The Protagonist's Party is Too Diligent

There are always decisive reasons why battles end in failure.

If we think about it simply, numbers are a crucial factor. Generally, the side with the greater numbers holds the advantage in battle. As long as the individuals on the "larger side" possess at least a certain level of skill, they can unite their strength to take on opponents stronger than any of them individually.

However, the leaders of the Holy Nation miscalculated that “certain level of strength.”

As the Emperor swung his sword, the blood staining the golden blade dripped off in scattered droplets. Gold is said to be a soft metal, yet the aura enveloping the Emperor's sword made such differences trivial, slicing through the Holy Nation's knights as if they were nothing.

If it had been just the Emperor alone, they might have had a chance. No matter how skilled in swordsmanship or how powerful, he was still human. Every human ability has its limits.

But—

“Anto, Neo...”

A knight gasped out the names as he struggled to speak.

Of course, his words were cut short as "Jericho's Blade" pierced him, killing him instantly.

“It was from the very beginning... From the very start, you say.”

An aged voice, frail yet steady, sounded.

The Emperor turned his head to see a small old man, who appeared to be at least ninety years old, seated in the distance. The man’s robes were pristine, snow-white fabric embroidered with intricate golden thread, radiating elegance. Yet, the frail figure within the robes seemed pitiful to the Emperor.

“Ah, Your Holiness, the Pope,” the Emperor greeted, his smile soft as he turned toward the man.

“Indeed. Plans must be laid properly from the beginning, wouldn’t you agree? You, however, were careless. To be honest, I had no intention of sending my son so deeply into your territory. If my daughter hadn’t drawn so much attention, merely observing your internal structure would have sufficed.”

The figure called “Antonio” raised his head as he withdrew the sword from the knight’s corpse.

It was Damien.

“Then... the incident when your other son attacked this place...”

“Ah, that was truly an accident. Allow me to apologize for my son’s impudence,” the Emperor said, placing a hand over his chest and offering a shallow bow of regret.

“Honestly, at the time, I thought I might need to revise my plans. Luckily, the brotherly bond between them proved to be strong.”

“To be precise,” Damien interrupted as he approached silently, “I was lucky to escape with my life. Since all the knights around me died, they didn’t suspect a thing. Otherwise, my presence here would have been uncovered.”

“Well, at least you had the decency not to reveal everything, didn’t you?” the Emperor remarked, chuckling.

“...It was more due to the lack of witnesses,” Damien replied seriously, his tone cutting through the Emperor’s amusement.

After a moment’s pause, Damien bowed his head.

“...But in the end, I failed to retrieve the relic. For this, no number of apologies—”

“It’s fine,” the Emperor interrupted, placing a reassuring hand on Damien’s shoulder.

“In the end, that relic is now in my possession. Looking at the results, both of my sons ultimately delivered to me the very object I sought.”

With those words, the Emperor reached into his robe and pulled out a cogwheel.

It gleamed with an iridescent blue glow, its surface inscribed with intricate patterns that shimmered mesmerizingly—a flawless cogwheel.

“And the rest,” the Emperor continued, “was brought to me by my daughter.”

A ragged, gasping sound came from nearby, as if someone wanted to say something but couldn’t.

The Emperor looked down to see a girl wearing a white mask, collapsed and bleeding.

Her body was riddled with wounds, severe and gaping. Left untreated, she would succumb to blood loss within moments.

In fact, it was a miracle she was still alive.

A massive gash ran across her abdomen, exposing her insides. Among the spilled entrails were bolts and small cogwheels, as if her very body concealed some kind of machinery.

The Emperor gazed down at the figure he had called “daughter” and slowly began to speak.

“In that future, I failed. Isn’t that right?”

His words were incomprehensible to anyone listening.

“The ancient machinery created by Fangryphon could only function with Fangryphon’s power. It was designed by the first Fangryphon, who rebelled against the goddess’s plan to strip humans of their freedom and will, and impose her ‘perfect order.’ To replicate even a fraction of its capabilities, the body of a Fangryphon was required.”

The Emperor knelt gently beside the masked girl, cradling her upper body in his arms.

Even as he removed her mask, the girl made no effort to resist.

“Isn’t that right, Alice?”

The wet, choking sound she made could not convey any meaning.

The Emperor, ignoring the blood splattered on his face, brushed back Alice’s hair with a tender hand.

“I nearly succeeded in that future, but I failed. As a result, even in this repeated world, no one realized time had been rewound. The me of the future must have wondered how to seize the next opportunity, how to ensure victory. Isn’t that so, my daughter? If it were me, I would have thought exactly that.”

The light in Alice’s blue eyes was fading.

“I understand why you tried to kill yourself and why you resisted me so fiercely. I can understand it... in spirit.”

The Emperor smiled down at his daughter, who was gasping for breath.

