— — — — — —
After the negotiations with Highness wrapped up successfully, Ryo didn't waste any time. He turned toward Uesugi Kenshin, "Miss Kenshin, we've reached an agreement."
He paused for a beat, then smiled. "I'll be the one to bear the fate of the King of End."
"Have you made up your mind?" Kenshin still asked.
But Ryo knew she was asking out of concern, and for a moment, his expression softened. Then he nodded.
Seeing that, Kenshin looked him over once, then turned to the others.
"Since you've already discussed it among yourselves, I won't interfere further."
Her voice grew serious. "As for the real King of End being Mithras—and the fact that any god of steel could become one—I expect all of you to report this truthfully when you return."
That statement settled everything.
As long as everyone present declared Mithras to be the King of End, that version of events would become the official truth.
Even if some divine factions tried to refute it later or dig up evidence, it wouldn't matter.
Because it was true—they were just highlighting the parts that benefited them and downplaying the rest.
"Then let's seal it with a spirit oath," Scáthach said with her usual faint smile.
She glanced at Highness. "You can speak on behalf of the Cross."
Highness froze for a second, then realization dawned.
Ah, so they wanted him to represent the Cross—officially certifying that Mithras was the King of End.
Amusing. Once this news spread back to Little Garden, the Cross would lose their minds.
And if they tried to deny it? That wouldn't help either, because the Ouroboros organization's main sponsor was the Cross.
Thinking that, Highness smirked and agreed to Scáthach's suggestion.
In that unspoken moment, everyone present silently reached the same conclusion—they were all perfectly fine throwing the Cross under the bus.
Once that consensus was set, Kenshin added, "Regarding Ryo becoming the King of End, I'll need a joint declaration from everyone here—each of you must vouch for him and help clear his name if necessary."
It was a layer of insurance for Ryo.
With all their signatures backing him, the upper echelons would have a much harder time giving him grief.
Out of both reason and sentiment, everyone agreed, but Kenshin knew better than to trust a promise made with words alone.
Verbal assurances exist only so they can be broken later.
"Any objections?"
"Nope," Hercules was the first to speak.
"I don't mind—it's just another oath," Scáthach said lightly.
Highness and Rin exchanged a glance. "No objections here either."
"Good." Kenshin nodded. "Then let's begin. In the name of the Central Core Authority…"
A few moments later, each of them made a spiritual oath, swearing to keep the secret.
Once that was done, the tension in the air eased slightly.
Kenshin turned to Ryo, her voice solemn. "There's no time to waste. In three seconds, I'll rewrite your fate. Make sure to release that power around your body."
"Got it."
Ryo knew she meant his Cosmo, so he quickly complied.
Kenshin began the countdown. "Three… two… one!"
At the final number, her red eyes reflected Ryo's face.
And in that instant—
When Ryo was completely undefended—
He briefly forgot his own name. When he tried to recall it, his mind automatically supplied Mithras.
His calm aura shifted, deepened—suddenly heavy with the weight of countless battlefields and forgotten ages.
At the same time, the sealed Divine Sword of Salvation stirred.
As if nothing unusual had happened, it spun lazily in the air, searching for its new master. Then it felt Ryo's familiar presence.
The blade paused, its body quivering slightly, almost like it was cheering.
Then, like a swallow returning home, it flew straight toward him.
Seeing this, both Hercules and Highness exhaled in relief.
But right then—something ancient stirred inside the blade. A lingering will—Mithras's remnant consciousness.
He had left a fragment of himself behind, hidden within the overlapping spiritual residue around the weapon, concealing it from everyone's senses.
And just as the blade was about to reach Ryo, that remnant flared to life.
"Nah~ Let's pick another!"
Mithras forced the blade to twist in midair—
—and aimed it straight at the closest target: Hercules.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!" Hercules swore loudly.
In that split second, he understood Mithras's plan.
As a god who had sacrificed himself, Mithras was trying to use Hercules' mythic connection to his own—hijacking the link to possess him.
From the start, Mithras had been eyeing him as the perfect vessel. The bastard was trying to steal his body!
Realizing that, Hercules let out another string of curses. "You damn bastard! Fuck you!"
Even with his power, Mithras's soul-snatching attempt was doomed to fail.
But if he struck back at the divine blade now, what if it decided to stick to him instead?
That would be disastrous.
If the spiritual imprint of the King of End attached itself to him, he'd be screwed—killed by sheer bad luck.
Getting body-jacked by a guy who can't even pull it off? That's some next-level bullshit.
And worst of all—he couldn't even fight back without making it worse!
By the time that thought hit, the divine blade was already inches away—just two centimeters from Hercules' face.
.
.
.