Snow-white haze was rising throughout the royal capital. Smoke crept upward and spread across the city, shrouding it as though in fog. Everything was pale and murky.

Sensing something wrong, residents began emerging from their homes.

"H-honey, wake up and look at that! Hurry!"

"Is all this fog? What is it?"

"I can't see a thing!"

"What's happening all of a sudden..."

An uproar spread through the dead of night. Everyone in the royal capital was bewildered. The strange phenomenon had come upon them far too suddenly.

Maphel’tan watched from the air. Clicking his tongue, he muttered,

"... Muel, why the hell are you doing this?"

Muel could not descend into the mortal realm anyway. A summoning ritual conducted by a lone archmage could not summon an Archdemon. Even if the royal capital were consumed as a sacrifice, no one would gain anything.

Muel would actually lose out, since it would ruin his relationship with an Apostle. Maphel’tan had clearly stressed that he needed the royal capital. Muel had heard him perfectly well, yet had brought about this disaster anyway.

This act was tantamount to declaring war on an Apostle. Why would an Archdemon show hostility toward an Apostle? Maphel’tan could not pin down the reason.

As he stifled a troubled grunt, Ilea spoke.

"I don't know much, but one thing is certain. Muel wouldn't commit an atrocity like this simply in a fit of anger."

Both the holy scriptures and the Book of Doom portrayed Muel as a highly rational Demon. He would never let anger ruin his relationship with an Apostle merely because Maphel’tan refused to help with the summoning ritual. If he had committed this atrocity, there had to be a sound reason.

After a moment's consideration, Maphel’tan said,

"I agree. Muel isn't one to dig his own grave. This is only a guess, but I think he saw some vision of the future. Conducting this ritual must bring about circumstances that benefit him."

Muel was a Demon with powerful foresight. He never willingly acted to his own detriment. Clear calculations and intentions very likely lay behind his unexpected behavior.

Ilea nodded. "Then we should find out what he's after first."

Maphel’tan was skeptical. "Before that, we must stop this summoning ritual."

If they let it continue, countless lives truly would be lost. The royal capital would surely fall. He could not stand by and let that happen.

Ilea gazed steadily at him. "Is that for practical reasons, or moral ones?"

He answered immediately. "Both. I need the royal capital, and I do not want to see those people sacrificed. Does that answer your question?"

A calm smile curved Ilea's lips. "More than enough. Let's stop the ritual first, then."

"Do you have a way?"

She fell silent in thought, then spoke shortly afterward.

"It can be done. But you'll have to accept a certain amount of loss and danger."

Loss and danger. Maphel’tan found that deeply irritating. Thanks to Muel, he had to shoulder risks he had never planned for.

'I don't know what future you saw, but I'll make certain you pay for this.'

Stifling a grunt, he said, "We have no choice. Let's move."

Ilea nodded. "Let's go somewhere else first. There are too many eyes here."

She soared higher into the sky, and Maphel’tan immediately followed. The entire royal capital came into view: a vast city engulfed in pale fog.

"What are you planning?"

Without answering, Ilea worked her magic. Tiny, intricate equations appeared in her eyes.

"I'll examine the structure of Muel's summoning ritual first. Once I identify the spell array's weaknesses and catalyst, we should be able to minimize the damage."

She began scrutinizing every corner of the royal capital. Her expression grew grave, her brow furrowing now and then. Even for a witch, analyzing an archmage's magical arrays in an instant was no easy feat.

A considerable amount of time passed. Maphel’tan grew anxious, but waited for Ilea in silence.

* * *

Clergy poured into the great assembly hall of the royal capital's central church. The sudden phenomenon had prompted the summoning of most officials of bishop rank or higher.

As they arrived, they immediately took places in the tiered seating. Regardless of rank, they sat wherever they found an empty seat. This was no time to worry about places of honor. It was an emergency. The moment the briefing ended, they would all have to rush out into the field.

"Most of us seem to be here. Get started!"

"Archbishop Seirun hasn't arrived yet!"

"That man is late even at a time like this?!"

"How dare you speak of him that way!"

The hall was as noisy as a marketplace. No one could collect themselves. The situation was too urgent for them to remain calm.

"How much further do you intend to drag down the Church's prestige?!"

"Demonic energy in the heart of the royal capital! This is beyond absurd!"

The uproar continued.

"Quiet, everyone."

A deep, resonant voice rang out over the commotion. A middle-aged man in snow-white vestments stood on the dais. At his appearance, the clamor gradually subsided.

Someone called toward the dais. "Director! Most of us are here. Please give us a quick briefing!"

The man standing there was Archbishop Rohagen, director of the Bureau of Holy Inspection. He headed the institution charged with monitoring evil of every kind, including Demons, heretics, and apostates.

Director Rohagen began to speak.

"I will dispense with all formalities and briefly explain what we know. The fog currently blanketing the royal capital is the demonic energy of the Archdemon Muel."

At the name Muel, no one could hide their horror.

"M-Muel?!"

