A Certain Multiverse's Holy Right

Alexander Gascoigne possessed almost no directly offensive authorities—he was, through and through, a non-combatant Campione.

If the authority one usurps from a slain god is the one most compatible with oneself, then Alexander's authorities reveal much about his character—if he wanted to defeat his enemies, he had to set traps in advance; if he wanted to claim victory, he had to possess superior intelligence. His method of battle relied on cunning deception, leveraging trickery to seize victory.

But Gascoigne's style was completely countered by Roy's Clairvoyance. No matter how flawless his acting was, no matter how impeccable his schemes seemed, everything he did was recorded by the world itself—and thus, could be seen through those dreaded eyes.

From the moment he entered Roy's line of sight, his defeat was inevitable.

'Those Mystic Eyes do have limitations. To gain knowledge of an event, one must determine the time, the location, and the people involved. Only when these three factors are aligned can those damned eyes function.'

After learning of Roy's ability, Gascoigne had researched it extensively. Human history was far too vast—countless billions had lived and died on this planet. With the sheer scale of Earth itself, Gascoigne did not believe Roy could achieve omniscience over the past. He must require a medium—a fixed time, a fixed place, and a specific person—to unveil the truth he sought.

'So, as long as I put enough distance between us, leave some decoys, and flee in unpredictable directions across the world, I should be able to slip out of those eyes' reach—at least for a while.'

Transformed into a bolt of lightning, Gascoigne streaked across the sky at incomprehensible speed. He stole a glance backward—only to see Roy, wreathed in divine flames, relentlessly closing the gap.

The Black Prince sighed. If he were Chinese, he might have muttered something along the lines of, "Why must a Crowley exist in the same era as a Gascoigne?"

Before Roy's arrival, Gascoigne had been the fastest among all Campione. With his Authority of Godspeed, he could come and go like a phantom. Even if a plan failed, he always had the means to retreat.

But then Roy appeared—wielding a similar Authority of Godspeed, while also possessing Clairvoyance, which rendered Gascoigne's intelligence and cunning utterly useless. Those two factors alone crushed him.

If this continues, he'll catch up! Gascoigne gritted his teeth. I hope this Authority will at least slow him down.

A plan formed in his mind. He channeled his divine power, and, even as he hurtled forward at breakneck speed, he raised a hand—activating an Authority that he could only use once per month—

"Wind that sings of fascination, night which devours the light, all travellers, helpless in the perilous journey, accompanied by heavy sorrow, abandon all hope!

"The Great Labyrinth!"

This Authority originated from the legendary Labyrinth of Minos in Greek mythology, usurped by Gascoigne after slaying Minos. As its name implied, it had no offensive capabilities. However, it could trap even a Campione—or a Heretic God—for up to three to four months.

With a mere wave of his hand, eerie white mist spread across the surroundings.

Roy, still in high-speed pursuit, felt the world around him twist and shift. The mist solidified into towering labyrinthine walls—sealing him away, like the fabled Minotaur.

"So, it's the Authority of the Great Labyrinth? Then let me tear it apart!"

Roy's expression remained unchanged. He raised the Sword of Judgment in his hand—

—and swung.

"Thou art guilty!"

Shwing—!

A sound like tearing silk echoed through the air. The impenetrable Great Labyrinth split open, a gaping wound exposing the outside world.

And before the labyrinth could mend itself—Roy, wreathed in divine flames, had already blurred through the gap.

There was always one simple, brutal method to escape a labyrinth—cut straight through it.

Roy's Sword of Judgment possessed the ability to sever sin. Its fundamental principle was simple: it judged whether its target was guilty. If the target was deemed guilty, then the sword must be able to cut through it—because justice must always stand above sin.

Thus, once guilt was determined, the sword's supremacy over its target ensured nothing could remain uncut.

This was Roy's strongest Authority, second only to his Holy Right. Unlike conventional weapons, this blade could sever not just matter, but also concepts. Theoretically, it could cut through fate itself—through the very fabric of causality.