“But that doesn’t mean I want to lose. I’ve always lived with the desire to win, and nothing else.”

“Why?”

The question didn’t come from Alice.

“Why... go to such lengths? Is the name Fangryphon truly that important to you?”

“Hmm.”

The Emperor gently laid Alice down and rose to his feet, looking toward the source of the question—his son, Lucas.

“Do you want to know why I wish to win?”

“That’s correct,” Lucas replied.

The sound of swift footsteps followed his words.

The first to move was Damien, who stood closest to the Emperor. He stepped forward as if to shield the Emperor.

“Enough. Step back,” the Emperor said, lightly tapping Damien’s shoulder. Damien flinched slightly at the gesture before reluctantly retreating.

Behind him, Bella and Jayden rushed in. Although they didn’t block the Emperor’s path directly—having been ordered to step aside—they stood ready to draw their swords at a moment’s notice.

Lucas, however, paid no attention to the three of them, fixing his gaze solely on the Emperor.

“It’s the same reason you wield your sword,” the Emperor said.

“...To become the strongest?”

“That depends on where you place the foundation of that strength.”

The Emperor took a step forward, a smile on his face as he approached Lucas.

“Lucas, you see... I enjoy being Emperor.”

“....”

“When I give a single command, tens of thousands of soldiers march, their boots shaking the ground. Tens of thousands of human lives, each as valuable as my own, march into the inferno of war, trusting only in my orders. They lay down their lives. It’s a tragic thing, really. That’s why I’m always compelled to deliver results worthy of the price they pay.”

The Emperor continued his approach, taking measured steps toward Lucas without a hint of hesitation or caution.

“Isn’t it thrilling? That my every move, my every word, shapes the flow of an era. Can’t you understand that feeling?”

“....”

“At first, I may have sought to live up to the illustrious name of Fangryphon. But not anymore. The first Fangryphon loved chaos. A world where the weak and the strong intertwined, where strength wasn’t determined solely by the clash of swords or purity of spirit, but by words, alliances, scheming, and betrayal—a world where the weak could overcome the strong through such means.”

Long, long ago, during an age of chaos when the concept of order was yet to be established, the first Fangryphon, despite his malformed body, rose to become the ruler of the world as the leader of the Griffons.

And thus, he earned the name Fangryphon.

“He wished for that beautiful chaos to never end.”

“Then... Father, do you intend to revive that great chaos? To restore the legacy of the first Fangryphon?”

“No,” the Emperor replied.

“I care nothing for chaos or order. To me, it’s all irrelevant. I simply... enjoy my current position too much. The joy of playing a game of wits against one who, despite sharing the blood of Fangryphon, somehow gained the goddess’s favor, is indescribable. Planning new schemes and executing them is exhilarating. Digging traps and waiting for prey to fall into them is delightful. Yes, it’s enough to make me think this is my reason for living.”

The Emperor laughed—a pure, childlike smile, free of any blemish.

“Aren’t you curious? If I could perfectly control the goddess’s power, just how much greater the pleasure I could enjoy would be. In the end, Lucas, what I pursue is no different from what you pursue, my son.”

The Emperor spread his arms wide.

“To bring this world under my feet and methodically, thoroughly correct everything I believe to be wrong. Imagine it—a day when even the flaws of your incomplete past could be restored to fullness. Isn’t that something worth anticipating?”

“....”

“Hmm.”

Before Lucas could respond to the Emperor’s grandiose claims, the sound of clashing metal echoed from outside. The knights of the Holy Nation, fully armored, were closing in.

“It seems the diversionary tactic involving my daughter has run its course. They must have decided to abandon their position on the other front.”

“...Did Sylvia agree to this being a mere diversion?”

The Emperor responded to Lucas’s pointed question with nothing more than a sly smile.

“Well then, Your Holiness,” the Emperor said, turning toward the Pope. Despite the considerable distance between them, the Pope simply stared up at the Emperor in silent awe, as if utterly overwhelmed.

“Where is the incomplete machine you’ve been hiding? I’d like to proceed to the final stage soon. Oh, and of course, we welcome the knights outside. Surely you didn’t think I would come here with just this many troops?”

“....”

And so, the Holy Nation had miscalculated the Empire’s “strength.”

Not in terms of sheer force or strategy, but something more fundamental, the Pope realized in that moment.

Something far more fundamental.

Yes, something like—

The unwavering conviction they thought only they possessed.

The kind of conviction that, while incomprehensible, could not be broken—a conviction the Emperor clearly shared.

Through her dimming vision, Alice, lying on the cold floor, overheard the Emperor and his children talking.

Click, click, click.

The sound of spinning cogwheels echoed in her mind, perfectly interlocking, turning in harmony.

This very moment—

This moment of lying on the cold floor, being just another cog in the machinery that made up the world—

It felt as though she had glimpsed a faint blue light through the cracks above, where she had once been.