Multiverse's Holy Right

Campiones were kings—for they slew the gods in heaven and seized their supreme divine power.

Campiones were tyrants—for they wielded the Authorities usurped through deicide, ruling over mortals on earth.

Campiones were demon kings—for no mortal alive could ever hope to oppose them!

—

Amidst the sea of sand, a young man trudged forward, clad in tattered rags that barely resembled clothing. At a glance, he looked like a lost, destitute traveler struggling against the merciless desert, as if death could claim him at any moment.

But upon closer inspection, one would notice the boy's vigorous demeanor. Even under the scorching sun, he showed little sign of exhaustion, marching forward with his head held high and his strides wide.

"Metatron seems to have vanished. It's likely he's already left this place."

The one traversing the desert was none other than Roy, who had just completed his deicide. Campiones possessed a peculiar sense for Heretic Gods—they would recognize each other instantly upon meeting. Thus, Roy wandered the sands in hopes of detecting Metatron's presence.

Metatron had suffered grievous injuries in his battle against Michael. Based on Roy's analysis of his own Authorities, unless Metatron possessed some form of resurrection or healing Authority, full recovery would take a long time. This was the perfect opportunity to slay another god, and Roy had no intention of letting it slip away.

However, given the current circumstances, he had wasted too much time during Pandora's Circle of Usurpation. Metatron had likely fled far beyond his reach by now.

Unless one possessed extraordinary authority, locating a hidden heretic god across Earth's 510 million square kilometers was beyond even a Campione's capabilities.

Now that Roy, the Campione, had spotted Metatron, there was no chance he would let the 'Heavenly Scribe' escape. The celestial bureaucrat had become Roy's next target for deicide.

"Finding Metatron alone is impossible—I'll need sufficient manpower."

Roy stroked his chin. Now that he was the "King" on earth, if he announced his need for subordinates, countless magical societies would surely come to apply, eager to become his loyal hounds.

However, Roy was not one to accept just anyone. Even as subordinates, he required them to possess sufficient influence—at the very least, they had to wield significant power in both the mystical and mundane worlds.

Creating his own faction from scratch would naturally be ideal, but Roy didn't want to waste time on that. With the absolute power of a Campione, he had no need to worry about his subordinates' loyalty.

"It's decided—I'll head to the Vatican in Rome! The god I slew was the 'One Like God,' Michael. Now, I am practically Michael's incarnation on earth, the very being that Christians should worship. Slaying pagan gods and heretical archangels in the name of 'Michael'—surely that aligns perfectly with their doctrine. They'll serve me wholeheartedly!"

Roy clapped his hands together, immediately settling on his destination—the Vatican in Rome, Italy.

As for whether the Church would willingly pledge allegiance, Roy didn't even bother considering it. He was a Demon King who acted as he pleased on earth—he would do as his heart desired.

Roy had one life principle: he would always act in a way befitting his identity.

Just as in the world of A Certain Magical Index, where he was Lola's elder brother, he had strived to be the best, most outstanding brother possible, perfectly embodying everything that role entailed.

Now, he was a Campione—a Demon King of the earth. Thus, he would act according to the ways of a Demon King: those who submitted would thrive, those who resisted would perish. If the Church was willing to serve him, all the better. If not, Roy wouldn't hesitate to use his Holy Right to erase two thousand years of the Church's history.

"Judging the Church with Michael's power—people will only see it as the Church's corruption, a disappointment to God. After all, the righteous Archangel could never be wrong!"

Roy chuckled lightly and quickened his pace slightly. He had already spotted signs of civilization.

Among his Holy Right, there was an authority that could be used for travel. However, most of his authorities had daily time and usage limits. Using them for travel instead of combat would be wasteful, so Roy had chosen to walk until he found people, then rely on human transportation to reach Italy.

Roy's right hand, wrapped in a red cloth, was tucked into his pocket. That cloth was the Shroud of Turin he had found in the underground magical workshop in the desert. The reason he did this was that the strongest of his seven authorities involved the Lord of Hosts, the King of Kings—Christianity's one true God, Yahweh.

