A Certain Multiverse's Holy Right

"Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed."

The story of Jacob wrestling with the angel at the Jabbok ford is recorded in the Book of Genesis. In the Book of Zerubbabel, Michael declares: "I am the one who wrestled with Jacob at the ford of Jabbok."

One of the seven Authorities Roy had seized from Michael, The Hand of Jacob, originated from this myth.

Jacob, the forefather of the Israelites, symbolizes triumph over the divine messenger. The Hand of Jacob represents an unparalleled combat technique imbued with the mythological power of the Bible itself.

Roy, who was previously an untrained magician with no martial prowess, had now ascended to become a supreme martial artist, his skill approaching the level of the Dao. Such peerless combat ability was never meant to belong to mortals, yet it now rested in Roy's hands.

This was the nature of a Campione—an existence so absurd that the extraordinary efforts and sacrifices of ordinary people paled in comparison to the god-slayers' miraculous power. Across centuries, only a handful had achieved this title, perhaps twenty at most.

…

The power Roy had channeled into the ground dissipated, and the violent tremors ceased. Mount Moriah, the heart of ancient Jerusalem, was reduced to rubble, its lofty peak now a field of shattered ruins.

The archaeologists who had been scouring the site groaned as they climbed out of the debris, panic etched on their faces. Their frantic movements betrayed their fear that the sudden "earthquake" might have destroyed any chance of discovering the site's ancient treasures.

"Th-this is…"

One of the senior archaeologists let out a trembling cry. Using tweezers, he carefully picked up a shard of pottery from the sand and inspected it closely.

"This fragment is from the early Kingdom of Judah! This could very well be the site of Solomon's Temple!"

His announcement sparked a wave of excitement among the team. Even the doctoral student who had greeted Roy earlier hurried over to join the discussion.

"Aiwass, can you sense any items of divine significance here?"

Roy turned to the angel standing invisibly behind him.

Campione were not omnipotent. Their sensory capabilities were particularly limited—apart from their innate ability to recognize Heretic Gods on sight. If two Campione sat across from each other sipping tea, they might remain oblivious to each other's true nature unless one displayed their power.

Aiwass's static-laden voice replied, "I am not a search angel; perception is not my specialty."

She paused briefly, then added, "...But I do detect something seventy meters to the east, buried deep underground. Excavation would likely take considerable time."

"You truly are a competent angel," Roy remarked with a smirk. Without hesitation, he headed toward the indicated spot. "Excavation is for mortals or magician societies. As a Campione, a devil king, I have no need for such trivial efforts. My task is simply to…"

Roy raised his fist. Channeling The Hand of Jacob once more, he drove it into the ground with overwhelming force.

"BOOM!"

The earth split open as sand erupted into the sky like a misty geyser. A deep crater formed beneath Roy's feet, its jagged edges radiating outward like cracks in a shattered mirror.

The archaeologists froze, their excited chatter replaced by stunned silence. Each of them swallowed nervously, their faces pale as they stared at Roy. His godlike strength defied comprehension.

To them, even magicians were remarkable, wielding powers that seemed like miracles. But Roy, a Campione—a Devil King—was a force beyond reckoning. The unimaginable power he had displayed left their nerves frayed and their courage spent.

Only now did they realize the earlier "earthquake" had not been a natural event but the work of the terrifying young man before them.

Ignoring their gawking, Roy crouched and dug into the exposed sand. As the fine grains slipped through his fingers, a bronze ring rested in his palm.

"A bronze artifact? A relic of Solomon? Could this be the legendary ring used to command demons, the emblem of wisdom?"

Roy scrutinized the ring, recalling its connection to Solomon, a figure revered in mystic demonology. According to the Lemegeton, King Solomon was a master of summoning and commanding demons. Perhaps the tales were true.

The ring was undoubtedly a divine relic—eternal and steeped in divine power.

However, such relics were not universally usable. This particular artifact was inextricably tied to Solomon's identity. Roy, not being Solomon, could not wield its power. Still, as a tool for crafting magical rituals, its potential was invaluable.

He pocketed the ring.

Several archaeologists opened their mouths as if to protest, but their courage failed. Roy's earlier display of overwhelming strength had silenced any thoughts of opposition.

Among them, however, one individual stepped forward with a trembling gait, his expression a mixture of shock and reverence. The aura of immense divine power Roy exuded earlier had tipped him off to the boy's true identity.

"I… is there anything I can do to assist you, O King?"

The man finally mustered the nerve to address Roy. Though standing out in a Campione's sight was dangerous, it also represented an unparalleled opportunity.

The other archaeologists stared in disbelief as their employer, the head of the expedition, suddenly humbled himself. Though puzzled, they began to suspect that this boy was no ordinary traveler.

No—someone with such monstrous power could never be ordinary.

"A magician?"

Roy's sharp eyes immediately discerned the man's true nature. Though Roy's own magical prowess was modest, the man had deliberately released his aura, making it easy to identify him.

"Yes, O King. I am from England—"

"Stop. I don't care which country or association you're from. I have only one order for you: prepare a clean set of clothes for me and arrange a flight to Rome. As for identification and travel documents, sort it out yourself."

Roy's tone was calm yet carried the unmistakable weight of authority. Though he had never met this magician before, he spoke as if addressing a servant.

The magician, for his part, found this natural. After all, Roy was a Campione. To receive such a command was not an insult but an honor. Bowing deeply, he hurried to fulfill the task.

…

Not long after, a private jet departed from Jerusalem, carrying a single passenger on a direct flight to Rome, Italy.