Thirteen thousand troops had participated in Operation Scorcher. An additional two thousand arrived as reinforcements in the form of both Ordoian Army and Slayers.

Of the ten thousand troops, there were over three thousand casualties. The estimated dead was said to be around seven to eight hundred, but the numbers were rapidly changing by the second.

The Slayer System was used to calculate the losses through the [Expedition] mechanic. Of the three thousand Slayers, two-hundred-thirty-six were confirmed dead, and six-hundred-eleven were confirmed incapacitated.

In the additional two thousand that arrived as reinforcements, there were over two hundred casualties. Of the two hundred casualties, forty-two Slayers were confirmed dead and seventy-eight were confirmed incapacitated.

In Ordo University's Department of Systemic Works, three-hundred-twenty-four participated, comprised of junior Slayers in both the Combative and Supportive Program alongside professors acting as licensed Slayers, including Slayer Team Alba and members of Glory Guild. There were ninety-four casualties: forty-six were confirmed deaths, with the remaining as incapacitations.

~~~

“Slain! O’ fellow servants of the Great Kreutz, servant of the Lord of Many, comprehension is insanity's creation and the journey of grief. For we, wayfarers of that World, must travel without?"

“Quiet,” said Ikeya. “Speak not if unearnest. Contrary to mine orders so shall you persist. Peace, then.”

“You wound me,” Wonder retorted. Initially, he thought to provide reinforcements for his now-deceased allies, that being the Lesser Watcher and Cutter, but he had been so confident that they, the superior Comets of the King of Stars, could slay the Slayers. Irony had the last laugh. But the Great Kreutz ordered no intervention.

“How troubling….” murmured Kreutz, contemplative. He had said that once the pair revealed their true forms, their deaths were all but guaranteed. Either by the Slayers’ hands or the Earthwill’s, so to the cosmic grave they departed. Oh, the Earthwill, the Mother of the World. How beautiful was her maternal grace, yet soiled by the touch of the System, that abomination.

It mattered not. While Ordo experienced an increase in morale, the true warriors knew the cost of the operation. This was a pyrrhic victory. It had taken this great of an effort to slay two of the Comets; imagine the rest. They felt it. They knew it.

“Troubling, Great Kreutz, servant to Sirus Aethfell, the Lord of Many?” Wonder asked. “Yes! Yes, I concur! Of a human hand, two purchased by conquest! Lost were our eyes and steel, grief, I feel! Now remains: our leader and the two brains!”

“One brain, I argue,” Ikeya followed, staring blankly at Wonder. “One half-wit. Concurrence is my station, yes, as the Lesser Miracle says it so: a valid conjecture, Great Kreutz, servant to the Lord of Many. Our actions, what shall they be for the awaiting future?”

“Wait, I say,” he ordered, looking away from the others. His tone had a smattering of bitterness, of disappointment, perhaps even defeat. The loss had surely taken a mental toll; after all, it was as Wonder said: they lost their scout and warrior. “Rash actions breed rash consequences. Have a mind, or the absence of such shall leave you stardust and remnants, as your fallen comrades, the servant Pereyra and Tewfik. Attrition then, is the current way. Let their resources dwindle, allow festering, and panic.

“Soon they shall beg for the end of days, through blade or rot.”

~~~

“You are hideous, aren’t you?” Morgan Hoshino commented on the scarred remains of Tewfik, having recovered enough to get up and about (to the protest of Montana and the healers). Unfortunately, a thorough autopsy was impossible. Unless you used the Cutter’s limbs that Firebrand had lobbed off, then sure, maybe.

He sighed, looking back where Archknell’s body was, then to the sky where Pereyra had turned into meteorites. First, Master Alzahrani. Now you. You’re such a cruel man. Morgan shook his head and continued his original train of thought, about the Comets.

His work was only beginning.

Thinking back on the first stage of the operation, where the initial front-line Slayers subjugated (that was debatable) Pereyra and Tewfik in its disguised form, they disarmed them of their universe splitters, the tools the Comets used to open portals to other worlds. They actually had been recovered, undamaged somehow.

Pereyra’s splitter took the form of a scepter, one that Morgan was well acquainted with: black handle, ruby head, both made out of an unknown material. Tewfik took the shape of a sword. If one could call it that. It resembled a spear than an actual blade: thin, gray, broadsword-length, looked like a bone. According to the officers, it was astoundingly light that even a child could wield it without any issues.

The researchers will have a field day with these things. Once the Ordo Disaster was over, of course. Currently, most were tasked with aiding current operations around the city, especially the portal sites; it was a blessing that the facilities were reclaimed so quickly after the initial chaos. Otherwise, there’d be portals opening everywhere, and only God knew what was coming out. As if Ordo needed another problem.

But that was an irrelevant thought, Morgan knew. He thought about the universe splitters in greater detail: by their very existence, it implied that the Comets themselves did not intrinsically have the power to travel the multiverse. Rather, they needed these tools to achieve that. Why was that? Perhaps that was by intentional design, preventing entities from the Space Beyond from wreaking havoc across the multiverse.

And why the Earthwill had to intervene. Morgan never expected for the mother and chaos theory to be so blatantly proven. He needed to think about this later. Again, think about the Comets.

Either Ikeya or Wonder had the ability to create universe splitters. Regardless of who, Morgan imagined they’d be incredibly important, if not the most important. Cutter, Watcher, Caller, these were designated roles. If the Comets, and by extension similar entities, were categorized based on their powers, then there had to be some sort of organization structure present within the Space Beyond. Then, the Forgers (as Morgan referred to them) were a class you had to control if you were, hypothetically, a multiversal politician or a war general or something.

Morgan couldn’t imagine that the Space Beyond had effective leadership currently. After all, the Kreutz Sungrazers were underneath Sirius Aethfell, not some cosmic horror with some hard-to-pronounce name.

