“Haa, haa….”
While the situation in the Talent Selection Tournament was reaching its peak, the Lingard Count’s mansion was unusually peaceful.
“Alright, perfect.”
Parsha, who had her head buried on the desk in the study, wiped the blood dripping from her nose with her sleeve and murmured with bloodshot eyes.
“Among all the possibilities, I’ve drawn out the most optimal flow.”
Next to her were piles of things that would have horrified Whitney if he had seen them.
“I’ll probably be bedridden for the next few weeks… Haha…”
For instance, there were signs of her tirelessly copying the Count’s handwriting and the magic seal, which was said to be impossible to forge, to create a fake letter that even Whitney and Cecil were fooled by.
And then, the Trickster’s pouch of Whitney’s that was originally meant for Runiel as per the plan.
“With this… Master will become the greatest in history…”
Though she pushed the pile aside roughly and looked like she could collapse at any moment, Parsha was carefully cleaning Whitney’s photo on the table with a fond smile and a handkerchief.
“Parsha, it’s been a while.”
“……!”
“Is this the first time we’re seeing each other since you escaped the lab that day?”
At the sudden voice from in front of her, the always smiling face of Parsha stiffened pale for the first time.
“By the way, this mansion is really well protected. Even with just one white mage present, the ancient barrier completely blocks all black magic. Isn’t that kind of cheating?”
“Ah…”
“Well, now that all the white mages are away from the mansion, it’s practically my bedroom.”
A maid of the mansion had entered the study, her eyes dyed black, exuding a presence so familiar it gave Parsha chills.
“Why are you here…?”
“I have something important to ask regarding Whitney, the current master of this mansion.”
Realizing without difficulty that the maid was possessed by the leader of the dark mages, Parsha asked in a tense voice, to which the leader took a step forward and whispered through the maid’s mouth.
“Since you’re already one of the mansion’s staff, why don’t you dig a little deeper into that guy?”
“I can’t shake the feeling that he has the Demon King’s power too.”
At those words, Parsha’s eyebrows twitched slightly, but she quickly put on a confused expression and asked the leader.
“…Why do you think so?”
“His appearance is outrageously wicked.”
“Well, that’s true.”
At that answer, Parsha managed to give a faint smile of relief and nodded along.
“And… his magical waves, too.”
As the leader added with a subtle smile, Parsha’s face stiffened again.
“Those waves are so evil that monsters instinctively want to serve him as their master.”
“……”
“He’s so suspicious, it’s like he was born with the Demon King’s fate—like Meredia or the emperor.”
Meanwhile, the leader, who had approached right in front of Parsha, casually sat on the desk and began chatting with amusement.
“And for a moment, he even bound my soul. Honestly, my heart dropped then…”
“What?”
“Fufu, never mind. Forget what I just said.”
Trailing off for a moment, the leader then leaned in close, her eyes turning icy.
“Anyway, you’d better not think about switching sides.”
“……Guh.”
“Playing happy family with that damned old man—don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your duty?”
As she reached out and stroked Parsha’s cheek, Parsha let out a strangled gasp and began trembling all over.
“You’re supposed to make me the Demon King, Parsha. You were designed as an experimental subject for that purpose.”
“Urgh…”
“Even the analysis method you’re using—that’s something I lent you, isn’t it?”
A black mark appeared between Parsha’s neck and shoulder, glowing vividly as it started to emit smoke.
“Did you forget how glorious it is for someone not born with the Demon King’s fate to use that power?”
“I—I’m sorry…”
Overwhelmed by the terrible pain spreading through her body, Parsha whimpered, her voice barely audible, but the leader simply stared down at her with blackened eyes.
“Don’t say you’re sorry—say you’ll do better.”
“H-Hic… I-I’ll do my best.”
“Good. So please, don’t let your eyes wander.”
Finally, as the answer the leader had waited for slipped from Parsha’s lips after the prolonged torture, she gave a satisfied smile and gently caressed Parsha’s cheek again.
“…Of course, my great Shadow.”
At the same time, the mark on Parsha’s neck and shoulder slowly vanished, and she forced a smile as she spoke in a half-choked voice.
