The air inside the small, brick-walled Church of the God of Steam and Machinery in South America smelled of lubricating oil and ozone.
The silence of the nave was shattered by a sudden, jagged folding of space.
Amon stepped onto the cracked linoleum floor, casually dusting off his high-collared black coat. Over his shoulder, Red Angel Medici hung like a tattered banner, his black armor still smoking from the encounter in Paris.
Amon let out a bright, melodic laugh.
"I must say, Medici, being beaten by a child not even a century old? It's a look that truly suits you. Perhaps you should be renamed 'The King Who Sinks into the Pavement'?"
Medici snarled, his three mouths twitching in unison as he slid off Amon's shoulder.
He gripped the back of a wooden pew, his purple flames flickering weakly.
"The boy had every right to be angry. But if he wants to reach my level, he'll need to train for another hundred years—or finally start his road as a Beyonder."
"Oh? Has your conscience finally kicked in?" Amon asked, adjusting his monocle with a grin. "Don't tell me you've grown to like the little Jonghak."
A mouth formed on Medici's cheek, its voice a discordant rasp.
"The plan was carried out. That is all that matters."
Medici looked toward the altar, his expression darkening.
"But we lost the best elementalist on Earth."
"We still have Chae Joochul," Amon said, his tone turning clinical. "And besides, the Outer Deities' plans were dismantled. Without a sacrifice like hers, a probability storm would have likely erased half of seals suppressing Fourth Epoch Trier by now."
Amon's gaze shifted toward a deep pocket of shadow near the confessional.
"That's enough pondering. If not for the sudden thinning of boundaries between realms, we would have carried out our two main goals by now, isn't it, Mr. Hanged Man?"
From the darkness emerged Alger Wilson. He looked travel-worn, his bearing dignified but cautious.
He tensed as he sensed the playful malice in Amon's voice.
"How was the battle?" Alger asked, his eyes moving between the God of Error and the wounded Red Angel.
"Mr. Fool has returned," Amon said, his smile widening. "It seems he was trapped in the Demon Realm."
Alger's shoulders tightened.
"Is he...?"
"He's alright. Definitely not dead," Amon replied. He pulled a small, glowing device from his pocket—an item he received for completing one of the dungeons in Africa.
[Item Information]
===
Name: The Auditor's Eye
Rank: Heroic
Description: A specialized tracking skill that allows the user to locate chosen targets across dimensions. Displays the target's current location, spiritual state, and narrative health.
*Note: If a target is "Concealed," the data will appear as [???].
===
Amon tapped the holographic window.
"I don't know about his current state." Amon then turned his piercing gaze back to Alger. "Now, tell me about the preparations. Are there any updates from the Heroes Association or the Chameleon Troupe?"
Alger opened his mouth to answer, but his thoughts were suddenly empty. He blinked, his mind going blank for a second. He wanted to complain, but Amon casually stole his sense of irritation before it could manifest.
"I see," Amon murmured, having digested the stolen information.
Then Alger wanted to ask something, but before he could, Amon answered the stolen question right from his lips.
"Adam is still recovering from the clash, as are Herabergen and Leodero. Aucuses... well, the Eternal Blazing Sun is quite dead." Amon paused, a rare flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes."Shakyamuni and Sun Wukong went back to the
Medici interrupted, slamming a physical map onto a table.
"Enough. Pondering doesn't suit you, Amon." Medici tapped his smartwatch, a device that looked strangely modern on his gauntlet. "My sources say the Moses Ascetic Order has settled in coastal Chile, the southern tip. Their supplies were leaked by the 7th of Nine Evils, Oscar Ond."
"That dusty bastard?" A voice echoed from the rafters. Jain of the Chameleon Troupe dropped down, landing lightly beside the table. "I still have no idea how you can sign a contract with the Devil who literally collects dust, but I suppose everyone needs a hobby." She looked at the map, her eyes sharp. "Setryn and I will help with this. Who else is on the list?"
Alger placed his arm on the map. "We were supposed to receive help from Kim Dokja's company, but most were pulled into the Demon Realm Gate. Jung Heewon is available, and we might get assistance from the Heroes Association—specifically the grandson of Shin Myungchul."
Amon smiled at Medici.
"Something tells me they won't help us voluntarily. We might get support from Evernight, but our relationship is... tense. And of course, we have the Church."
"But will we even get into Avalon?" Jain asked, pointing to the empty sea on the map. "It's completely hidden from reality."
"We have a spy," Alger said, calming the group. "Reaching it won't be the difficult part. The difficulty begins when we invade. The Moses Ascetic Order has numerous Sealed Artifacts and unknown dangers that even true gods hesitate to face."
"Then that simplifies half the deal," Amon said playfully.
Alger looked at him in shock.
"Wait... you will participate too?"
Amon adjusted his monocle, the glass glinting with a cold light.
"Mr. Fool asked me to. It would be rude to refuse a brother."
