Victory, in my experience, is a temporary chemical state. It is the flooding of the system with dopamine and relief, a brief reprieve before the entropy of the universe resumes its march.
I stood on the highest parapet of the Iron-Crag, my new humanoid hands resting on the cold Starmetal railing. Below me, the valley was a graveyard of scorched earth and discarded gold-leaf armor. My Goblins were salvage-mining the battlefield, dragging away the "miracle-blessed" steel to be melted down into something useful—like plumbing or railway spikes.
I should have felt triumphant. I had rewritten the script. I had survived the "Fixed Point" of my execution.
"Archivist," I thought, my eyes tracking the movement of a single, black crow circling the forest edge. "Why is the atmospheric mana still vibrating at a high-tension frequency? The Inquisition has retreated. The threat is neutralized."
< Answer: The threat is not neutralized; it has been 'Recalibrated.' > < Data Analysis: The World-System functions on a Narrative Equilibrium. By defeating the 'Holy Purge' with logic and science, you have created a 'Villainous Surplus.' >
"A what?"
< Answer: You are too powerful for the current 'Difficulty Level' of the world. To maintain the story's structure, the System has accelerated the summoning of the 'Protagonist.' >
A cold, metallic weight settled in the pit of my silver core. I knew that word. I had read the novels back in Tokyo. When a monster becomes too strong, the world doesn't just give up; it summons a Hero. And a Hero isn't governed by the laws of physics. A Hero is governed by the laws of Drama.
"Show me," I commanded.
< Initiating Remote Perception... Target: Holy Capital Oros. >
My vision blurred, the cobalt data-streams in my eyes spinning until the mountain vanished. In its place, I saw a cathedral made of white marble and gold. It was beautiful, opulent, and utterly terrifying. At the center of the nave, a portal of swirling light was slowly closing.
Standing in the center of the light was a boy.
He couldn't have been older than nineteen. He had messy black hair, a determined scowl, and wore a tracksuit that looked painfully out of place against the medieval backdrop. In his hand was a sword that didn't just reflect light—it generated it. It was a blade of pure "Narrative Intent."
< Name: Sato Kenji. > < Status: Reincarnated Hero. > < Primary Skill: [Plot Armor - Level 1]. > < Sub-Skill: [The Power of Friendship] (Passive). >
"Plot Armor?" I hissed, my humanoid skin flickering into liquid silver for a split second. "The world isn't even trying to hide it anymore. It's literally a trope-driven reinforcement."
< Warning: [Plot Armor] allows the user to bypass physical laws if the action is deemed 'Heroic.' Probability of your Railguns piercing his shield: 0.04%. >
I stepped back from the railing, my mind racing. If I fought him now, I would be the "Mid-Boss" in his story. I would hit him with everything I had, he would fall to one knee, remember a girl's smile or a promise to his mother, and then he would "Awaken" a power that would turn my mountain into a crater.
"He's a Shonen protagonist," I muttered, pacing the ramparts. "And I'm the Seinen antagonist trying to play a game of chess in a world that only knows how to play rock-paper-scissors."
Fenris emerged from the shadows of the doorway, his massive paws silent on the stone. He looked at my new form with a mixture of reverence and concern.
"Master. The wolves feel a new scent on the wind. It smells like... spring. But a spring that burns."
"That's the Hero, Fenris," I said, looking at my loyal friend. "He's the 'Chosen One.' And according to the rules of this world, he's supposed to kill us to make the audience feel good."
Fenris bared his obsidian fangs. "Let him come. I will taste his 'Spring' and tear it from his throat."
"No," I said, placing a hand on the wolf's neck. "If we fight him, we lose. Even if we win, we lose, because the world will just reset the loop until he wins. To defeat a Hero, you don't use a sword. You use a Scandal."
I turned back to the forge where Baron was working. "Baron! Stop the production of the Railguns."
The dwarf looked up, bewildered. "What? We just got the calibration right! We can hit a fly at two miles!"
"It doesn't matter," I said. "We're switching gears. I need you to forge something else. I need 'Hero-Grade' artifacts. Shiny, gold, and completely useless in a real fight. And I need the Goblins to start rehearsing."
"Rehearsing for what?"
"A play," I said, my cobalt eyes glowing with a cold, calculated light. "We're going to give Sato Kenji the adventure of a lifetime. We're going to be the most 'Tragic, Misunderstood Monsters' he's ever seen. We're going to make his [Plot Armor] so heavy with guilt that he won't be able to lift his sword."
The plan was the "False Prophet Protocol."
If Kenji's power was based on his belief that he was the "Good Guy," then my objective was to destroy his moral compass. I wouldn't be the Demon King. I would be the Victim.
"Archivist, prepare the 'Slime-Sync' for wide-range broadcasting," I commanded. "If the Holy Kingdom wants to tell a story about a Hero saving the world from a monster, we're going to hijack the signal and tell a story about a Church that summons children to commit genocide."
I looked out at the Forest of Jura. In the first loop, I died because I didn't know the rules. In the second loop, I survived because I mastered the physics.
In this loop, I was going to master the Narrative.
"Kenji-kun," I whispered to the empty air. "Welcome to the Iron Sovereign. I hope you're ready for the 'Dark Fantasy' reboot of your Shonen dream."
I felt the Archivist pulse in agreement. The War of the False Prophet had begun, and the first shot wouldn't be a bullet—it would be a doubt.
[Volume 3:Chapter 1 End]