“In summary, the Kreutz Sungrazers are acting against the interest of the Space Beyond for an unknown reason,” Morgan said to himself, whispering. “Considering they haven’t been punished yet, their former superiors are preoccupied with greater issues. That is a concerning implication honestly.”

“Finally found you,” called a rather annoying man. Montana, who wasn’t walking around in that heavy armor of his, just his undergarments. His right arm was bandaged tighter than a mummy’s. “You should rest.”

“Likewise. Go and listen to your own advice,” Morgan replied with a rather snappy tone. He didn’t hold any ill will against his comrade, but emotions were high still. Especially…

Montana nodded, his smile a sad thing. “Yeah, I know. It’s a real bitch, ain’t it?” Always so perceptive. Didn’t help that Morgan wasn’t bothering to hide his curse, earning him odd looks from pretty much everybody. “I didn’t think the girls would leave before us. Didn’t think Archknell could be killed honestly—no no, he went out on his own terms.”

Morgan went silent. He had a man’s mind but a boy’s body, and by extension a boy’s heart as well, always so prone to emotions. He hated it. Working was preferable to dwelling on his feelings. What had happened. He didn’t know how he was incapacitated but that was a mercy, knowing the events that came after.

Hidden’s death, for one. That came before his exit actually, and he wasn’t there to see it for himself. Luckily. She was always ill-fitted for this operation. She specialized—had specialized in infiltration and weaker enemies, not formidable foes such as the two Comets, much too durable to be killed through assassination. Too agile as well. “As if it’d stop me!” she had often exclaimed. This wasn’t the first time she had encountered a tough foe.

On a joint expedition with Team Accolade (Glory’s) and Five Formidable Peaks (Martial’s), Problem had recalled Hidden’s craftiness. In fighting a devout protector guardian belonging to a patron god, which had been a gargantuan mammoth creature about the size of a small city, Hidden had single-handedly committed blasphemy and managed to fell an even larger tree with a mixture of alchemy and explosives. Afterwards, the guardian’s subjugation was successful.

Hidden was like that. She was much smarter and capable than anyone gave her credit for, including himself. He was the academic of the group, an expert on texts and tomes and enjoyed inhaling dust (which would give him cancer, as Montana always joked), and Hidden was the problem-solver.

It was a shame then, that she had gotten unlucky.

And Jury. She was one of the last Slayers fighting after the artillery strike that crippled everyone in the area. Always the selfless one, wasn’t she? Died like that, buying time for the others to escape. It was how Montana retrieved him after all, and they were shortly found by Alexander Shen. That man. That man puzzled Morgan to no end. Who would willingly go back into battle?

Well, according to rumors, Shen might be a candidate for a Second Emergence. Go figure.

But that didn’t matter. This was about Jury.

Morgan had admiration for her cool head and great leadership, having been an Otherguard for quite some time. Otherguards were always an experience to work with: his favorites were the arrogant ones who looked down on the domestics. Jury, on the other hand, was something of an older sister or an aunt. Tough love, as Hidden had told him once. She was a practitioner of tough love.

Unfortunately, her heart meant losing her life. Of all the ways Jury could’ve died, it was here, after having survived through so much.

“Problem,” Montana said, raising his voice to take him out of his thoughts. “What’re you doing now? After this?”

Morgan shrugged. I need to speak with Seraph soon with the information I have, and the information that I want. “I’ll figure it out. What about you?”

“I think…” Montana sighed, scratched his neck. “I think I’d better stick closely with Silverhonor since she’s our Acting Guild Master now. She’s gonna arrive at any second too. The other SS-Ranks have already.”

Once he heard Silverhonor’s name, he immediately remembered Mystic and subsequently frowned. “And Mystic?”

Montana nodded.

“Amazing. Last thing we want is guild politics.”

"He'll probably ask you to stay—"

"And I told him countless times before, I have no interest in politics."

“I know. I know…” Montana rubbed his mouth and stared at Tewfik’s corpse, and for a while they both stood there, thinking.

Morgan gritted his teeth, thinking back to Master Alzahrani and what he’d say. But all he could think about was what happened tonight. It is a simple fact, really, that we cannot hope to understand the inner workings of the multiverse. We question its methodology. We scrutinize the results. All to the absurdity. We ask ourselves why the greatest of us meet their end to soon, and why the vilest of villains persist for eons. Yet we receive no answer other than cycles in which we analyze over and over hoping for a different answer. The difference, in my opinion, can be largely, and cruelly, summed up to luck.

