The private jet touched down at Haneda International Airport with barely a bump, the rumble of the engines fading as the aircraft taxied to a private hangar. Through the tinted windows, Seth watched Tokyo's skyline in the distance—skyscrapers shimmering under the morning sun, billboards flashing in bright neon, and a sea of humanity flowing through the streets.
Japan… the land of order, chaos, and ramen, Seth thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
As he stepped off the jet, he could already feel the shift in divine energy. Subtle, but there—like an ever-present static charge humming at the edge of his perception. Somewhere in this city was his prey: the God of Binding Chains, a lesser deity who had chosen Earth as his hunting ground.
But Seth didn't head straight for the fight. No—there was something to be said about savoring peace before war.
"Before I start turning cities into craters, I should probably enjoy what's left of them."
For the next forty-eight hours, Seth became just another tourist.
He strolled through the bustling streets of Shibuya Crossing, letting the ocean of pedestrians flow around him. He ate street food in Asakusa, explored the towering gates of the Sensō-ji Temple, and even rode an elevator to the top of Tokyo Skytree, the sprawling city stretching out like a glittering sea below him.
The highlight, however, was when he walked into a traditional clothing shop and, to the owner's delight, agreed to try on a kimono. The silk was deep crimson, patterned with black and gold threads that shimmered when he moved. It fit him perfectly—loose yet regal, the sleeves flowing like banners in the wind.
The shop's elderly owner clasped her hands together and sighed.
"You look like a noble from the old days… or perhaps a warlord."
Seth's smile was faint, almost amused.
"Close enough."
Tourists snapped photos. Some thought he was a model; others thought he was part of a drama shoot. In reality, he was simply indulging himself before the carnage that would follow.
On the third morning, the leisure ended. Seth sat on the rooftop of a Shibuya café, sipping bitter coffee as his gaze swept the horizon. He closed his eyes and focused.
If I were a god trying to hide… where would I be?
He reached out with his senses, letting the divine resonance in his body stretch outward. At first, there was nothing but the background hum of Tokyo's gates—yes, even here, the monsters' essence radiated faintly. Then… a flicker.
The moment he locked onto it, something inside him shifted.
[Skill Acquired: Eye of Judgement]
[Effect: Grants the ability to read the stats and basic information of targets with divine energy. Will not work on deities from higher realms.]
Seth opened his eyes, a thin, predatory smile playing across his face.
"Now that's useful."
Before hunting the lesser deity, Seth decided to warm up. His target was an SS-rank gate in Tokyo, one of the most notorious in the area. Compared to the brutal gates back in Valefort, it was… tame.
The gate boss—called a Watcher—fell with a single God-Severing Slash, its shriek cut short as its divine essence was drawn into Seth like water down a drain. Every monster inside, even the weakest, radiated a trace of divinity, and he devoured it all.
By the time he emerged, his Strength had climbed from 490 to 780, though his Agility had spiked far more dramatically from absorbing the Watcher's power previously.
He frowned slightly.
"Not much… considering how many I killed. But still, it adds up."
The god's trail led him to an old, European-style church tucked away behind the neon chaos of Shibuya's streets. From the outside, it looked abandoned—its paint faded, its stone steps cracked. But Seth could feel it. The divine pressure inside was deliberate, controlled, almost like bait.
He pushed the heavy doors open.
Candles flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across rows of pews. Dozens of figures in black robes knelt before the altar, their voices murmuring in a rhythmic chant. And standing at the front was a tall, gaunt figure with silver hair and eyes like cold steel—chains of faint golden light drifting lazily around his form.
Seth's lip curled.
"Chains, huh? Real original."
The man's eyes met his, and a slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
"The Godslayer has arrived!!"
The robed cultists froze mid-chant, turning to stare.
Seth tilted his head, feigning innocence.
"Godslayer? I was going for 'Tourist of the Year,' but sure, let's go with that."
A ripple of laughter came from the silver-haired man, low at first, then growing louder.
"Devotees… extinguish him!!"
The cultists surged forward.
Seth chuckled, stepping casually into the aisle.
"Try… if you can."
The cultists rushed him like a wave, their hands glowing faintly with divine blessings. To ordinary Slayers, they might have been dangerous. To Seth, they were simply warm-up dummies.
The Red Moons appeared in his hands in twin flashes of crimson steel. Each movement was fluid, economical—daggers slicing through throats, tendons, and arteries. The air filled with the sound of wet tearing and the dull thud of collapsing bodies.
Within seconds, the aisle was painted in blood. Not one of the cultists had laid a hand on him.
The god remained at the altar, unshaken, golden chains curling tighter around his arms. His eyes were narrowed now, the mocking smile gone.
Seth stepped forward, boots clicking against the blood-slick floor.
"Your followers are dead. Now, it's just us."