About a week had passed since then, and Alon’s group had successfully attacked three temples and rescued all remaining people.

“Now, we’re heading east, right?”

“Yes. If we can increase our numbers while moving, it would be best to do so.”

Rangban added that they already had enough people to take on a challenge if they wanted to.

While he had a relieved expression on his face, he also expressed a hint of suspicion.

“Things are definitely going well, but something feels a bit off.”

“Is this about the priests?”

“Yes.”

Alon nodded.

Lately, he had been thinking the same thing as Rangban.

“…It is strange that there’s no response at all.”

Alon had attacked eight temples over the past three weeks and rescued many people during that process.

But considering how aggressive his actions were, it was odd that he hadn’t faced any significant resistance so far.

“Should we consider the possibility that they’re targeting something else?”

Just like Penia, who had been quietly pondering and then spoke up, Rangban shook his head while watching Rine silently rubbing her chin.

“I’m not sure. There are dozens of priests and the territory they control is vast, so a delayed response is possible—but this level of inaction is strange. More than anything…”

Rangban recalled a previous temple they had raided and continued.

“It’s clear they know we’ve attacked other locations, yet they haven’t sent reinforcements. That’s suspicious.”

As Rangban trailed off, lost in thought, Alon asked,

“Is something bothering you?”

“It might be too optimistic, but perhaps it’s because of the front lines.”

“The front lines?”

“According to a soldier who was dragged into the temple two months ago, the battles at the front have been so intense that there’s been no time to rest.”

“So they can’t spare troops to send here?”

“Yes. Again, this might be an overly hopeful perspective, but it’s not an impossible explanation.”

Though Rangban added that the situation on the front lines didn’t seem favorable either, their discussion soon moved on.

“…Well, whatever the case, our plan hasn’t changed. Let’s stick to it.”

“Understood.”

With Alon’s statement, the meeting ended.

“I’ll be heading out as well.”

After Rangban left, Rine was the first to rise.

She seemed to be contemplating something deeply and soon quietly slipped out.

Watching her go, Alon sighed softly and turned inward, examining the divine power within him.

Contrary to his initial worries when they began assaulting the priests in earnest, his divine power was steadily recovering as usual.

This puzzled Alon.

It was about the recovery of his divine power.

At first, Alon hadn’t questioned it because he hadn’t realized this place was in the past.

But now that he knew the truth…

While it made sense that divine power he had received could accumulate, the fact that it was recovering was undeniably strange.

What could it be?

Alon’s thoughts were interrupted.

“Marquis, by the way, have you been experimenting with that thing you mentioned before?”

Penia asked.

Alon nodded.

“…I’ve been trying. But the divine power consumption is too high, so I haven’t been able to properly use it yet.”

What Alon and Penia were discussing was about transmutation.

Or more precisely, it was about the magic they had originally been researching.

Transmutation—Brain God—was merely a byproduct of that research, and the main project was still in the experimental phase.

“It seems like optimization is the problem. How about trying this? I’ve noticed something recently while watching you use it.”

They stayed in the meeting room a bit longer, discussing the magic.

“I’d love to run some experiments, but for now I need to conserve my strength as much as possible. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Okay. I’ll get going too.”

As they wrapped up the conversation, Alon’s eyes were drawn to the book in Penia’s hands.

“…A book?”

“Yes, I found it in an abandoned house during our travels. Turns out it’s a magic tome. It’s written in an ancient language, so it’s hard to read, but the contents are fascinating.”

Apparently eager to keep reading, Penia quickly said, “Well, I’ll be off now…!” and dashed away like a squirrel.

Alon watched her disappear, then began walking.

“Ryanga.”

“Oh, Chief.”

He soon found Ryanga sitting absentmindedly in a quiet corner of the cave, deep in thought.

Her expression, once blank, brightened slightly with a gentle smile when she saw Alon.

“Were you thinking about Dalma?”

“…Was it that obvious?”

“Yeah.”

She no longer fumbled for words like before and could now answer more smoothly.

After an awkward laugh, Ryanga quickly shook her head.

“But I’m sure they’re all doing fine. Our race don’t die that easily.”

Seeing her try so hard to appear cheerful, Alon quietly sighed.

Her mood had noticeably darkened since a week ago—and it was Alon’s fault.

More precisely, it was because of the information he had passed on to her, obtained from the prisoners they rescued from the last temple.