The only thing we could do is live, then, live like we're the luckiest in the multiverse.

~~~

Systemic Works had been decimated. They were gathered on some street, and many volunteered to aid the search efforts, hoping to find their missing friends and professors if possible. Though not many had hope, seen from their eyes. They had seen their classmates be blown apart, cut down.

Not to mention the class administrators of the Combative Program. Of the six admins, only one survived: Baek Hei-ran, of Class A1.

After Alexander Shen and Initiate had rescued her from the battlefield, she was healed. Thanks to her status as a high-ranker, she could freely walk around. Not painlessly of course, but enough to tend to her kids.

Or what remained anyhow. Of the twenty students in her class, ten remained, including Chunhua and Kaiya (oh, those girls). Hei-ran had found most of her class huddled together at a street corner; once they had seen her, everyone had run up and cried.

They had shared stories, personal experiences about what happened, and many were simply too flustered to properly articulate their thoughts. Poor things. Their minds were scrambled. No one had expected this: to be bombarded by artillery and wind and earthquakes, rendered helpless.

Because that was the worst part, Hei-ran had thought: feeling and being helpless as your world was falling apart.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she had agonized then, when she felt personal torment over her students’ pained expressions. It wasn’t supposed to be this awful. We knew our kids would be put in danger—they knew the risks, we made sure they did—but not to this extent. We underestimated the Sungrazers.

Hei-ran remembered her colleagues. And each of us paid the price. Systemic Works wouldn’t be healed for a long time.

For a little while, Hei-ran walked around the block speaking with others, about what’ll happen next and things needing to be taken care of. Making sure her people would get what they need and fast. And sometimes, she’d console a student. Being a set of ears for them, a set of arms and some warmth.

That was the least she could do.

She visited medical, specifically where the casualties for Systemic Works were located. She passed familiar faces. It looked just like the makeshift graveyard back at Ordo University. Too many kids laying on their backs or on their sides, covered by white blankets or bandages concealing life-altering injuries.

Near the back, Hei-ran found who she was looking for. All of them.

Victor Holidays was sitting on a dirty plastic chair he probably found somewhere, with [Talonstrider], Deon Griffith’s signature weapon, leaning against it. He was staring solemnly at Sorayama Kaiya, the casualty here, who had received a bad head injury during the earthquake.

Currently she was resting.

Victor was having a quiet conversation with the woman across the cot, Li Chunhua, who was tenderly holding Kaiya’s hand, her expression torn between grief and shame.

Three of the four B-Ranks of Systemic Works. Chunhua and Kaiya were hers, Class Rep and Vice respectively. Victor and Deon were Ichiken’s—may he rest in peace. But Deon had died during the earthquake and was crushed by debris. The rescue workers managed to recover his shield and body.

Hei-ran guessed Victor wanted to hang onto the former. Although the two boys had their differences, they were friends in their weird way (like most men and their relationships really).

“Hey, you two…” Hei-ran introduced herself, standing at the end of the cot, gazing at Kaiya. Half her head was covered in bandages so tightly that you'd think they would cut off blood flow to her brain.

Victor picked up his head and mustered a small wave. And Chunhua nodded.

“Should you be walking around?” asked Chunhua, concerned. “You are hurt. Please, there is no need to hurt yourself.”

“I’m stronger than I look, honey.” And I must look so awful right now. It’s not a high bar to beat. “I’m more worried about you. You were checked, right? You’re clear?”

Victor nodded, bringing his hands close to his mouth. “Not as bad as the others here. Compared to ‘em, we got out unscathed. Just fuck, man. We won, right? We actually won?”

“We have. Firebrand killed Tewfik, and Archknell sacrificed himself to kill Pereyra.”

“Shit, doesn’t feel like it.” Victor leaned back in his chair, legs creaking. “I thought there’d be cheering and fireworks and all that fun stuff. Not… Not this. It’s so fuckin’ depressing and I hate it.”

Chunhua clenched Kaiya’s hand tighter. “But we won. We should take solace in that, I believe. We have to.”

You don’t have to force yourself to say that. Hei-ran sighed and focused on Kaiya, watching her chest rise and fall. She took a strange comfort in that. “The healers said she’ll make a full recovery?”

“Yes. According to them, yes. Yes, she will,” answered Chunhua, muttering something afterwards but Hei-ran couldn’t catch it.

“That’s fantastic.” Hei-ran forced herself to sound brighter, optimistic, to lighten the mood. Neither were convinced. Hell, she couldn't trick herself no matter how much she tried. “Tomorrow, she’ll annoy you two again like she always had.”

“You believe that?” Victor suddenly asked, staring coldly at her.

Hei-ran crossed her arms, turned slightly to the side. “Do I believe what, Victor?”

“I…” He hesitated, groaned and sunk his head, shaking it. “D’ya believe things will be normal again? Like few-days-ago normal?”

Hei-ran didn't immediately answer, but they knew—the three of them knew. Nobody needed a physical answer to confirm the obvious, that their lives had been irrevocably changed, like a river stream turning a new course or a landslide blocking an old path. Normally detours would be exciting. It was a natural part of life, after all, especially when you were growing up. Wisdom told you that nothing ever went according to plan and you might as well enjoy it. Until you didn't.

Until it wasn't something fun at all, and it made Hei-ran sick thinking about it.

After some time, she finally answered Victor, trying to sound as soft and genuine as possible, “Eventually, yes. It’ll be the same.”

“But Deon is gone." His voice was cutting. He glanced at his friend’s shield, his lips twitching. “Ichiken is gone. So many of my friends are gone, just poof, like that. Yeah, like magic. Gone.”

What could she say to this?

“I am…” Chunhua began. “I am sorry. I did not like him. Or, well, I wasn’t the fondest. His emotions often got the best of him, constantly causing unnecessary conflict. But now, knowing he is… Knowing that he passed, I’ll miss him. And I wish I could’ve done more.”

Hei-ran rubbed her nose, nodding. Wasn’t that how everyone felt? That they wish they could’ve done more against an awful monster? That even S-Ranks had trouble against? The memories replayed themselves in Hei-ran's head, and she really didn't have anything more to say about them other than the usual, depressing things.

But even then, a strange, familiar feeling came over her. Was it numbness? It was, wasn’t it? She thought she’d cry after seeing what had transpired—she was present through every step of the way. When Saad passed right before her, when the artillery bolts hit the streets, all those harrowing moments amounted to a peculiar tingling and nothing more.

Tomorrow, then, she’ll properly grieve and weep for what was lost.

Hei-ran wanted to laugh. She hadn’t felt this kind of numbness in over a decade.

As the only remaining administrator in the Combative Program, there was little else to do. Three years of her life were spent nurturing these kids, and all that time was lost in a single night.

Hei-ran supposed the same applied to the kids. Years of their lives had vanished.

Her mind did not truly understand what those words meant.

“Hey,” Hei-ran said, “I’m glad that you all are alive.”

~~~

“Really?” Vernon murmured from his cot, finally conscious after getting knocked out for the latter half of the battle. Thank God he was a Slayer, getting access to effective treatment and all. Otherwise he'd be deader than dead. “That all happened while I was out?”

“Yeah, you missed all the fun,” Althea answered sarcastically. She did her best to sound happy and normal despite everything but she'd always been a poor actor. She didn't really know anyone in Systemic Works, not like Alexander or Leona, but this hurt. This hurt a lot more than she expected.

Shit happens, what else could you say?