“You will become the greatest Demon King in history.”
“…Fufu, of course.”
The leader, flashing a chilling smile, quietly stood and turned her back.
“Well then, I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“……Yes.”
“Don’t forget that my eyes and ears are everywhere.”
And the moment those words were spoken, the maid’s eyes seemed to return to normal—then a loud thud echoed through the study as she collapsed.
“…Haha.”
Moments later, a cold laugh leaked from Parsha’s lips as she sobbed with her face buried in the table.
“Damn it all…”
Then, as she lifted her head again, her expression—though drenched in pain—held a chilling air.
“The one who becomes the greatest Demon King… will be decided by my will.”
Clenching both fists with that expression, Parsha slowly turned her gaze toward Whitney’s photo standing beside her.
“…Right, Master?”
She gave a pale smile and winked at the photo, and finally collapsed on the table, completely losing consciousness.
***
“W-What do you mean by that all of a sudden?”
“W-We came because we heard there was a change in the selection tournament…”
The participants who followed Bergen, disguised as the head of the academic department, were all flustered by Whitney’s sudden announcement and began to speak up at once.
Even if the judge’s word was absolute in the selection tournament, the current situation was just too strange.
“A-And what about the shaking we’ve been feeling… and that smoke covering the arena?”
“W-What’s that thing squirming on the side?”
“What in the world is going on?”
The sky above the arena was covered in black smoke, obscuring all vision, and beside Whitney, a woman with snake-like eyes was convulsing.
“Mm, it’s a long story to explain…”
“I’ll kill you! How dare you force me… Ughhhh!!!”
“…I’ll explain later, so for now, could you all just fight?”
And Whitney himself, covering the woman’s mouth, only muttered evasively with a suspicious look on his face (his usual expression).
“D-Don’t you think something’s really weird…?”
“S-Shouldn’t we report this or something?”
Given the situation, the students acting cooperatively was actually what seemed strange.
Smack!
If not for the variables created knowingly or unknowingly by Whitney since his arrival at the academy—and the ones deliberately guided by his confidante Parsha.
“Haa, haa…”
In the pitch-black darkness, Adele, who had just struck her senior on the head with a magic wand, gasped with a pale, horrified face.
“This is… my chance.”
At the corners of her lips, a flicker of guilt rose after a moment of hesitation.
“A chance to look good to my future husband… I’d be a fool to miss it.”
“W-Who’s there? Ack!”
“N-No, I meant a chance to win first place. Haha…”
As the sound of blows and collapsing bodies echoed one after another in the dark, a wave of fear began to spread across the students’ faces.
“Brother…”
But Adele wasn’t the only one taking action in the darkness.
“This time… I’ll do as you say, Brother.”
Cecil, who had quietly picked up the sword of the student Adele knocked out, was muttering in a trembling voice as she readjusted her grip on the sword.
“I’ll listen to everything you say from now on…”
Her usual sharp instincts, which should’ve triggered, had long been dulled by the shock of witnessing the truth in the infirmary and seeing Whitney collapse before her eyes.
“This time, please don’t die… Please…”
“Wait… Guh.”
“Eeek!?”
Though her body and mind were still weakened, her skills remained intact, and when her blade flashed in the darkness, far more students began to be eliminated than when Adele first acted.
“Something’s not right…”
“W-We have to get out of here… Gah.”
“…Wh-Who’s there? Ack.”
And last, there was Robin the doppelgänger, whom even Whitney had briefly forgotten.
“R-Robin, we’re friends…”
“We’re in the same class too… Kyah!”
With Whitney’s command to ‘fight each other’ now embedded in him, Robin was already moving through the darkness as swiftly as Cecil, eliminating contestants.
“E-Everyone! Fighting each other won’t help at all… Aagh!”
“D-Don’t come closer! I said don’t come!”
“T-This place is hell…”
As the participants swept up in the chaos finally began to attack each other indiscriminately, the arena, cut off from the outside world, plunged into utter panic.
“Sir Whitney! Please save us…!”
In that hellish scene, there was one sight that some students later recalled as the most terrifying of all.
“T-This doesn’t seem right…”
“…Haha.”
