain."

Nigun's nostrils flared and pupils dilated at the comment, but despite the pumping veins on his temples, the Captain answered calmly, "That is unlikely. The Black Scripture members usually travel and work alone. Their strength is unrivalled."

'That remains to be tested.'

"So they are the Theocracy's elite."

"They are mankind's elite."

"My bad. They are mankind's elite." Momonga chuckled, bringing his cup to his lips, but Nigun stopped him with a firm grip on his arm.

"I mean it. Do not do something stupid we will regret, Stronoff!"

Momonga felt no pain from the Captain's strong hand. He had no hope of even scratching the End, but his move still annoyed him, and with a cold glare at the offending limb, Momonga said, "Heed your own advice, Captain."

Nigun turned chalk white when he realized his faux pax and let go. The 'ching' came closer and Momonga sipped once from the cup, before a man's voice – calm and not yet ravaged by age – asked from behind him, "Warrior Captain Gazef Stronoff?"

Momonga and Nigun turned and looked at the Sixth Seat, his serfs a little behind him. Now, without the coat, they could clearly see the exquisitely made full-plate armour which had been lacquered in blue and gold. Momonga suspected a freakishly large weapon was in the slung over bundle, but could see no other weapon on the young man.

"Hi, there; just Gazef Stronoff, if you please. The Warrior Captain is dead," Momonga greeted back with an offered hand, but the Sixth Seat ignored it and instead pointed at Nigun.

"Captain Luin? What are you doing here, and where is the rest of the Sunlight Scripture?"

'[Message] "Easy now, Captain." [End]'

Momonga sent quickly without breaking the friendly smile he had put up. Nigun hesitated only a moment before answering, "They are still in the Great Forest of Tob."

"Then why are you-"

"They are dead, brother." Nigun interrupted him, and the Sixth Seat lowered the accusing finger. "I am on my way back to Humanitas. I- We need to recover their bodies and start the rebuilding of the Sunlight Scripture."

"How could you lose an entire Scripture, Captain?"

"A surprise attack while we made camp. I do not know how they passed our wards. I got knocked out in the beginning and awoke in troll ladder, surrounded by my dead comrades. I guess I only lived because of my amulet of protection and the sealing crystal the cardinals entrusted me with, of course," Nigun recounted, and held up the gold and silver chain with the dull blue stone, which he normally kept hidden under his robes.

"I see, but how does the Warrior Captain fit into this?" The Sixth Seat queried, briefly glancing to Momonga.

"I am no longer-"

"I wasn't talking to you, foreigner," he interrupted Momonga without looking. His brown eyes kept drilling into Nigun's, daring him to make a mistake, but the captain held his calm.

"We were sent to kill the Warrior Captain; that is why we travelled through Tob to the southern kingdom in the first place."

"Then why are you drinking buddies, now?"

"BECAUSE…!" Momonga said louder, so the Black Scripture member would finally pay him attention. "I am no longer the Warrior Captain. I called in some favours and faked my own death."

Screaming Blade glanced briefly at Momonga, before Nigun said, "We were convinced, too. You would not believe me, if I told you what we saw. Just accept it for now – I was as surprised as him when I met him in the forest, later. Without him, I would not have survived the backtrack through Tob."

"You would be already three times dead, if not for me."

"And you are dead! To your people, I mean." Nigun shot back.

The Sixth Seat closed his eyes and scratched his chin, thinking about their story, before his arm shot up again and growled, "I do not know the truth, but I know one thing: You are not telling it. I have heard and read of the Warrior Captain. Every report pointed out Stronoff's honour and unshakable loyalty to the King."

"It is as I said," Nigun stressed, but it just fuelled Screaming Blade's anger with it.

"If that is so, what does it mean for your story? Eh? Either you thoughtlessly brought a double agent with you, if the reports were indeed accurate, or you brought a lying turncoat to our home, one who fooled the whole world. Neither speaks well of your competence."

'The correct answer is B.' Momonga thought, but spoke and offered a cup before Nigun could defend himself, "Mister, I don't know who you are, but why don't we first wet our throats and then start again with the accusation. You must have a long track behind you-"

- WHAM!

A hard backhand stopped Momonga from speaking further, and the Sixth Seat snarled, "Shut your lying mouth. Your words have no merit, traitor."

Momonga made a point of massaging his jaw and cheek. In truth, he had not felt much at all, but he still had a glimmer of hope there would be a point of maintaining the illusion. "Ohw, that really hurt. You should watch-"

- WHAM!

Another backhand hit him.

"I said shut up!"

"Don't you get-"

- WHAM!

"Shut up!"

"That you are-"

- WHAM!

"Why won't you cease speaking!?" Screaming Blade bit as he continued backhanding Momonga, whose head moved a little less with each further hit.

"Making me-"

- WHAM!

"Quite-"

- Wham!

"Angry."

- …wham.

He had not moved one bit under the last hit and stared coldly for a moment, clearly annoyed, in front of the flabbergasted face of Screaming Blade.