Vernon let out a long sigh and put a hand against his head, trying to make sense of what Althea had told him. “Archknell’s gone, Firebrand came back to life apparently, and we won. Sounds like good news but it doesn’t feel like it. Oh, don’t forget Alex—don't forget 'bout him. Did he really rescue over forty people by himself?”

“That’s what Initiate told me.” Initiate, as Althea met her, was a teleporter who belonged to Angels. She was the one who responded to Alexander’s request for immediate transport. The reason why her idiot of brother didn’t tell her this himself was, according to Initiate, he had “personal issues” to deal with, whatever the hell that meant.

So basically, Alexander was avoiding Althea for the time being, knowing she was going to bite his head off for recklessly running into danger. Again. At least Leona was with him, talking about his "personal issues" together.

Whatever, as long as she was okay. Althea could care less about her brother though.

“Sheesh.” Vernon rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as he moved his arm around. “Guess they’re calling him a hero now, right?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you gotta be pretty insane to do something like that, right? I couldn’t do that. I’d just run away and hide in a corner or something.”

“Well, yeah but…” Althea gazed above. In the ceiling of the building they were in, a hole was there, exposing the interior to the elements and giving them the false night that the Sungrazers had created. The same night that Archknell illuminated moments ago. “We’re in mourning. Even though Firebrand came back, we lost a Guild Master tonight.”

We? Althea thought immediately afterwards. I’ve only lived in Ordo for a few years. But… But it feels like home.

“I, uh, before this, I met Archknell a few times,” Vernon said rather awkwardly, obviously trying to lighten the mood himself. “He was always nice to me. I even had a small conversation with him once. I uhm, I told him that I wanted to be a magick engineer, a weaponsmith. He said he was looking forward to my masterpieces.

“So yeah. Yeah! I've always knew of him more than actually knowing him, but still—! But still, it’s hard to believe it. You kinda just assume that the Big Four’s gonna be around forever, y'know? Kinda like our parents—" Althea frowned, "—sorry, kinda like our, I dunno, but you know what I mean! If a Guild Master dies then... What does that say about us?”

Althea physically couldn't answer that.

For a while they said nothing, letting the background fill the silence.

“Sorry,” squeaked Vernon, eventually. “Didn’t mean to sound depressing and all. Where’s uh, where’s Damien? Leo? I’m more worried about Damien honestly, since he’s uh… He's kinda—"

“A pirate?”

“Yeah!” he exclaimed before his expression dropped. “Wait, no! No, not like that. You know what I mean, though. Where is he? He shouldn’t be casually walking around with one arm.”

Althea didn’t answer him.

Vernon had a blank look on his face. “He’s casually walking around with one arm, isn’t he?”

“Yup. And honestly? I’m way too tired to stop him. And…” She paused, shivering. Despite everything she fucking witnessed, from Hangzhou to the Tormented Flesh, she was more disturbed by Damien's injury than anything else yet. Maybe it was because she actually cared about him. Maybe it was because of how he reacted.

Because Damien didn't care that he lost his arm. Not at all. Not a single bit. While everything was rightfully panicking about his 'newest development', he treated it as a minor inconvenience, like forgetting to bring your phone charger or your notebook. It was actually, literally, inhuman. At first, maybe you could chalk this up to shock. After all, humans did weird things when traumatizing events happened to them, but Damien acted as nonchalant as he had always been.

Worst yet, this wasn't the first time Althea was weirded out by Damien. She noticed things about him. Besides the comedy routine he and Alexander had, Damien was oddly mechanical about life, if that was the right word for it.

Vernon was a great comparison to make actually. His whole personality gimmick was overreacting. But Damien? Underreacting. Not like he was used to bloody warfare or was naturally calm under pressure—genetics and experience could give you that—but he simply wasn’t bothered by stuff. Stuff that’d make anyone else freak the fuck out.

Like, for example, losing an arm.

Everyone else in Slayer Team Alba? They functioned like how you'd expect, mostly. Her and Alexander had survived Hangzhou together and experienced their fair share of traumatic memories. Leona was the daughter of two high-rankers and was personally trained by them before their unfortunate passing. Finally, there was Vernon. Despite what everyone might think, he held himself incredibly well under high stress.

But if this was a competition, the Damien would receive a gold medal. Why? The easiest answer was to say that he had psychopathic (or sociopathic, Althea was not a psychologist) traits. But that seemed too simple. It explained some of his behaviors but not everything.

“Hey Thea, you listening?” chimed Vernon, nudging her slightly.

“Huh? No, yeah. Yeah, I am now.”

“Cool, so uh…” He hesitated briefly. “...What’s gonna happen after this? We did our job. D’ya think we’re gonna go to Prim-Zero now?”

“We gotta wait ‘til Alex and Leo comes back. Archknell was our commanding officer for the duration of Scorcher, but now that it’s over, we have technically returned to Seraph’s command. So it’s up to her, really, if we’re gonna go to Prim-Zero or not.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I forgot.”

Again, they said nothing for a little while, listening to the noise outside. It was surprisingly peaceful. Like listening to city noises as you sleep. An acquired taste, yes, but Althea was comfortable with this ambiance. She wished, though, that everything will go back to normal soon once the rest of the Sungrazers were dead.

Three were left.

“I wanna continue,” she admitted after some time. “I haven’t died yet, so I think I can go for a few more rounds.”

“Me too.” Vernon nodded. That was probably the bravest thing he said yet. “Me too.”

They listened to the outside world for about ten minutes, content in each other’s company, until a peculiar clicking of boots was heard. Heavy boots, the ones that you’d wear for brutal combat.

Althea turned to the source and found him.

A Slayer with admiral-blue eyes, wearing full-body combat armor fitted with black and white interlocking plates—the palette not dissimilar to Alexander's own [Full Combat Bodysuit]. A magical blue glow that ran between the plates like electrical veins. Speaking of Alexander, this man was an inch or two shorter but the gap was made up by his silver, moppy hair, tied up in a small ponytail—affectionately called his “rat-tail” by the women in his family.