“Ah…”
It was Whitney himself, standing a step behind, smiling coldly as he infused something ominous into the hearts of the students hidden in the dark.
Smack!
The chaos within the arena was so overwhelming that no one realized until they lost consciousness—beaten by Adele, Cecil, or Robin—that it was all part of Whitney’s specially crafted protective spell.
***
Meanwhile, at that same moment.
Floating somewhere above the skies of the world once again was the holy airborne city of Aethernopolis, belonging to the Holy Nation of Astra.
“It is time… to make a decision.”
Inside the papal meeting chamber, where all the key powers of the Holy Nation were gathered, a heavier tension hung in the air than ever before.
“The Holy Nation can no longer stand by and watch what’s happening in the selection tournament.”
Seated at the head of the table, the pope of the Holy Nation opened his mouth with a grim expression.
“The oracle of the Hero, which has been secretly passed down through the Holy Nation since ancient times, has already been greatly distorted. If things continue like this, the world will surely be swallowed by darkness.”
Behind him, a massive crystal was showing the interior of the selection arena, now engulfed in black smoke.
“Therefore, from this moment on, I plan to dispatch every available force, including the entire Paladin Order, into the Empire.”
The bishops, who had been silently observing the scene, began to murmur solemnly at the pope’s declaration.
“Should any of you brothers and sisters have objections, speak now.”
Even a nation as influential as the Holy Nation could not deploy troops into the imperial capital without the Emperor’s permission without risking more than mere diplomatic tensions.
If it became known they had broken their treaty with the Empire and were spying on a key facility like the Academy, it could very well lead to war.
Yet despite knowing this better than anyone, no one voiced an objection.
Because their highest priority had always been preserving the will and order of the gods.
Any future clash with the Empire would simply be a trial to fulfill divine law.
“Then, seeing no objections…”
As consensus silently fell across the room, the pope prepared to rise from his seat with a cold expression.
“Your Holiness! Urgent news!”
At that very moment, a priest in charge of managing the statue of the goddess burst through the doors, his urgent shout freezing the pope and every bishop in the room.
“An oracle! A new oracle has descended from the statue!”
News that a new oracle had been received—so soon after the prophecy of the new Saintess had been revealed—shook the already tense Vatican to its core.
“Perhaps… the gods have not abandoned us yet…”
Even the pope, who had been under fire since the Saintess’ disappearance, murmured with a trembling voice, then quickly composed himself and spoke again.
“The meeting is suspended. We must first interpret the oracle—”
“Uh, well…”
But the priest, looking clearly flustered, hesitated and, after glancing around nervously, pulled a rubbing of the oracle from his robes and spoke in a barely audible voice.
“I-I’m not sure if this should be shown to everyone…”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
At that moment, the pope and bishops only gave dry chuckles.
“Even if it looks strange at first glance, the oracles always conceal divine truths.”
Though previous oracles were always veiled in long metaphors or cryptic wording, everyone present had spent their lives studying and interpreting divine messages.
“But still…”
“Come, show us the rubbing.”
“…Yes, Your Holiness.”
After all, it was this very group that had successfully interpreted the cryptic oracle heralding the arrival of the Saintess Hestia, so the pope gave the order with confidence.
…Huh?
But when the priest spread out the rubbing of the oracle across the table, in full view of the Holy Nation’s top authorities—
“T-This is…”
“H-Hmm.”
A collective groan of shock escaped the lips of all present, including the pope.
[The Saintess, freed from the chains of fate, shall choose one who bears the appearance of the Demon King and the heart of a Hero.]
It was the shortest, most direct oracle in the thousand-year history of the Holy Nation—and so shocking that it shook the foundation of all previous prophecies kept in secret for generations.
[Thus shall the cycle of fate be broken, and an era of uncertainty shall dawn… No, let’s drop the riddles already.]
It had appeared in stark, undeniable clarity before their very eyes.
[Sorry. Honestly, even I don’t know what’s going on anymore.]
– Ahahaha…
And so, in the stunned silence that followed, only Whitney’s faint, devilish laughter from the arena—relayed through the crystal in the back of the meeting room—echoed like a ghost.
Cliche Novel 