The room was a serene expanse of tatami mats, bathed in soft, diffused sunlight. A low futon lay neatly in the center, inviting rest, while sliding shoji screens lined the side, their translucent panels filtering the outside light into gentle, dappled patterns. At the far end, a painted folding screen depicted cherry blossoms in full bloom, their delicate petals frozen in eternal spring. A simple wooden table and a minimalistic lamp completed the space, each piece echoing the quiet elegance of the room.
Beyond the open screens, the garden stretched outward, a small arched bridge arching over a gentle stream. Lush trees swayed with the breeze, and the soft murmur of water grounded the interior in nature's tranquil rhythm.
On the futon lay a radiant woman, her snow-white hair flowing loose across the pillow, framing flawless skin and golden-yellow eyes that shone with an ethereal warmth. She wore a white nightgown, simple yet elegant, the very image of serene fragility.
Kneeling beside her, a young boy mirrored her light. His snow-white hair glimmered in the sunlight, golden eyes reflecting both awe and quiet worry. Haruto's younger self sat before his mother, sensing her frailty yet seeing the unyielding strength she hid behind a gentle smile.
Haruto's mother spoke in a soft, gentle voice, carrying the warmth of years of love.
"I heard you got into a fight at school," she said. "You could have really hurt them… why did you do it?"
Haruto looked down nervously, his fingers fidgeting. "They… they were making fun of Velmaria," he admitted softly.
Her eyes widened slightly, a small, curious smile forming. "Do you… have a crush on Velmaria?"
Haruto's face flushed crimson. He waved his hands frantically. "No… no! She's just… an extremely important person to me!"
But the words froze in his throat. Somehow, even as he denied it, his mother's gentle observation made him feel exposed—like she had seen the truth he couldn't admit even to himself.
She sighed, her voice now tinged with a quiet fragility. "Haru… you know I don't have much time left."
Haruto's gaze fell to the floor. His chest tightened, and tears threatened to spill. The truth sank in—his mother, the person he loved more than anyone, was dying of pancreatic cancer.
"But you… you are incredibly talented, Haruto," she continued, her voice trembling slightly yet firm with love. "You are smart… brave… and I am so blessed to have such a wonderful son. Remember always to protect your sisters, and those you hold close to your heart. No matter what, use your talents and your power to save those who are unfortunate—your allies… and even your enemies."
Haruto's hands gripped his pants tightly, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. His voice cracked as he whispered, choked with emotion, "Y… yes, mother…"
He loved her more than anyone. Everything he did, every step he took, every battle he fought—it had always been to make her proud, to see her smile.
The memory dissolved like mist, slipping away from Haruto's mind as reality bled back in. He sat at the head of a polished blackwood table in the meeting hall, his subordinates seated along both sides. The air was alive with murmurs—plans, speculations, fragments of strategy drifting back and forth.
Haruto's gaze was distant, still carrying the warmth of that long-lost moment. I was blessed… to be born to a woman like you, Mother.
He raised his left arm slowly, palm out. The room fell silent instantly—no one dared test the unspoken command in his eyes.
His voice was cold steel wrapped in calm:
"We will strike all four capitals simultaneously. Kill every fighter. The main capital must be left without reinforcements. Do not destroy the bodies—you will need them for future plans."
His gaze moved deliberately from face to face.
"Chloe, Lunara, Fuyume—you each will take one capital. The fourth will fall under my direct command."
He leaned back slightly, but his words grew sharper.
"Two of the four capitals are under the rule of women. Do not kill them. And no innocent blood will be spilled—anyone who ignores this will answer to me."
Night draped the ocean in silence, save for the whisper of waves. In its center lay an island, crowned by a castle whose golden light gleamed like a beacon in the dark.
Far above the clouds, Chloe hovered—hair swaying in the high-altitude winds, her gaze fixed on the castle far below. Her long rifle rested easily in her grip, the weapon's barrel angled down toward the heart of the island.
A shimmering aura of blue light began to gather around her, drawn toward the gun as though it were a hungry star. White lightning danced across its surface, and at the muzzle, a brilliant blue sphere of energy began to form, pulsing with lethal power.
Her tone was calm, almost languid.
> "I don't need to hold back… there's no innocent life here."
She pulled the trigger.
The energy orb erupted into a beam, streaking toward the island at the speed of light. It pierced clean through the castle's core before the structure had time to groan in protest—then the great spire toppled forward, collapsing in silence before the true devastation hit.
The beam slammed into the earth, detonating in a cataclysmic blast. A rolling wave of fire and wind tore outward, erasing trees, stone, and every living creature in its path. The explosion engulfed the island, then surged skyward in a massive plume of gray smoke.
When the light faded, the island was gone—swallowed entirely by the ocean. In its place yawned a colossal crater, larger than the island itself. Water roared in from every side, crashing down into the void in endless torrents, trying in vain to fill the wound Chloe had carved into the world.
Raiven stormed down the marble hallway of his mansion, boots striking fast and heavy against the floor. His normally composed face was twisted in something rare—fear edged with anger.