He was a rather thin man, constantly criticized for not being on the “proper diet for his line of work” but he insisted that was just genetics. He shared many facial features with Vernon: round face, a tiny nose, and a forehead big enough to fit two hands (an exaggeration).

Fusil, No.15 in Ordo, and a Head Officer in Royals Guild. His real name was Mark Hugo, the older brother to this idiot laying next to Althea.

Vernon yelped and sat up. He opened his mouth to greet his brother and couldn't get a word out.

“Hi Mark.” Althea gave him a small wave.

Mark nodded, showing not the slightest bit of friendliness on his face. Couldn’t blame him. “Can you give me and my brother some privacy, Thea?”

She crossed her arms. “Man, the Hugos suddenly forgot how to say ‘Hello’, huh?”

Mark glared at her.

Was it a bad thing that this wasn’t the first time Althea was stared down by a high-ranker? “Fine. I’ll be outside.”

Before she left, she glanced at Vernon who was torn between relief and fear. Quietly, she cursed under her breath and purposely bumped into Mark’s shoulder. She whispered to him, “He’s a Slayer too. Don’t forget that.”

And she went outside, wishing everyone else in her team didn’t fuck off and do their own things.

~~~

“Who are you?” asked a masked black-haired woman with a Chinese accent, pressing her hand against Damien’s back.

“I want to pay my respects to the Deathweaver,” he answered, which earned him a rather aggressive push. He knew who this was.

The mysterious and beautiful Fan Shengyi, or better known as her Slayer name, Blackviper, the No.11 Slayer in Ordo and a Head Officer in Martials. More importantly, she was the second to the Righteous Jin Tiehan, the Vice Guild Master. Everyone theorized that once his father retired from his position, she'll be promoted to VGM.

For a very, very good reason.

In Blackviper's homeworld, she had been an assassin. And what was pressing against his back was a cybernetic arm that doubled as a hand-cannon. Or a retractable blade. Or whatever modifications she had.

“Answer me,” repeated Blackviper in a venomous tone befitting of her name. She had probably killed dozens of men like this—exciting.

“If I wanted to hurt you,” Damien began, responding to her hostile tone with the most polite smile, “I would’ve tried already. But I’m not stupid enough to try to attack the Blackviper. Not when I’m this weak. Put down your hand-cannon. It’s impolite to raise your weapon against an ally.”

“Hmph.” Blackviper obliged and stepped out in front of him. Her face mask had purple glowing lines coursing through it. Another cybernetic upgrade? “Leave.”

Behind her was where Archknell had passed. He was surrounded by the who’s who of Ordo. There was Levin, the Vice Guild Master of Royals, recovering from her injuries.

And beside her was a tall woman, six-feet-five (taller than Alexander even), with golden, glistening hair like a soft, glassy beach. Her regal red cape flourished, white-furred at the top and clicked underneath her ivory-shine pauldrons. And her armor must've endured countless battles: ivory, pure-colored as was her morals surely. A design was sewn into the back of her cape: a three-pointed gilded crown with five stars underneath and a brush-drawn circle enclosed it, yet left open at the bottom.

If Damien didn’t know any better, he’d be tricked by her handsome beauty and would assume she was a man. Anyone who made the mistake was never scolded and was lightly corrected.

That was the character of Victoria Valfyre, Monarch, Guild Master of Royals, and the No.3 Slayer in Ordo.

And to her left was a short Chinese man wearing rather plain gray robes with hair to match, short and combed over. He had a trimmed beard, meticulously cut where not a single hair was out-of-place with the rest, perfectly uniform with no deviations of not even a single micrometer. Underneath his robes however was a statue. Damien saw the pictures himself online: that man had the body of an Olympian. A literal god of strength. No doubt that he could kill a man with a single poke, break mountains with a one-inch punch, and bring even the mightiest to their knees with a single hand.

And he had. What was that saying? Yes, beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young. He was the perfect example.

Many referred to him as “Master”, but that was short for Master Jin Junjie, No.4 Slayer in Ordo, Guild Master of Martials. As stated earlier, his son was the Vice Guild Master, the Righteous Jin Tiehan.

Damien had many things to say about his son but none of them were relevant. Jin Tiehan wasn't even present anyway.

Last but not least was the woman herself. The infamous amnesiac half-elf who had caused several troubles for Glory Guild, and the girl that Archknell was paternally fond of. She had luscious silky hair—the color of which was her namesake—and was astoundingly pale, bearing the same shade of the moon. Her eyes possessed the colors of dazzling crystals, never taking on a single solid color but many, always-changing.

Lyressa fey Suntear, Silverhonor, and the current Acting Guild Master of Glory Guild.

Seraph was the only one missing. She hadn’t arrived yet.

“Are you listening?” asked Blackviper with such disdain for him, how heartless.

“I am,” he replied and casually walked past her.

She tried to pull him back but as soon as he took a few steps, everyone had already noticed. High-rankers and their keen sense of observation—always inconvenient, wasn't it? You could take one breath and they could tell you how many years you have left to live. A constant frustration whenever Damien encountered a high-ranker in the wild, before the disaster.

Silverhonor got his attention first. She was kneeling over Archknell’s body which had a white tarp covering him. She looked up, expression distorted between grief, anger, and confusion.

“Blackviper,” stoically commanded Master.

A very strong hand was placed on Damien’s shoulder. “I’ll remove—“

“Wait, I recognize him,” Levin replied. Her short blonde hair bounced as she glanced around at the others. “Damien Fayer, a Pseudo belonging to Alba. It's led by Alexander Shen, the man I was telling you about earlier. They're Angels."

“I had thought she was coming personally. There’s no need to bring a representative,” stated Master pointedly.

Monarch had an enigma of an expression. She said out loud, "Fayer. You must be his eldest son: Duskfire's.”

As soon as his name was said, everybody else turned pale. Even Silverhonor. Blackviper let go of his shoulder.

Damien nodded. “Mhm. Unlike my younger brother, who you know as Dawnfire, I'm practically identical to my father. Minus the beard and the arm. But don't worry. I'm nowhere near as powerful as he is. Currently, anyway."

“So that is the source of this troubling energy. You can never get rid of a tiger's predator instincts,” murmured Master, looking to Monarch after.

“What do you want?” Monarch asked. “Seraph can be her own representative—“

“No, I came here on my own accord. I meant it.” He glanced at Blackviper. “I want to pay my respects to Archknell.”

From his [Inventory], he took out a bouquet of [Weeping Shades], an alchemical ingredient but it doubled as a meaningful flower: of grief. Pretty things, whose petals took on five different shades depending on the environment. He brought them from the shop earlier, and thanks to the quest rewards, they costed nothing more than a penny.

He held them in his only hand and approached Archknell with Silverhonor at his side. Her eyes were red.

Everyone was watching him.

“I respected him, truly.” And Damien rested the bouquet on his chest. "He was a good man, though it'd do Glory Guild a little better if he had been more selfish."

“Your arm…” she commented pathetically, in an accent that you'd hear in fantasy movies or shows.

“A small setback. I suggest you stand up now, Silverhonor. I can't empathically understand how you feel as a non-human nor does that understanding extends to humans themselves. But I understand enough." Damien tapped his head. "He told me, once in a private conversation, that he believes in you. You might not be as strong as he saw you, and you will never be nearly as strong as you want to be, but you are the Acting Guild Master now, so you need to be seen. If you want his guild—your guild to survive.

"I hope his words mean something to you."

Damien gave her a smile and that was that. He finished his business.

He gave a respectful bow to the high-rankers here, especially towards Silverhonor and Blackviper. “I’ve taken care of my business. We’ll meet again, probably, if I'm not forced into Primordial Zero. I hope our next battle with the Sungrazers won't be as much as a disaster as this one. Brute strength and overwhelming numbers barely handed us this victory. Wouldn't it be so simple though, if you were just strong enough to decimate anyone that comes in your way.

"Unfortunately, we're not Kosmos. Even he would shiver when fighting the Sungrazers."

No one had anything to say. They watched him carefully. Damien knew it was a terrible idea to tease them but this was a form of pure entertainment he couldn’t get anywhere else. Nothing got the heart racing more than getting stared down by some of the strongest on this Earth.

Seeing no one would respond, he left just like that, returning where Althea and Vernon would be.

