Pauline’s words were still echoing in Aziz’s head when the briefing started, but the colonel couldn’t quite bring himself to focus. Her candid admission of how she saw no chance in actually winning was enough to daze him for a few minutes — he had never seen Pauline this pessimistic before. Even back then, when faced with the Demon God and his immortal army, she had still maintained a smile and faith in the Heaven-cleaving Fortress.

He was still staring at Pauline when someone rapped his head. “Pay attention, Aziz.”

Rubbing the crown of his head, Aziz glared at the marshal, before turning to the stage.

“…disrupted. However, Liamar’s Divine Kingdom will arrive with all kinds of supplies tomorrow. At the same time, Liamar’s familiar spirits will be joining us in this assault. At the same time, Thasvia’s Divine Kingdom will join up with the dynasty’s fleet.” The fellow talking on stage pushed up his glasses. “The great gods are not holding back anymore.”

Murmurs filled the auditorium.

“But is the North going to hold back their Locomotives?” someone asked.

“No.” The bespectacled speaker shook his head. “And they weren’t being held back in the first place; they were busy preparing for the approach. Three months of continuous operations requires lots of supplies.”

He looked around as more murmurs filled the hall, and then shook his head.

“Enough,” a refined voice echoed around the auditorium. A few seconds later, a familiar face rippled into view, a face that was wearing a monocle. “I am Pinnacle Kolya. Is my word not enough to convince everyone present? As we speak, over fifty Locomotives are on their way here, to provide support for the expeditionary fleet.”

He paused. “Is that good enough? Or would you prefer visual proof?”

“Y-yes, it is g-good enough.”

Aziz tried to look around for the speaker, but there were too many people in the venue. He was somewhat curious — who was actually daring enough to question what essentially was now the hegemon of the Five Lands?

“Good.” The Pinnacle crossed his arms. “Everyone present has seen it for themselves. The Abyss Sovereign is probably an existence on par with the Demon God, or even greater. Therefore, command of this expedition will no longer be held by any of us.”

Aziz rubbed his eyes. “Wait, what?”

Pinnacle Kolya took a step back. “Presenting Hereward, the Sentinel of Space. He will assume overall command.”

The wind began to howl at those words.

“The heck!” Aziz sat up. “The North, ceding command to a great god? Did the sun rise from the west today? They didn’t do this during the Demon God’s invasion…”

“Looks like the Mortal Light Dynasty has decided to temporarily set aside their ideology,” Marie noted. “Looks like even the vaunted dynasty has been forced into a corner. And…from the looks of it, it’s from internal pressure.”

“And how, pray tell, did you arrive at that conclusion?” Minister Pauline abruptly asked.

“Calling it instinct won’t cut it, would it?”

“Did you really need to ask that question?” Aziz asked. “You must have learned something.”

“The whole of Orb has seen the defeat of the great gods,” Marie replied. “Without a thorough understanding of what the Abyss Sovereign intends to do, the people of the North are fearful. Therefore, it goes without saying that those with the most to lose are the most fearful.”

“He’s facing internal pressure.” Minister Pauline chuckled. “Glad to know even he isn’t omnipotent. The guy’s like a shadow hanging over the other governments or something.”

Aziz noted the bitterness in her words, and then glanced at the stage. A silvery-grey radiant shadow was taking form there, giving off a presence that tugged at something deep within his body. This wasn’t the first time he had met the great gods, but there was something special about Hereward today, like a knife unsheathed.

The outline of the radiant shadow turned clear, and the howling wind died away immediately. “I am Hereward, the Sentinel of Space. I extend my sincerest gratitude to everyone for gathering here on short notice. The time for divisions is over.”

He paused for a moment. “But I suppose I should talk about the Abyss Sovereign first, no? His identity…and his goals.”

“Identity?” Aziz blinked. “Like, what, his name? Is that going to be of any use?”

“He is quite famous, now that I think about it. A participant in the Great War, the Abyss Sovereign lost hope in the Orb he saw.” Hereward’s voice echoed into the auditorium, smothering the questions that everyone else was muttering. “The Great War failed to unify the Five Lands, and only served to sow the seeds of conflict. The invasion of the Wildlands showed him a bleak reality — war, once started, would never end.”

Aziz listened intently, but if what the Sentinel of Space was true, that just left one question behind — why on Orb did someone of such power not make any waves during the battle?

“As such,” said Hereward, “he sought to understand why conflict occurred, and he found a few answers. First, limited resources. Second, extreme differences in personal power. Third, past grievances. Such is the state of Orb today, and the Abyss Sovereign understood that he could not change it. Nor could he change the hearts of people.”

Aziz looked down. From the way the great god phrased it, this whole situation was actually everyone’s fault…and he wasn’t the only one who caught that implication either.

The great god cleared his throat. “And so, he came to the best solution. If he could not change the structural flaws of Orb and its societies, he would create a perfect world of his own. A world without end, a world where there is a cap on one’s maximum power.”

A small globe appeared in the middle of the auditorium. “That world is the utopia he — the one Orb calls the Lost Star — envisioned. Celestia.”

Aziz felt his ears buzz at that sentence, as a familiar title squirmed into his ears.

“…Gaius?”