I inquired about the identity of someone who had taken Bacchus’s place, but Demos’s response was unexpected.
“Did you ask if there was someone?”
Likely, some sort of sacred artifact or similar item concealed their presence. Given the exceptional performance of my eyes, it must have rendered such disguises useless.
The thirteenth god.
“Candidates include…”
The Theistic Order is an alliance where representatives of sects worshipping the most powerful gods gather. Narrowing down candidates based on the authority to be called one of the “most powerful gods” leaves only a couple.
Estia, who belonged to the most prosperous twelve sects before Bacchus, the goddess of the hearth. According to Blasphemia’s research data, at some point in ancient times, the power balance between Bacchus Cult and hers reversed.
With the Bacchus Cult wiped out due to Sikton’s rampage, it’s possible that they were summoned as Bacchus’s successor to the Theistic Order.
Or perhaps Pluto, the god of the underworld.
In mythology, he was a reclusive figure who rarely interacted with other gods, but he undoubtedly possessed the stature to stand alongside other deities.
Truthfully, I had always wanted to meet a priest of Pluto. If the god of the underworld knew anything, it might be why I was reborn into this world.
It had been a long time since I gave up hope of finding any trace, yet here I am seeing a possibility to meet him.
“If I’d known this, I would have opened my eyes and come.”
At this moment, I can’t tell whether the thirteenth priest serves Estia or Pluto. Anyway, once we wait for contact from another sect, an opportunity to meet the thirteenth priest will surely arise.
For now, let me go home and rest.
I boarded the magic-powered train heading to Etna City and closed my eyes.
Bertrand was filled with extreme tension. The chairman had summoned him.
Despite his steadfast dwarven character and meticulous execution of his assigned tasks, there might still be something that doesn’t satisfy the perfectionist Carisia.
“Hmm, should I hurry up and finish the gauntlet?”
If I win some favor by offering a tribute, maybe this oppressive pressure could ease a little. Bertrand, already several months into designing the gauntlet, headed toward the office while pondering its blueprint.
“Please come in, Mr. Bertrand.”
“What is the matter?”
Carisia sent a file through Bertrand’s mana proxy. It contained a rough blueprint.
“This is….”
It’s far from being a complete blueprint. Instead of precise structures or material ratios, it’s filled with wishful statements like “it would be nice if it looked like this.”
But because of that, understanding the design’s purpose became easier.
“Is it some kind of airship?”
“Yes. A high-output floating engine, I suppose.”
To define it so simply feels inadequate. The concept within the blueprint was immense—an unprecedentedly massive engine. Not just high-output, but ultra-high or even extreme-output adjectives would be needed to meet Carisia’s requirements.
As the blueprint progressed, the blanks increased. At this stage, it felt less like a “blueprint” and more like a “concept” or “plan.”
While reading the blueprint, Bertrand felt cold sweat trickling down his back. He remembered something Arabel muttered drunkenly after Carisia left during a previous management dinner—”There’s no boss crazier than her.” She forced everything to be done overnight and demanded impossible feats, treating overtime as the norm.
“Surely not…”
“I’d like you to complete this blueprint. You can put aside all other work and focus solely on this.”
“Um, what’s the deadline?”
“It would be preferable to finish it as soon as possible, but achieving this within a few months seems impossible. I won’t set a specific deadline.”
Bertrand almost sighed in relief. There were too many missing parts in the blueprint, and the required output exceeded common sense. Even running the holographic simulator 24/7 would take half a year just to form a basic outline…
“I’ll check your progress weekly, so please keep me updated.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry. It doesn’t need to be a face-to-face report; sending documents will suffice.”
After a few exchanges, Bertrand left the office with the words “please submit a report next week” lingering in his mind.
Today was Silver Day, the day before the Black Night holiday.
“Ah, is something wrong?”
Unable to tell the miners and industrial technicians that he would have to start working overtime right before the holiday, Bertrand hesitated in front of the chairman’s door when a familiar voice reached his ears.