~~~

“Pereyra told you this?”

Alexander nodded, passing a squad of rushing soldiers. His eyes lingered on them for a moment or two, watching as their equipment bounce with each stride. “Yeah. I think we have the most reason to be suspicious of Seraph and Kosmos now. Sage too.”

Leona opened her mouth to interject but stopped. “They’re not awful people.”

“I know, but we need an explanation. I need an explanation. They sat on this information for God-knows-how long. Doesn’t help that Seraph barely communicated with us personally, only through middlemen like Sage and Archknell. In retrospect, I should’ve been more skeptical when Seraph said she trusted us because of our ‘abilities’. I feel like I’m a labrat or something.”

“She could’ve been busy, Alex. Is busy.” Leona glanced around as if searching for something. “You forget she was granted absolute authority to command Ordoian Slayers. She’s not the Guild Master of Angels—she’s effectively the General of the Slayer Army or whatever you call it. From the moment she first heard about us, she immediately executed Order 22 to register us as combatants and brought us under her command.

“Otherwise, who knows what sort of problems we’d encounter?”

“What are you trying to say here?”

“What I’m saying is that whatever ulterior motives Seraph has, it’s nothing malicious. She preemptively helped us and gave us the backing we needed. Her lack of communication could be intentional, yes, but at the same time, it’s equally likely that telling you that you’re an EX-Rank is not high on her priority list right now. Knowing you’d ask questions while she deals with Vesper’s collapse and Operation Scorcher. It'd be too much.

“I’ll admit that I’m suspicious myself after what you’d just said, but let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. Everyone has a hundred different things to worry about.”

But why would she allow us to fight? Alexander thought to himself. Seraph had messaged him before the operation began, expressing her concern for Alba’s safety. Surely she wanted to study him, correct? Or maybe, there was an alternative interpretation: she, too, lacked information just like him. And by allowing Alba to participate in Scorcher, she hoped she’d get some answers.

Both for herself and Alexander.

The possibilities are not mutually exclusive. In fact that might’ve been the case. Since Sirius Aethfell was identified as the culprit, and Conqueror (Alexander’s otherself) had an undetermined connection with him, Seraph needed more intel. However, her hands were tied given Kosmos's absence and the state of things. It’d be best to keep Alba close so she allowed them to operate separately until the situation became less urgent. Thus, they were placed under Archknell’s command and Sage, who was privy to the details, was assigned as support, watching Alexander secretly.

Although it’d put Alba in danger, any information was worth its weight in gold. But Seraph was a tender woman, as Leona had often described her. She, however, was a Slayer first.

At the end of the day though, she was the one who knew about Conqueror, about Helodrake Aethfell, the Dragon King. The title that even Archknell recognized.

“Alex?” Leona asked, gently nudging his shoulder. “You’re quiet. Are you mad at me?”

He shook his head. “No, I was just thinking. You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst. It’s just, God, it’s my life, Leo. In over twenty-four hours, I found out that I’m involved with the supervillain here. And…” He looked at her worriedly. “...I might not be the only one.”

Leona understood his implications and gulped. “Well, we just need to hear what Seraph has to say about you. About all of us.”

“Right…” Alexander rubbed his mouth, then his face. “Shit, I forgot about Damien. I need to figure out what to do with him too.”

She rubbed his back. “Again, let’s wait until we meet with Seraph.”

They walked around the area for about twenty minutes, speaking about the recent events; Alexander’s reckless decision to venture out into the battlefield—Leona was annoyed but was too drained to scold him; Archknell’s death, to which they went quiet for a minute or so; about Damien, about the two idiots; mourning over Systemic Works, over Luster, where Jury and Hidden passed; and about what Pereyra had said, coming up with theories and hypotheses.