"The demonic energy was snow-white... I knew it!"

"What is that traitor doing in this land again?!"

Rohagen raised a hand to silence them.

"An evil faction is conducting a ritual to summon Muel, offering the entire royal capital as a sacrifice. The requisite spell array has already been drawn throughout the city."

It was utterly astonishing and outrageous.

"What has the Bureau of Holy Inspection been doing all this time?!"

"Have you learned nothing from the Apostle's recent attack on the royal capital?!"

"How could you be so negligent in your duties?!"

Accusations poured down on the director. He had failed to fulfill his duties. As director of the Bureau of Holy Inspection, he should have detected the warning signs and devised countermeasures before matters reached this point.

Instead, the Bureau had only scrambled into action once disaster struck. Even if this crisis were resolved, they would probably not escape punishment.

Rohagen spoke.

"I acknowledge my incompetence, but now is not the time to blame one another. Within an hour, the wraiths of hell will set foot in the royal capital. The summoning ritual must be destroyed before they appear."

The wraiths of hell were beings that dragged living sacrifices into the underworld. Ordinary humans could not resist them. Most of the royal capital's people would die helplessly.

Someone addressed the dais. "How far has your investigation of the spell array progressed?"

Rohagen looked at him.

"We have located the center of the spell array, but have yet to reach the catalyst. Even now, many of our comrades are losing their lives to the magic built into its center."

To stop the ritual, they had to destroy the catalyst. But high-tier magic had prevented them from reaching it.

"... If the magic can harm Bureau personnel, could someone of archmage caliber be involved?"

Rohagen nodded. "The archmage Lumina. We have identified the White Mage as the chief culprit behind this incident."

Groans rose throughout the hall. An archmage was truly a transcendent being. To face one required someone equally transcendent, such as Wolfgang or a Holy Emblem.

Fortunately, Azval the Meat Grinder, Fourth Seat of the Twelve Holy Emblems, was stationed in the royal capital. Yet even he could not easily break through the archmage's magic. Destroying meticulously prepared high-tier magic on such short notice was exceedingly difficult. Even clergy skilled in dispelling curses were struggling.

Unease settled over the hall.

"... If an archmage is involved, we may not be able to resolve this immediately."

"We would be better off evacuating the royal capital."

An hour remained before the wraiths appeared. Before then, the Church had to issue an evacuation order. The royal capital would be lost, but countless lives would be saved.

Rohagen spoke. "I have already ordered an evacuation. In fact... the Bureau's assessment is that we cannot save the royal capital."

There was too little time left. Rather than trying to destroy the spell array, leaving the city was the right course. Most of the clergy assembled in the hall agreed.

"... Is that truly the best we can do?"

"We must preserve ourselves for the future."

"Five hundred years of the royal capital's history, all for naught."

Sighs and laments rose from every side. Someone buried their face in their hands and wept.

The royal capital was a city of great historical significance. It had not fallen even during the Holy War five hundred years ago. Everyone had remained to defend it to the very end. Today, their ancestors' efforts would come to nothing. As citizens of the kingdom, they could only grieve.

As they lamented their own helplessness, the lights illuminating the hall all went out at once. The interior abruptly plunged into darkness. They could see nothing.

"What's happening?!"

"Get the lights back on!"

The extinguished lights did not return. Instead, a faint glow spilled in from outside. The rear doors of the great assembly hall had burst open, letting light stream through the gap.

Everyone looked back. Demonic energy darker than night rippled before them. Red eyes flickered in the darkness, and a chilling voice settled over the hall.

"What an utterly pathetic lot you are."

Several clergymen sprang to their feet.

"W-who are you?!"

"It can't be..."

All manner of holy magic sprang into being. The hall blazed with light again, and horrified cries erupted throughout it.

A monstrous being stood before them. A Demon with enormous wings spread wide, clutching a pitch-black spear. The Thirteenth Apostle of the End.

White Horn slowly spoke. "Take her. I have done your work for you."

Maphel’tan casually flung something forward. A white woman landed hard on the dais. Whether dead or unconscious, she did not stir in the slightest.

Everyone stood rigid at the sudden turn of events, until several voices shouted,

"A-an Apostle! Form ranks!"

Old though they were now, they too had once walked the path of eradicating evil. They immediately prepared to attack. Countless holy spells studded the hall's ceiling.

Maphel’tan gave a short, derisive laugh. "You repay kindness with hostility? You remain an odious lot to the very end."

Then he vanished in an instant. Snow-white flames and sharp blades struck futilely at the place he had occupied. An explosion thundered, sending fragments of the shattered floor flying in every direction.

Someone shouted from within the billowing smoke.

"White Horn! Where'd White Horn go?!"

It was a man in a snow-white hood: Azval, Fourth Seat of the Twelve Holy Emblems.

Director Rohagen addressed him. "Azval! What in the world is going on?!"

Azval scratched his head. "I'm not really sure either. White Horn just helped us out. He's the one who caught that archmage, too."