This authority had many restrictions but was extraordinarily powerful—and exceedingly difficult to control.

Without restraint, an anomaly would manifest in Roy's right hand. Thus, he used the Shroud's divine properties to bind it, suppressing the anomaly.

Before Roy stood a dune-like mountain, not particularly tall, with numerous vehicles parked at its base. Some people were exploring the slopes, seemingly conducting archaeological work.

Among those bustling around the instruments at the foot of the mountain, someone noticed Roy. Seeing his disheveled appearance and solitary state, they assumed he was a lost traveler. After exchanging a few words with those nearby, the person hurried over.

"Hey, friend! Looks like you might need some help!"

It was a blond, blue-eyed Western man, likely in his late twenties, greeting Roy with enthusiasm.

"Need a doctor? Or we could lend you a phone to contact the embassy in Jerusalem."

The man ran over and was taken aback when he got a clear look at Roy's face. He hadn't expected Roy to be so young—from appearance alone, he seemed only fifteen or sixteen years old. Beneath the silver, ear-length short hair were a pair of eerie double pupils, and the aura he exuded was extraordinarily contradictory—like a man, a woman, a child, and an elder all at once, making it hard to discern the truth, as if lost in a fog.

"...Um, maybe you should contact your parents?"

The blond, blue-eyed man spoke hesitantly. Though Roy's clothes were shabby, his energy and spirit were vibrant, making him seem anything but a lost traveler.

"Thank you, but I think just a glass of water will do for now."

"Oh, of course! Just a moment!"

The young man hurried off to fetch bottled water. For some reason, despite the boy's youthful appearance, this nearly thirty-year-old adult felt an instinctive fear, as though he'd encountered a wild beast in the jungle—a primal terror triggered by his brain.

Meanwhile, Roy had gleaned one crucial piece of information: this was indeed Israel.

After seeing the magical workshop hidden in the desert cave, which belonged to a Jewish mage, he had already deduced his location based on the surroundings. Now, this blond, blue-eyed Western man had confirmed it.

"What are you all doing here? Archaeology?"

Roy took the bottled water handed to him, took a sip, and asked.

"Oh, yes! We're on an archaeological expedition. I'm a Ph.D. student working with my advisor on this dig."

At Roy's question, the man's eyes lit up, and he began speaking enthusiastically. Perhaps his role in the team was minor, so he grew excited when someone showed interest in his expertise.

"Our focus is the Jewish 'First Temple,' also known as the legendary Temple of Solomon. Although the Bible describes King Solomon and his temple, archaeological evidence about Solomon is scarce, leading many to doubt whether he even existed."

"...Based on our study of ancient maps, this area should be the heart of ancient Jerusalem—Mount Moriah. Traditionalists believe the Temple of Solomon was built on Mount Moriah, and now we're searching for its ruins."

Roy nodded slightly to himself, his interest piqued.

"The Temple of Solomon? The wise King Solomon? Now that's fascinating."

He glanced up at the numerous archaeologists carefully excavating the site on Mount Moriah. Their movements were painstakingly cautious, as though the slightest misstep might damage the ancient remains.

But Roy had no patience for waiting, nor did he care about historical value. The only thing that intrigued him was the name 'Solomon.'

He lifted his foot slightly, channeling magical energy, then stomped heavily onto the ground.

BOOM————————

The earth trembled violently. The Ph.D. student lost his balance and fell with a startled cry. Simultaneously, the dune-like Mount Moriah began to shake—sand collapsed, the peak fractured, and a deep fissure split the ground. As the tremors continued, cracks spiderwebbed across the mountain's surface.

"What's happening? An earthquake?!"

"Everyone, be careful!!"

"The mountain... the mountain is collapsing... Mount Moriah is collapsing!!"

"..."

Roy expressionlessly watched the collapse of Mount Moriah, waiting for any possible temple ruins that might exist within the mountain.

This was the only one among Roy's seven authorities that had no time limit or quantity restriction—it could be activated anytime as long as he still possessed magical power.

This authority was the ancient combat technique recorded in the Bible, the strongest technique capable of wrestling with an archangel—'The Hand of Jacob!'

***

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