It was so hard to believe still, that Alexander was intricately connected to this outbreak. EX-Rank Slayer, Conqueror. And here he was currently, E-Rank Pseudo-Slayer, Alexander Shen, Survivor of Hangzhou.

When he pondered about this unsettling possibility, he was approached by someone. A tall Ordoian-Chinese man with rocking crimson hair and a smile that had all fangs. He found loose pants and a shirt to wear so he wasn’t walking around in the nude anymore. Like Levin, who was constantly in the news for her no-nonsense attitude, this man was all nonsense and no professionalism.

Though that probably had changed now.

Firebrand, Aiden Kang, the No.6 Slayer in Ordo. He was the only SS-Rank who wasn’t a Guild Master. Alexander remembered when he had last met him. It was a while ago and the first meeting was rather informal, friendly. Nothing special really. An acquaintance of a friend (now girlfriend).

But Alexander knew he would be seeing more of him now. And Firebrand seemed to know it as well.

“Firebrand,” said Leona warmly, “you gave everyone a heart attack.”

Firebrand huffed, a breath of steam coming out of his mouth. “Yeah, well, made one helluva entrance though. Glad to see you’re still kickin’, Ahn. And uh…” He turned to Alexander. “I sorta, uh, sorta heard everything. I was stuck inside Tewfik, y’know, and I had my hearing. Y’get what I mean, right?”

Alexander nodded. “Yeah, I do. We’re getting a surprise every minute it seems. You talked to Sage yet?”

“God, she must be so relieved seeing you’re alive again,” Leona commented after.

“We chatted a little over our DMs but that’s ‘bout it. I could tell she was crying on the other end, I know how she is. She hates the hell outta me but we’re stuck together at the hip, haha. We’re both fucked up like that.”

“Make sure you talk to her properly when you have the chance. Just five minutes of your company will do wonders.” Leona glanced at Alexander as she said that. “What about you, though? How are you doing?”

“Me? Pssh.” Firebrand batted his hand. “Ahn, it’s me.”

Alexander commented, “I don’t know you that well personally, but even I know that’s exactly the problem.”

“Okay, I'll have you know, I'm doing…!” Firebrand began, his voice roaring louder with every word, but stopped. His excitement was extinguished as he glanced up at the sky. “Shitty. Kinda doin’ shitty right now, honestly. That bastard Archknell. He had to steal my glory from me, eh? I was ‘posed to kill Pereyra too. Don’t get me fuckin’ wrong, it’s nice making Tewfuck eat his words but…

“I dunno, dude. I dunno…”

He didn’t have an envious position. At least, empathically. To the wider public, they’d celebrate his return as he gave giving the people another spark of hope—the first was Archknell. But for the man himself? He returned to the ugliest sight, stepping foot into a ruined city, knowing so many people had died to get to this point.

Including Archknell, who had given up his life to aid him.

“We’ll get the rest of them,” Alexander promised, after a silence had made things awkward. “So Archknell can know his sacrifice meant something.”

“Heh, yeah.” Firebrand nodded, nodded several times. “Yeah.”

The three of them decided to wander together, chatting, as they’d surely be working side-by-side from now on.

Again, Alexander had previously thought this to be unbelievable: a life where he had established himself with the highest echelon in Ordo, being treated as one of them. All occurring in such a small timeframe. Was this Conqueror’s life then? if there even was an Ordo in his world. How similar they must be, and how different their lives must’ve been.

As Firebrand was about to regale the pair with a funny story about Sage, Leona was the first to notice a commotion down the street, where a crowd of rifles and swords was growing. A great person of interest had arrived, it seemed. Who though? that was the question.

They approached, slowly, from the sides, trying to peer through the crowd from afar. Alexander could make out small details: long white-blonde hair, pale skin, yet no major identifiers. Until the crowd began separating. There, he discovered who the mysterious person was almost immediately and cursed himself for not figuring it out sooner. And Firebrand had immediately smiled.

Only a few Slayers in Ordo had this charisma, with the most notable of them all being Monarch (given her [Honor]). However this wasn’t the magnanimous king nor was this Kosmos. While she was his wife, her legacy was not wholly tied to his.

She had founded one of the most prosperous guilds to date. Within a few years, its name shared the same prestige as Legends or the Vatican. It had led the international community during the Great Crisis some years ago, where the number of expeditions exploded dramatically causing fears of an apocalypse; and Angels led the Red Gate Expedition with Kosmos as the spearhead.

She was a woman of high honor, known to be charitable and kind despite her high status. Many who had met her personally noted her striking sunlight-stained eyes, the brightness of which matched her smile. Those who had seen her in combat always pointed out her [Honor], the [Wings of Seraphim], that gave her six large, cloud-painted wings to strike fear in the heart of her enemies. Though, no one discounted her beauty. Despite her simple attire—plain blue robes with a golden belt at her waist—all eyes were on her. Especially now.

Today, the President had given her full authority to end the Ordo Disaster. Not as the Guild Master of Angels Guild, but of a similar rank to the General of the Army.

Seraph, or Sera Hyun-Creed, was Ordo, born and raised. Her golden accessories rattled as she looked around (a gleaming necklace, shining bracelets, glowing rings). Of all the people she could’ve picked out, she found Alexander Shen, Leona Ahn, and Aiden Kang, and softly smiled, thankful that they were alive and well.

The events of Operation Scorcher were spread throughout the city, through word of mouth. By tomorrow, all of Ordo would know about a team of Pseudo-Slayers. The leader, a man who survived the Hangzhou Disaster, had personally rescued over forty people and stared down the Sungrazers themselves.

Seraph would later establish a strike force underneath her direct command, primarily focused on the investigation of the Kreutz Sungrazers. Its members included the team from earlier alongside Slayers who had participated in the operation, such as members of Ordo University’s Department of Systemic Works, and members of Angels Guild.