"Especially when you are doing it all wrong."

"Huh?" The Sixth Seat got to wonder, before Momonga backhanded him in turn with unnatural strength, and sent him flying through the two serfs behind him, the crowd around the table, and a sturdy stone wall –none of which reacted well to being hit by 150 kilograms of metal and flesh moving at dozens of meters per second.

"Have you gone mad!?" Nigun screamed, but Momonga ignored him as he strode past the panicking survivors through the freshly-made hole. The tenement's wall on the other side of the main street had been cracked, but Screaming Blade was nowhere to be seen. Momonga looked left and right, past the house and the rows of high columns the Slane placed between every larger building's corner, but aside from the drizzle and running water, nothing moved.

'[Detect Life]'

Momonga cast silently, and felt the warmth of hundreds of torches prickle his skin, just as the glowing silhouettes of the people living in Braesla filled his vision, unhindered by distance or walls. He was at once aware of everyone, even the surviving tavern guests who fled through the exit around the corner. Everyone in human hearing distance of the crash moved, ran to the windows, or ran for the lesser life sources among them.

All but the one above him. Momonga looked up and saw the Sixth Seat dive for him with a humongous two-handed sword, which looked like it had been fashioned from a giant's sternum. He barely stepped back in time before the blade sunk hilt-deep into the cobble stones with a shrill howl. Screaming Blade lost no time and swung his weapon up like he was cutting through air, spraying Momonga with the dust-turned stone of the sword's path.

The End narrowly evaded it and the follow-up thrust, before it blocked the fourth strike with a pair of crossed heavy swords he had summoned from his inventory. In the split second, Momonga saw surprise in the warrior with the broken nose, before his blood-stained mouth snarled, "[Flow Acceleration]!"

'That's no Yggdrasil skill!'

Momonga felt the blade pierce his abdomen's armour by the next second. With a grin, the Sixth Seat wedged the blade in the hole and lifted him up over his head to slam him head-first into the pavement. Once. Twice. A third time before the weapon came lose. Momonga tried to stand up, but the warrior's weight immediately landed on him, the magic weapon piercing his shoulder, and Screaming Blade pummelled his face into the street with a punch to the back of his head.

'What was that? This guy has no magical talent, so where did he get the power for that skill?'

"You're nothing but a fake, a fucking pretender!" Screaming Blade yelled and continued hitting him.

Momonga, meanwhile, kept thinking. 'Could he have an item which hides his magic reserves? A ring like mine? I've seen the humans use Tier magic, so it shouldn't be too far-fetched one of those could have also ended up here. On the other hand, why risk close quarter combat if he could have simply blasted me? This guy is confusing…'

'…and quite irritating.'

"Defend yourself, 'Stronoff'! It's no fun if you don't struggle! Are you not supposed to be the former Warrior Captain?!" Screaming Blade gloated and let go of the sword's hilt to grab Momonga's head with both hands.

"For the love of the gods, brother, don't!" Nigun shouted from behind them, but the Sixth Seat was entirely focused on Momonga, tightening his hold. With a sudden jerk, he forcibly turned the End's head over 180 degrees, and finally let go with a snicker.

"So much for the wannabe-spy. Now for you, traitor!"

'Won't you ever shut up?'

Momonga thought, falling from the sword being pulled from his illusory flesh. Further back, he heard another blade being drawn, as the weight lifted from his back and the illusion spells he cast undid the damage done to the form of Gazef Straneff.

Momonga picked himself up and inspected his black armour. No holes, dents or even scratches marred the armours black paint, and he turned, pleased for the priests. Nigun had drawn his own sword and was sweating hard while he awaited the Sixth Seat's charge, who had also readied his weapon.

When Momonga saw him twitch, he quickly called, "Hey!"

'Should have come up with something better.'

Screaming Blade stopped his attack and looked back. It took the paling warrior half a second to switch his stance and properly face Momonga again, but the single word had cast its magic, the previous confidence was gone.

"How are you still standing? I stabbed your bowels and broke your neck!"

"Don't forget you tickled me."

"Tickle you?" Screaming Blade asked, and Momonga held up his fists in response, causing another twitch of the warrior, perhaps in anticipation of an attack, before he noticed 'Gazef' was pointing at his clean gauntlet and then at him repeatedly. At last he looked at his own gauntlets and noticed.

"No… N-No blood?! Why is there no blood? Those fists can easily crush stone; why is there no blood?!"

"Perhaps one of us is especially thick."

"Wha-"

- WHAM!

Momonga had charged and kicked him in the chest while he was distracted, denting in the armour and hurling him through the walls of the tavern across the street, but this time, Momonga was right after him, summoning another pair of broadswords.

Screaming Blade bounced once over the cobbles, before righting his position and skidding to a halt. The undead was already upon him, hacking columns, vendors, and statues to splinters with each swing he missed. He held the edge in strength and endurance, but his opponent evaded him at every turn and even scored hits on Momonga. Yet landing a hit was not Momonga's goal.