News that Dalma, her village, had been repeatedly invaded by Baarma as the battle lines constantly shifted.

“Ahem, like I told you before, we have hideouts like this one. I bet they’re all hiding there. Or maybe they escaped.”

Alon recalled the moment he had first told her about Dalma.

Even then, instead of despair, Ryanga had nodded firmly, her expression filled with unwavering belief.

She didn’t look like a child at all.

…But perhaps it was precisely because she was a child that she could believe so purely.

Alon looked at her slightly trembling hands.

Many comforting words came to mind, but he chose not to say them.

Rine, Penia, and Alon all knew the same thing.

That in this gray world, countless tragedies are born each day, and despair runs rampant.

So, he understood that empty words of comfort—spoken out of instinct—could only deepen the wounds of a child like her.

“Come talk to me whenever you need.”

Alon gently patted Ryanga’s head and simply said those words.

“Okay, Chief!”

Though not all her sadness had vanished, her expression brightened slightly as she nodded.

Alon found himself curious.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Hm? What is it?”

“Why do you call me Chief?”

He was referring to the title she had suddenly started using for him not long ago.

“Well, you’re leading us, aren’t you?”

“That’s true, but still…”

“Then you’re the Chief!”

“…So it’s just a vibe?”

“Isn’t that what it is? If someone’s leading us all, they’re the Chief!”

It was a strange logic, but it made some sense.

As Alon paused to think—

“Ahem—”

Someone cleared their throat loudly, clearly wanting attention.

“Ah, there you are.”

As Alon turned, he saw a young girl approaching as if she hadn’t just tried to get noticed moments ago.

Blond hair with two small horns poking through.

A tail wrapped around her waist, and pink eyes with a reptilian sheen.

“Oh noble one, I have come to personally deliver your dinner.”

She proudly held out a sweet potato.

Dinner had already ended some time ago.

Alon reached out, puzzled, to accept the sweet potato.

“Here, Chief—”

“Hey!”

Ryanga suddenly snatched it away and placed it in Alon’s hand herself.

“Y-You brat! What do you think you’re doing!!”

“What? I handed it over!”

“I was going to give it to him!”

As the girl stomped around in frustration, Alon finally opened his mouth.

“Thank you, Arquil… cquil…”

“Arquilainisis!”

“Right, Ar.”

“!!!”

The girl, who had howled, “It’s Arquilainisis—!” let out a grumbling noise and then turned her body away.

“Wow, she’s sulking again. She’s such a sulker.”

“I am not!”

“You’re totally sulking.”

“I said I’m not!”

Watching Ar—no, Arquilainisis—shout back at Ryanga’s teasing, Alon smiled lightly to himself.

‘Looks like she’s finally recovered.’

Ar was a young dragonkin girl Alon had rescued after saving Nangwon.

From what he’d heard, she was a half-dragon who carried the blood of a black dragon.

‘The problem is… she’s still too young to be of much help.’

When he first rescued her, Alon had briefly held some hope.

At the time, she had been wrapped in chains as if she were a dangerous being, so he had believed she would become a great asset.

But contrary to expectations, she was only eight years old—very young, even for a half-dragon—and thus not much help in combat.

In fact, for a whole week after she was rescued, she cried nonstop, wrapping her tail around Alon’s waist all day long, which had been a bit troublesome.

‘Still, I’m glad she’s regained her energy now.’

Alon recalled how she had slowly recovered with constant comfort and encouragement.

He had said so many things just to console her when she cried in sorrow.

“I will avenge you! Do not underestimate the wrath of a black dragon!”

“Go ahead and try!”

As Alon watched Ar passionately shouting again, he found himself wondering:

‘Did a black dragon named Ar ever appear in the original story?’

Dragons, by nature, live for an extremely long time.

That holds true even for a half-dragon like Ar.

So considering her lifespan, it wouldn’t be strange for her to appear in Psychedelia, yet Alon had no recollection of ever hearing her name.

‘Was she originally meant to die?’

If so, it would explain why she never appeared in the story.

But the thought kept circling back.

‘If I hadn’t saved Ryanga or Nangwon, how would they have escaped?’

Maybe not Nangwon, but Ryanga had been in real danger.

Alon remembered the moment he had saved her.

At least from his perspective, if he hadn’t intervened back then, Ryanga would surely have died.

After thinking on it briefly, Alon let the thought go.

In the end, that wasn’t what mattered right now.

“…I hope things go according to plan.”