Suddenly, every smartwatch in the room vibrated.
Thousands of holographic advertisement windows erupted into the air, flickering with aggressive colors.
[Have you ever wanted to get a share in Giant Story?]
[Are you a fan of Sun Wukong?]
[Join Main Scenario #94!]
['The Real Journey to the West'!
Medici jumped back, his hand on his sword.
"I will never get used to these toys."
Alger stepped forward, ignoring the pop-ups.
"Speaking of technology..." He threw a sleek, custom-made smartphone onto the table. It landed exactly over the coordinates for Chile.
A holographic image projected from the screen.
A middle-aged man appeared, his chest muscles stretching a blue shirt to its limit. He wore plain glasses over a face marked by yellow stubble and carried a black travel backpack.
He looked like a weary scholar who had seen civilizations rise and fall.
"The God of Steam and Machinery," Alger announced.
The hologram looked at the assembled group—the thief, the king, the traitor, and the error.
"Good evening gentlemen. The Hidden Sage has existed for too long," the God's voice boomed, carrying the resonance of a thousand clicking gears. "Amon, Medici, I hope your help doesn't have any… schemes and I warn you, please refrain from this mission if you are plotting something."
Amon adjusted his monocle.
"Oh, do I ever…"
Everyone in the room stared at him.
He cleared his throat.
"It seems that you have a strange opinion about me. But I assure you, everything that I did was purely for the humanity. Besides, after Seoul I'm totally not against poking 'His' snaky eyes out."
***
The morning of the following day arrived with a clarity that felt artificial, a calm that sat heavy on the ruins of Seoul. High above the fractured skyline, inside a boardroom protected by conceptual barriers that even a True God would find difficult to pierce, three figures sat around a triangular table of polished obsidian.
At the head of the table sat the President of the Heroes Association. He was the man who had curated the multi-national operation against the Monster King Orden, a strategist whose "Gift" was a literal megamind of leadership.
To those under his command, his decisions felt like the dictates of a god; he did not just plan for victory, he orchestrated the very probability of its occurrence.
To his left was a figure who had never appeared in the original notes of Kim Hajin.
Atlas Xander.
He was one of the Nine Stars, the legendary group that once stood at the pinnacle of Earth's power.
A native of Greece, he had led a hermit's life on the island of Crete, disappearing into peaceful obscurity after the death of his old friend, Shin Myungchul.
When the "Outcall" occurred and the mana, gifts, devils and supernatural first touched Earth, he had received the Authority of [Chronos's Resentment]. The ability to force phenomena, objects, or states to "regress" toward earlier stages.
He was already a century old at the time, but the backlash of his power was cruel: as he exhausted his powers, as all of the Nine Stars, he began aging rapidly. His body continuously regresses in age.
Now, instead of a wizened sage, a teenage boy with eyes far too old for his face sat in the chair. He had been ready to die, but when he was caught up in the Demon Realm he had no choice but to come back to help. He now served as the deputy of Apocrypha, the alliance created to oppose Outer Deities and Devils in Demon Realm, led by the Secretive Plotter.
"So," the boy-star said, his voice a gravelly baritone that mismatched his youthful throat. He looked across the table at the third participant. "Is this the plan?"
Sitting opposite him was Will Auceptin, the President of the Life School of Thought. Despite being in his early teens, he looked incredibly dignified, his chubby face set in an expression of practiced authority. He was dressed in the impeccable attire of a young gentleman, his medium-length silvery hair catching the morning light.
To maintain his mental state amidst the chaos of his pathway, Will had spent much of the previous months acting like a child, often sucking his fingers or crying to ground his psyche. But here, in this room, the "Snake of Mercury" was focused.
"It is the only path that leads to an outcome where we all still exist," Will said, his voice ringing with the clarity of silver bells.
The President of the Heroes Association narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"And can we trust you, boy? You represent a school of thought that thrives on chaos and fortune."
Will Auceptin did not flinch.
He picked up a spoon and began eating a bowl of ice cream that had appeared on the table.
"Don't get me wrong," he retorted between bites. "I am not doing this for you. I am doing this for myself. I can finally see an opportunity—a ripple in the River of Fate that leads to a true end."
Will sighed, leaning back in his chair with a look of bored entitlement, a habit he used to remind others that he felt he shouldn't be doing this much for them.
"The Hidden Sage is a blot on the information flow."
"Is everyone on position?"
Atlas Xander stood up, his youthful body radiating a status that made the air in the room hum with temporal distortion.
He looked out the window at the shimmering, cracked sky.
He turned back to the table, his old eyes burning with a sudden, fierce light.
"So. Shall we begin?"
Will Auceptin looked at the screen.
Strategic Briefing: Operation Final Script
Objective: Absolute erasure of the sentient Uniqueness known as the Hidden Sage.
Location: Avalon (Coordinates: Coastal Chile, shifted into a high-density Probability Pocket).