As his cleavers missed again and turned a statue of Alah Alaf into rubble, Screaming Blade back-flipped with a kick to Momonga's forehead and called, "[Flow Acceleration]! [Fatal Edge]! [Greater Ability Boost] and [Pace of the Wind]!"

He had barely touched the ground before he slashed the bone sword up from Momonga's navel to his shoulders with a manic grin. One which 'Gazef' mirrored.

Screaming Blade had done exactly what Momonga had hoped he would do. Use more of his unfamiliar power. In the moment the strange technique activated, the End had carefully watched. Now it grinned… because it understood.

Screaming Blade might have been a boorish meathead, but it was still magic he was using – just of a different kind. The Tier Magic of Yggdrasil used power from deep within the user's very self, a mysterious source, whose true nature Momonga had yet to discern, to fuel the arcane formulas, which in turn rewrote existence.

But Screaming Blade's technique was the total opposite. It did not so much force a new concept into reality; instead, it temporarily remodelled the user, letting the ambient magic of the world flow into them and fuel their superhuman powers.

This 'martial art' was like a solar collector to the nuclear power plant of Tier Magic. Momonga deemed its inventor a genius, just as he lamented his own inability to learn it, for it could not work for him. The inherent concept prevented true magic casters or anyone with a notable magical talent from using them, as the pressure of their own magical energy prevented the world's from streaming into and fuelling them.

The Sixth Seat's blade left his shoulder and he briefly grinned in triumph, before iron locks clamped down on his wrists, mashing metal and flesh. Momonga had not felt the least bit of pain, his inherent racial damage resistance made him immune to all but high-tier weaponry, and the warrior's blade barely qualified for mid-tier, mankind's supposed elite or not.

More and more people dared to peek out of their windows as Screaming Blade struggled in his painful hold, kicked and tried to bite, but the game had lost its thrill to Momonga – it was time to end this.

The End rammed his knee into the man's stomach, and the unintelligible swearing stopped with a flat grunt. He rammed it up again and again, speckling his face and breastplate with red spittle, while breaking bones and tearing sinews resounded through the empty street.

Momonga forced his knee one last time into Screaming Blade's abdomen, and the arms tore lose from their sockets, drawing a fearful gasp from the spectators. He came down ten meters away, while Momonga's bloody fingers stilled, holding the crushed metal and meat of his gauntlets.

"Still not dead?" Momonga asked.

Indeed, the Sixth Seat had not breathed his last and shakily rose from his own little red pool. Nothing remained of the once-handsome face. The nose was broken, the lips busted and the eyes almost swollen shut. His proud blue armour was caked in his own blood and dented and scratched all over, a pitiful sight matching his struggling high voice.

"Who are you? What are you?"

"Honey, I'll be all you don't want me to be."

"You are a monster!"

"Yep."

'[Banshee Blast]'

Momonga casted, and a cone of darkness shot out of his hand.

"[Flow Acceleration]!" The cripple desperately called and jumped out of the way of the pyroclastic wave-like magic, as it washed over the house block, turning every life, no matter if man or pottery plant, into a dry and rotted husk. He managed a last evasion of the stream of flames and smoke which followed up from Momonga's other palm, but his power was spent.

At last, his knees buckled and he collapsed, surrounded by flames and horrified screams, while Momonga loomed over him. The man had no more strength left to look up when he mumbled, "Wild Magic... Wild Magic... Wild Magic... Fucking Dragon Lord... Warn the Theo... Have to-"

Momonga's boot came down hard into the gap of his neck, silencing him at once. It was over. Nigun took his side, sword still in hand, and studied his dead brother. The captain looked ash-grey, his eyes were bloodshot, but his voice did not waver when he prayed, "Great Gods, please accept this devout servant in your company. Have him find the peace he sacrificed for you in life."

Momonga did not interfere with the small ceremony, and waited patiently for Nigun to close the corpses eyes and sent more prayers to the gods, while touching his forehead, heart and abdomen.

"What is 'Wild Magic'?"

Nigun rose once he finished. "The old ways which defined power, before the gods taught us Tier Magic."

"Why was it abandoned?"

"It was not. Only dragons or those with their blood can use Wild Magic. It is a disgusting power, which consumes countless souls to fuel it."

"So the fool mistook my spell for stripping the plebs of their souls."

"It appears so," Nigun agreed and looked around. The street was sullied with blood and debris, one block burned ablaze, the one across was as still as the dead. Momonga had left a mess. "Your plan of entering Slane silently is busted. So what now, Lord Gown?"

"Don't worry, my good captain, you just inspired me," Momonga said, placing a patronizing hand on his head.

'[Greater Death Ward]'

A faint green glow briefly enveloped Nigun in miniscule sigils and geometric forms, before they faded again, and the captain asked, "What are you doing now, again?"

"Employee protection."

'[Wail of the Banshee]!'