Due to the intense ordeal that was Operation Scorcher, which was the first experience for many members, many had likened it to a baptism of fire. The term spread. No one knew how it had started or who came up with the idea, but the strike force had, just like its popularity, gained its name quickly.

The Dawn Baptists.

~

[EXPEDITION TEAM - DAWN BAPTISTS]

Expedition Leader: Seraph

Co-Leader: Sage

Slayer Teams Slayer Team Alba

Team Leader: Alexander Shen

Co-Leader: Leona Ahn

Members: Althea Shen, Vernon Hugo

Alumnus

Team Leader: Gul

Members: Forest Master, Uprise, Victor

Problem Children

Team Leader: Problem

Members: Damien Fayer

Solo Members Seraph, Sage, Firebrand

Author's Note: A Retrospective Thus Far

And this chapter concludes Arc 5 of Saga 1, the first half of the saga. This seems like the perfect place to write a retrospective, or just a long author's note, so I can gather my thoughts and help you see behind the curtains of this fic; if you have read this far, then you probably know that this is not like the typical LitRPG.

So the first question that comes to my mind is... What the fuck is this story?

Don’t ask me. Order: Slayer literally came from nothing. Months ago, around last spring, I had a (now-deleted) fantasy story that I dumped a good, what? 100-200k words but it got little attention and I didn’t know what I was doing and things were tough. I eventually hung up the towel and decided to do what many writers did: chase after the crowd. I drew influence from system manhwas (and other medias), sat down, and immediately began writing O:S.

Legitimately, all I had was a Google Doc for notes that was two pages long that detailed: the setting, background, and the initial cast of characters (fun fact: Damien was not originally in the initial cast. He was added in the very first draft of Chapter 1 after I realized Alex needed a guy-friend). Basically, for the first 1-2 months, I had zero idea where I was going but I kept writing, slowly developing the world as I trucked along, constantly adding and cutting details. For example, there had been a fifth guild to the Big Four (Angels, Royals, Martials, and Glory) named Beasts; and the entire Systemic Works plotline was added in the second draft of White Dwarf, realizing that there had to be an educational system to train Slayers.

So My Hero Academia. And would you look at that, I have experience writing fanfic for MHA so that was useful.

Moving on, I began with a premise and see where it'd go: contemporary LitRPG, let's do this shit. However, unlike many "System Apocalypse" fics/manhwa (do not sue me), where the system is governing force of the multiverse and the cause of conflict, I inverted this trope.

The Slayer System is not a (direct) cause of the Ordo Disaster. As a result, I would not consider Saga 1 to be a "System Apocalypse" (please do not sue me) but rather an "Apocalypse with a System". This deceptively simple twist makes everything 100x more complicated, which you will very soon find out with the next arc.

As I got deeper into the story, I began actually developing and planning for the future. I believe I wrote for 2-3 months, got up to the first completed draft of Arc 5 before I began to release chapters, constantly editing and revising and slowly carving out what I want this story to be. That was a struggle because again, this story came from nothing but impulses. First, this was a “Progression LitRPG” until I realized it wouldn't be progression-focused. So I removed it from the title. Then I realized I fucked up the tags and for some reason put this fic as “Fantasy” when it isn’t. Whoops. In the end, I think I settled on the general premise this fic is in: A contemporary LitRPG that has a lot of drama and action.

Technically contemporary.

But, despite me removing "Progression" from the title, you'll still have progression, don't worry. Although the main cast had little progression in the first half, expect to see some movement in the second. Really, Saga 1 serves as a massive fucking prologue and lays down the foundation for the rest of the story.

The biggest one, for example, is the creation of Dawn Baptists. I used Arc 1-5 to determine who's going to be included in the final group and who's going to be cut out—or killed. Initially, I put it up to random chance (borrowing a gimmick from a certain well-known web serial author). Victor and Hei-ran were supposed to be dead, with Mira Cloutier (Myriad) being the only survivor from her peers. However, I didn't like where Deon is going and Cloutier had zero potential so I made some changes: keep Victor and Hei-ran alive but cut Deon out of the story.

That's just a few of the decisions I had to make.

Man though, serial writing is tough. I received comments (and even a new review that isn't from a review swap, pog) that my grammar's getting worse compared to the beginning, which makes sense. I rewrote the first few arcs about two or three times and looked over them obsessively, but now that I have to put out a regular schedule, you get the idea. But c'est la vie.

I think I'm happy with the current structure I have now: the Saga and Arc system. Arcs are a wonderful way to establish the beginning and end of a particular event, and forces me to think through the steps to get there.

For the Sagas, that's a different story altogether. Each Saga will determine how the plot progresses, and right now, it'll be sorta split between "action" and "progression", where the former revolves around a massive event(s) while the latter allows the story to relax and progress. For "action sagas", their structure will actually be somewhat similar to a typical novel while "progression sagas" will be akin to typical web serials. Or that's what my intentions are, anyway. This will probably change in the future.

Regardless, Saga 1 is the first of these "action sagas" and Saga 2 will deal with the aftermath when the Ordo Disaster (spoiler alert) eventually ends, and Saga 3 will revolve around a new event. And to say it again...

The "apocalypse" will end, so I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.

Anyway, thank you for your support. I do have my patreon set up but no advanced chapters as of yet. I had to do a lot of editing/revising which resulted in me deleting most of my backlog lmao.

Sucks for me.

Two of the Kreutz Sungrazers have been killed, but it had taken too much from Ordo's current forces. To the commanders, they know they could not launch another large-scale operation without suffering heavy losses. It's what Damien said, brute strength and overwhelming numbers had proven to be the wrong strategy against the Comets. So what could they do to slay the remaining leaders?

With that, we will immediately jump into the second half of Saga 1, beginning with Arc 6, which will be a very short arc that will feature a brand new POV: [COSMOS].

I wonder who's going to star in the arc!