Multiverse's Holy Right

"This farewell gift is anything but pleasant."

Roman's brows and nose scrunched up in pain as he grimaced and groaned.

Had it been King Solomon, he would have endured the meaningless agony without flinching. But the one standing here now was not King Solomon—it was Roman, who had become human. As an ordinary man, the sight of a sword piercing his chest nearly made him faint.

Roman slumped to the ground, gasping for breath. Tiny specks of starlight began to emanate from his body—a sign that the Heretic God was fading away.

"Ah, so it's finally over... Our promise is fulfilled."

Suppressing the pain, he forced a smile and sat atop the hill, hands resting on his knees, letting the blood flow freely from his chest as he gazed at the last remnants of sunlight bathing the ancient city of Jerusalem in the distance.

"My dear friend Roy Crowley, I cannot see your future, but I know it will be a life of grandeur—and one teetering on the edge of an abyss. The farewell gift you gave me is far from pleasant, but even so, I shall bestow upon my first friend a parting gift of my own. I only hope it will be of help to you."

"...Inside the desk drawer of the hotel room I always used, there is a magic formula I left for you. I believe it will prove useful. And the Authority I leave behind as a Heretic God after my death will surely satisfy you—though it may require you to sacrifice something in return."

As if finally having tricked Roy, Roman flashed an exceedingly joyful smile.

His body grew increasingly ethereal, the starlight around him dimming further.

"Beware of the Last King and the God of Fate behind him. This is the final warning I can offer you as a friend. I am now grateful that I did not discard Solomon's Wisdom.' I never cared for these things myself, but the very shackles that once bound me have allowed me to aid a friend. Whether it be 'wisdom' or 'power,' they have finally been used for the right purpose."

"...If we ever meet again, could you treat me to strawberry cake once more?"

The man, whose smile was as innocent as a child's yet radiant with a gentle melancholy, had faded into nothing more than a wisp of a shadow.

"If we meet again, I'll let you eat all the strawberry cake you want."

Hearing Roy's final reply, he smiled contentedly and departed from this world without a trace of lingering attachment.

Starlight drifted into the sky like fireflies, the distant sunset completely sinking below the horizon. Night had arrived, and the man had left this world that was never his to begin with, returning to the place where he truly belonged.

"Goodbye, Romani Archaman. Goodbye, King Solomon!"

Roy whispered softly.

He was no heartless monster. The departure of a friend brought sorrow to his heart, stirring a stifling urge to vent emotions he couldn't suppress.

King Solomon knew of the world's many misfortunes, yet he would only watch them unfold with a smile, never intervening.

Romani Archaman knew of countless tragedies, yet he would strive with all his might to turn misfortune into happiness—no matter how limited his abilities, no matter how pessimistic his heart, he resolutely pursued this path nonetheless.

One eagerly anticipated tomorrow with hope, while the other indifferently awaited the end of all things. Though their approaches were polar opposites, they were, unmistakably, one and the same.

Roy was plunged into darkness once more.

The darkness came swiftly and left just as fast—within mere moments, Roy regained consciousness. Before him stood a goddess with a delicate smile, a slender figure, snow-white skin, and the appearance of a girl no older than thirteen or fourteen. She was none other than Roy's "foster mother," Pandora.

"Little Roy, you regained consciousness so quickly this time! I didn't even get to hug you and admire your handsome, adorable face properly."

Utterly devoid of a goddess's dignity, Pandora bounced over to Roy, her hands clasped behind her back, her twin purple pigtails swaying playfully with each step.

"I've been here so many times now. If I were still unconscious for as long as I was at the beginning, wouldn't that mean I haven't improved at all?"

Much like how in certain tales, as one's power grows, the duration of unconsciousness after teleportation shortens, the same principle applied to Pandora's mystical realm.

Having slain numerous gods and with his power increasing at a visible pace, this Boundary of Life and Immortality could no longer hinder Roy's consciousness.

Roy's tone carried a hint of emotion—the pain of losing a friend still lingered, leaving him not yet fully recovered.

"Little Roy is so amazing! Making friends with a Heretic God, convincing one to willingly let you slay them—no Campione in history has ever done anything like this~"

Pandora clasped her hands together in front of her, eyes sparkling with admiration like a starstruck child.

But Roy couldn't help feeling Pandora was utterly oblivious. Couldn't she tell he was in a bad mood? She really knew just how to rub salt in the wound.

Still, from Pandora's words, Roy gleaned one crucial detail: she didn't realize this King Solomon hailed from another world.

In the world of Campione, all deities are myths created by humanity. Before they descend as Heretic Gods, none of these gods actually know each other, for they did not truly exist in the past—they were merely born from the collective imagination of human faith.

The world of Campione has no true Age of Gods, nor are the gods tangible entities. Thus, unless a Heretic version of King Solomon had appeared in the past, no one could possibly know what the real King Solomon truly looked like.

***

Roy took a deep breath and suddenly stepped forward. To Pandora's astonishment, he forcefully grabbed her delicate chin with brute strength, bent his waist, and captured her lips, muttering impatiently, "...Enough, let's just get on with the Campione ritual!"

Ever since learning that Pandora's Circle of Usurpation was not her own creation but merely the result of borrowing a certain divine artifact, Roy no longer treated this self-proclaimed "foster mother" goddess with the same cautious reverence. Knowing Pandora wasn't as terrifying as he had imagined—nor some mastermind behind the scenes—Roy grew increasingly bold in both action and speech, even becoming rather domineering.

"W-Wait! Don't be so aggressive... Mmmph...!"

Under Roy's unrestrained assault, Pandora gradually found it hard to breathe. She tried to push him away, but though she was a True God, she wasn't the type skilled in physical strength. Realizing resistance was futile—and with her fair wrists now caught in Roy's grip—she had no choice but to reluctantly activate the Campione ritual.

Roy seemed to hear the sound of a rotating disc, followed by that familiar sensation once again. He knew this was the ritual that used a god's life as material to usurp their authority.

...

In a daze, Roy's consciousness returned to the present world. He lowered his head, clenched his fist, and murmured with hesitation, "...So this is your parting gift to me, Roman? This 'gift' is quite substantial, though it does demand something from me in return."

***

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