"All the other capitals… crushed so easily. How could we lose like this!?" he spat, voice trembling.
Beside him, his maid walked gracefully, her golden eyes unblinking.
"They struck simultaneously," she said softly, "and blocked all channels of communication. We were blind."
Raiven growled under his breath and shoved open the door at the end of the hall. He entered the chamber without looking back, heading straight for the polished desk at the center. The maid closed the door behind her with deliberate calm.
Then he froze.
Something was wrong. The air itself felt heavier, as though threaded with invisible silk. Slowly, Raiven turned his head.
There—on the red couch, lounging with arms and legs crossed—sat a boy Short, layered, slightly messy. Blue with hints of purple.and golden eyes. Haruto.
Raiven's blood drained from his face.
"Who are you!?" he demanded, voice cracking.
Haruto smiled faintly, like a predator indulging prey.
"I'm Haruto Satoru," he said, "also known as the God of Spiders."
The title was too small for the truth. In the mantle of the Empyrean Arachnid Emperor, Haruto was no longer merely human. His dominion stretched beyond the physical, into the metaphysical. Venom, patience, webs—he was the very law of arachnids themselves, carried on every spider, every scorpion, every creeping kin across creation. At the multiversal layer, there was no denying it: Haruto did not rule a species. He embodied its law.
Raiven's heart hammered. He glanced toward his maid—Miyuki—who stood behind the couch, silent and still.
"What… what are you doing there?" he asked, suspicion flaring.
Haruto didn't even look at her.
"Oh, right—you didn't know. Miyuki's my spy. I had her watching you, just in case you tried to run."
Raiven forced a smirk, masking the crack of dread in his voice.
"I didn't realize I was so special… that a god would come after me personally."
Haruto chuckled lightly, uncrossing his legs.
"Ha. No. Don't let your ego blind you. I wouldn't waste my time on you."
The smirk died from Raiven's lips, replaced by wary curiosity.
"Then… why are you here?"
Haruto tilted his head, golden eyes glinting.
"I heard you've lived for eight centuries. A warrior with endless experience. Correct?"
Raiven narrowed his eyes, searching for the trap. "Yes. And so what?"
Haruto leaned forward, his voice low, calm, almost casual.
"I'm only seventeen. I'll be eighteen this July. And yet…"
Raiven's breath caught. His pupils shrank. Seventeen? How could a boy so young dismantle kingdoms, outmaneuver empires, break them all so effortlessly?
Before the thought could settle, Haruto's tone sharpened, each word carrying the weight of inevitability.
"I came here to absorb your entire existence."
Raiven staggered back a step, his voice breaking.
"W… what?"
Haruto sank back into the couch, tilting his head lazily against the cushion. His tone was tired, almost bored, but the threat beneath it was absolute.
"This is the merciful option. Instant death. If Lunara handled you, she'd give you a slow, screaming end."
His golden eyes flashed with quiet cruelty.
"But then again… it's not like you have a choice."
A flicker of anger burned through Raiven's fear, twisting into defiance. His voice shook, but fury gave it sharpness:
"Don't you dare underestimate me!"
He thrust his palm toward Haruto. A glowing magic circle bloomed into being, lines of power weaving in the air—only to shatter instantly.
Haruto's golden irises glowed with cold light, his gaze sheer force. His Emperor Eyes, a sub-skill under the ultimate authority of Nihil Severance, cut the spell apart before it could fully manifest.
Raiven's breath hitched. He froze, wide-eyed, as the fragments of his magic fizzled into nothingness.
Haruto tilted his head slightly, calm as still water.
"Come on, dude."
The simplicity of it—mockery laced with boredom—stabbed deeper than any insult.
Raiven's hands darted into his jacket pockets. Miyuki, standing behind Haruto, tensed like a drawn bow, golden eyes narrowing.
Haruto didn't move. He only sighed, long and weary, as if watching a child tantrum.
Raiven's hand snapped back into view clutching a small, ancient magical hourglass, its glass pulsing faintly with threads of blue light. His lips curled into a sharp grin, confidence flooding his face.
"I'm not gonna lie down and die."
He crushed the relic in his fist. The hourglass cracked with a deafening snap.
Reality buckled.
Time itself split like glass. The air screamed with silence as the world froze in a canvas of stillness. Beyond the mansion walls, the bustling city became a painting—merchants halted mid-shout, guards frozen mid-stride, banners stiff in an unmoving breeze. Every soul stood locked, eyes open but hollow, mouths half-breathing but never completing the act.
It was not peace.
It was suffocation.
Raiven's chest heaved as he turned and bolted from the room, convinced that Haruto and Miyuki were frozen in the fracture of time's flow.
But on the couch, Haruto moved. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head toward Miyuki, golden eyes unblinking.
"Miyuki," he said, voice soft but threaded with absolute command. "Get him. Alive, or dead. Doesn't matter. Your choice. I don't need him alive to get what i want "
Miyuki's face didn't shift, her expression perfectly smooth, but she nodded once, eyes gleaming.
Then she vanished.