“Director Ortes?”
I learned from Bertrand about Carisia’s brutal task assignment. I can’t even guess where such a colossal floating engine might be used…
“At least according to the official directive, you’re free to use Hydra Corp’s internal workforce and resources as needed, right? Call Geryon or Caike first and secure the necessary mana.”
“Do you think those two will come? Magicians with their own magic towers wouldn’t heed my call…”
“Wouldn’t revealing that this is a direct order from the chairman suffice? Who could defy the chairman’s authority? Other board members, Director Arabel or Director Kreton, would also cooperate enthusiastically if informed.”
I taught Bertrand the wisdom of borrowing power—mentioning Carisia’s name means there’s nothing impossible in Etna City.
“Hmm, does the head of the Divine Investigation Bureau approve of this initiative?”
What is this? Are they trying to conscript me?
I recalled the task directive Bertrand showed me. At the bottom, it clearly stated: “In case of necessity, you may request the use of all tangible and intangible resources belonging to Hydra Corp,” followed by Carisia’s signature.
Naturally, I was included in what Bertrand could requisition.
There was no choice but to nod reluctantly. One cannot refuse a document signed by Carisia.
‘This guy isn’t normal either. Trying to throw someone straight into work upon their return from a business trip.’
Apparently, Carisia’s style of assigning tasks is contagious. It’s a syndrome where the guilt of overworking subordinates disappears, and it’s terrifying.
“Understood. Have a good holiday then.”
Bertrand moved forward confidently.
“Huh?”
Why did you ask for my opinion?
After thinking for a moment, I concluded that Bertrand’s consideration surpassed Carisia’s by a notch.
He probably didn’t want to immediately involve someone who just returned from a business trip, planning to send them after the holiday ends.
I intended to show a level higher than Bertrand’s. I must disappear somewhere right after the holiday ends so I can’t be summoned.
Bertrand thought:
“If I request cooperation citing the chairman’s orders, everyone might be busy handling the chairman’s direct orders and escape, claiming ‘I’ll handle my current task first.'”
This was true. Every director, including Bertrand, had at least one task directly assigned by Carisia.
Even Mecoonion was given a task—to investigate and organize the distribution channels of the medicines she sold.
In such a situation, it would be easy to avoid another task from Carisia by saying, “I’ll finish my current job first.”
During these past few months of Etna City’s redevelopment, the directors gradually became accustomed to excessive workloads and mastered the art of creating excuses for rest. Unless Carisia came personally to give orders, the directors would do their best to avoid additional tasks.
However, Bertrand now had the support of Director Ortes.
“Adding the name of the head of the Divine Investigation Bureau might reduce the overtime of the miner union members.”
By transferring—or rather sharing—the burden with other directors, the miners’ workload could be eased. Bertrand smiled contentedly.
Arabel, if she saw this, might scream, “Even this old man has fallen under their influence!”
I planned to wrap up my business trip report quickly and retire early.
Since the sect hadn’t yet responded to my proposal and I hadn’t done much on-site, I calculated that the report would end swiftly.
“I’ve prepared to incite internal conflict within the Theistic Order. Regardless of the worst-case scenario, they won’t be able to ignore the prophecy I mentioned.”
“What prophecy?”
“The prophecy of the Wizard King’s return.”
Carisia’s lips twitched. Her gaze asked, “What are you talking about?”
…Come to think of it, I never told this story to Carisia.
“It won’t happen immediately. In three years—”
“Ortes.”
Carisia interrupted me in her usual tone, making it hard to read her emotions. For some reason, my mouth felt dry.
“…Yes.”
The brief pause before Carisia’s next words felt endlessly long.
“Wouldn’t the Wizard King d*e if we detonated an Artificial Tenth Rank at the place of resurrection?”
“What do you mean by that?”
I still don’t fully understand Carisia’s intentions.