He muttered quietly to himself, recalling his conversation with Rangban.

###

The next day.

Alon set off toward the eastern region, leading all those he had rescued so far.

On the way, as planned, he attacked two more temples and freed more prisoners.

The situation was even better than expected.

Other than the two raids along the way, they hadn’t encountered any battles.

At the last temple, they rescued a large number of soldiers from the Union.

Unlike the gloomy gray skies that had loomed for dozens of days now—

Alon’s group steadily grew in number and continued moving forward.

If things kept going this way, they might just be able to break through the front lines without issue.

Everything was going far too smoothly.

So smoothly, in fact, that it started to feel ominous.

“Hrrmph—Welcome.”

And as always, Alon’s instincts proved right.

“E-enemy attack!”

“Form ranks! To the front!”

Alon frowned slightly and looked around.

They were currently at the southeastern edge of the border zone, where fierce battles still raged.

Unlike the open grasslands, this area was a canyon.

Normally, the cultists of Baarma should have been stationed beyond the canyon’s end.

“…I had a bad feeling.”

Penia sighed beside him, and Rine remained silent.

“Damn it… There’s two apostles—”

As he heard Rangban mutter with a scowl, Alon turned his gaze forward.

There, the canyon was filled with cultists.

Not just on the ground.

They were spilling out from above the cliffs and crawling out of tunnels carved into the canyon walls.

!!

Bizarre monsters with unnaturally long limbs were climbing the cliffs, drooling as they let out unsettling screeches.

“Th-the cultists—”

“Even the parasites—!”

Alon heard people whisper in dismay around him.

Voices filled with despair and grief began spreading like wildfire.

But the biggest reason Alon sensed things were going very wrong—

“Rine.”

“I’m sorry, Godfather.”

It was because of the grotesque red tendrils that had appeared, blocking Rine’s attacks.

They looked like blood vessels, resembling the tree-like tendrils they had faced against Greed before.

As soon as they emerged, Rine’s golden crown shot forward—only to be stopped completely.

And the reason was none other than the man standing ahead—an Apostle.

“Well well—I’ve been waiting so long for this moment. You’re going to be worth the wait.”

As Alon glared at him, the man who had just moments ago been grinning smugly stepped forward.

Strange black horns grew from his head, and he wore a black cultist robe.

There was something oddly familiar about the man as he bowed gracefully.

“First, let me thank you. I am Baarma’s second Apostle, Rumurfa.”

A word Alon didn’t expect came from the man’s mouth.

“Thank us?”

Rumurfa twisted his head with a creepy grin.

“Because you followed our guidance all the way here.”

“…Guidance?”

“Yes. Did you really think you reached this place through sheer skill or brilliance?”

Rumurfa’s lips curved into a wider grin, and his voice grew louder.

“As if! The reason you were able to raid the temples without any resistance—”

“The reason you rescued the sacrifices so easily—”

“And the reason they quietly let themselves be martyred even when you attacked—was all—”

Lifting his arms high, as if he ruled the entire world—

He let out a slow grin again.

“Me. It was me. I ordered it—all to gather you here.”

“…Even if that meant sacrificing so many innocent people?”

“The sacrifices of our great Baarma’s followers are tragic—but necessary. After all, we need their faith and souls for His will.”

Alon fell silent.

He was beginning to understand what Rumurfa meant.

He had definitely heard something like this from Kalannon before.

That faith could be gathered this way.

‘In the end, the essence of faith is emotion. The stronger the emotion, the more powerful the faith offered. In that sense, mass slaughter is one of the easiest ways to gather it. You just have to trample people—brutally, horrifically, and hopelessly.’

‘…And if you want even more faith? Just give them a little hope.’

‘Hope is like fire. If you control it, it warms—but if not, it burns everything to ash.’

Recalling Kalannon’s voice, Alon had no choice but to admit—

They had walked right into a trap.

###

The situation was dire.

The cultists had appeared.

Rumurfa’s speech.

Everything that had happened so suddenly had plunged everyone into despair and grief.

Not a single person was free from the heavy air.

Rine’s attacks were blocked by the red tendrils.

Penia, who was preparing a wide-area defensive spell, had realized their disadvantage and her face twisted with tension.

They were already fully in place as sacrificial offerings.

And yet, despite all that, Alon did not shrink back.

Instead—

“Penia.”

“…Yes, Marquis.”

He was preparing a move.

A move he had been crafting ever since coming to this place.