Raiven ran through the dark, luxury hallway. The only light was the cold silver of the moon filtering through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows that twisted around every corner. He twisted left, darted right, trying to anticipate each turn.
Then—pain ripped through him. A blade sliced through his leg, cutting deep. He collapsed to the marble floor, a sharp cry tearing from his throat.
"Arrrrr!"
Grimacing, he pressed against the wound, crimson blood staining the pristine floors. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. He looked up—pain and fear etched across his face—to see Miyuki step from the shadows. Two exquisitely cruel daggers gleamed in her hands.
"Fuck…" he hissed, crawling backward, blood leaving a scarlet trail.
"Miyuki… I trusted you! Are you going to kill me without a second thought? You can't trust him! He's a monster—underneath it all, just a wolf in sheep's clothing!"
Miyuki's expression remained perfectly calm. Her voice was cold, unwavering.
"I don't care what my lord is, as long as I serve him."
Raiven's eyes widened in disbelief.
"You can't be serious!"
She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor.
"The only reason I have a soul—and more—is because of my lord. Don't you dare speak ill of him."
Then, without warning, she planted her heel on Raiven's uninjured leg, forcing him to the ground. Pain exploded through his pelvis, a scream tearing from his throat that echoed through the mansion.
Miyuki shifted, crushing his side with deliberate precision. Another scream ripped from him, tears streaking his face.
Finally, she stared down at him. Eyes of despair met eyes of unflinching loyalty. One final motion, and she stepped on his remaining leg. His head tilted unnaturally; blood pooled as her blade separated it from his body.
The mansion fell silent. No wind, no sound, only the cold stillness of absolute finality.
Miyuki stepped away from Raiven's lifeless body. Behind her, Haruto patted her shoulder.
"Sorry for letting you do this, Miyuki."
She bowed slightly, calm and composed.
"No, Lord. It's fine. I'm grateful to be of use."
Haruto nodded.
"Okay, if you're fine with it, I guess it's okay."
"Should I take the body away?" she asked.
Haruto shook his head lightly.
"No."
He raised his hand toward Raiven.
"His soul isn't far away."
With a subtle motion, Haruto activated Abyssal Assimilation—literally absorbing Raiven's entire existence: body, soul, memories, abilities, concepts and everything. The corpse and blood twisted into black void mist, sucked inexorably into Haruto's palm.
On a nearby mountai. A girl with wolf-like ears bounced excitedly, her long blonde hair flowing behind her. Amber eyes sparkled with a bright, playful energy.
"WOW! Great Lord Haruto is so awesome! I want to meet him!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down. Her long white tail swished behind her. She wore a long coat with circular white-and-gold emblems, black high-heeled boots, and a cropped black top with long, puffy sleeves. High-waisted pants flared slightly at the bottom, adorned with belts, straps, and ornate gold hardware—tactical, stylish, and confident.
Behind her, another girl stood calmly—long platinum-blonde hair flowing in the wind, a maid headpiece adding a classic touch. Red eyes glowed from behind round sunglasses, her slim frame radiating poise and command.
"You're acting like a child," she said with a teasing smile.
Beatrice spun toward her, cheerful as ever.
"Come on! I'm not the only one who thinks Great Lord Haruto is… amazing!"
Momo's lips curled into a big smile, her voice tinged with excitement.
"It'll be great to meet him in person."
Beatrice let out a dramatic sigh, shoulders slumping.
"I know, right…"
Then—movement. A finger twitched on the blood-soaked ground, catching both their attention. They turned, expressions shifting into mild annoyance. Behind them stretched a carpet of corpses: hundreds of silver-armored soldiers, all cut down.
Momo shot Beatrice an exasperated look.
"Seriously? Beatrice, can't you handle anything properly?"
Beatrice flailed her arms in mock protest, her tail flicking.
"What!? You were supposed to take care of the last few!"
Momo sighed, admitting defeat with a little shrug.
"Yeah, yeah… guess you're right."
Beatrice puffed up proudly, blowing air through her nose like a smug little kid.
Momo stepped forward, drawing her ornate revolver—its polished barrel etched with intricate engravings. With both hands steady, she aimed at the twitching soldier.
BANG!
The shot echoed across the battlefield. A hole the size of a fist ripped through the man's chest. Another soldier stirred—BANG! His back exploded in blood. And another—already half-dead—crumpled as a third bullet silenced him.
Beatrice strolled lazily to her side, resting her katana on her shoulder.
"So… what do we do with all these bodies?"
Momo holstered her revolver, letting it dissolve into glittering dust. Her tone was calm, almost bored.
"The Morghoul will take care of them. Our mission was just to wipe out the military."
Beatrice tilted her head, curious.
"But why did Great Lord Haruto only order us to kill the soldiers, not the civilians?"
Momo glanced at her, red eyes glowing faintly behind her sunglasses.
"The point is to cripple their armies so the main capital has no backup. And besides… it seems our lord doesn't like killing innocent people."
Beatrice tapped her chin, then grinned playfully.
"Ohhh… I get it. So what's next?"
Momo's voice sharpened as she turned toward the horizon.
"The main capital."