The only reason he had yet to accomplish such feats was simple—he was not yet strong enough. His understanding of the world was not yet deep enough.

"Impossible?!" (T/N: Masaka?! 😂)

Gascoigne's eyes widened in disbelief.

His Authority—usable only once per month—had been shattered in less than a second.

Had he misunderstood the nature of Roy's Sword of Judgment? It was nothing like Salvatore Doni's Holy Sword.

Doni's sword was said to be able to cut through anything—but in the end, it only severed material objects.

Roy's sword, on the other hand… could cut through Authorities, through concepts themselves!

Admittedly, it wasn't absolute. The Great Labyrinth had restored itself immediately after being cut. But even the briefest of openings was enough—enough for a Campione who wielded godspeed to slip through and return to reality.

"Alexander Gascoigne—this is the end for you."

Roy's voice reverberated through the air. And then, Gascoigne froze. Pain wracked his body. His insides wrenched violently. It was like an aircraft, flying at hundreds of kilometers per hour, being forced into a dead stop in an instant.

The sheer inertia from such an abrupt halt made him feel as though his organs were about to be crushed. He barely stopped himself from vomiting blood.

He found that his godspeed had been severed by that sword once again!

This time, Gascoigne dared not activate his Authority of Godspeed any longer. He feared that the moment he attempted to use it, Roy's sword would cut it down once more. The excruciating pain of being forcibly wrenched out of high-speed motion—just a few more times, and he wouldn't even need to be struck down in battle; he would simply die on his own.

At this moment, Roy was already closing in, sword in his right hand, his left clenched into a fist, moving at lightning speed.

"The Saint Subdues the Dragon!"

BOOM—!

A fist imbued with the power of a dragon slayer crashed violently into the Black Prince's chest. Even a Campione's body was unable to withstand such an attack. The sickening crunch of breaking bones echoed from his sternum.

Roy had now completely locked down Gascoigne's godspeed using the Sword of Judgment. Though the sword's ability to sever other things was momentarily inactive, as long as Gascoigne's speed was neutralized, he became the easiest Campione to defeat.

"Ugh—!"

Gascoigne coughed up a mouthful of blood. His internal organs twisted in agony—he wasn't even sure if his spleen had ruptured. Roy had held back nothing in that punch, and for a Campione who wasn't a combatant, this single blow was nearly fatal.

Gascoigne knew that if he was dragged into close combat, death was inevitable. His instincts kicked in. His mind reacted in a fraction of a second—his body transformed into lightning once more, attempting to instinctively flee with godspeed.

But just as his body crackled with electricity, Roy's Sword of Judgment was already there, slashing down upon him again, like a shadow that would never let go.

"AAAAAH—!"

Gascoigne screamed in agony. His already battered internal organs suffered yet another brutal shock. The pain of being violently ripped out of godspeed surged through him once more. (T/N: Bro doesn't learn 😅)

Becoming a Campione granted authority and a superhuman body, but it did not grant a stronger will. Gascoigne had once been a mere mage—his mind had never been tempered to endure such torment. His only option was to scream, to try and lessen the pain through sheer vocal release.

Among all the Campione, only Marquis Voban, who had tempered his will over three centuries, and the likes of Roy and Salvatore Doni, had truly unbreakable mental fortitude. The rest of the godslayers, at their core, were still just humans. (T/N: Idk why Luo Hao wasn't mentioned, its surprising honestly since she is Chinese)

Even Roy himself, if struck by a fatal wound, would struggle to endure through sheer willpower alone. After all, he too was once an ordinary man—never having undergone training to sharpen his will.

"Angels, sound the trumpet of the Apocalypse!"

Roy had made up his mind—Gascoigne must die.

He chanted the sacred words:

"Sound the Seventh Trumpet!"

In the wake of that apocalyptic fanfare, the gates of heaven swung open. From within, hundreds of radiant angels descended, materializing before Gascoigne.

Had this been before, the Black Prince could have simply used godspeed to escape. But now? Godspeed was useless.

These angels formed a battle formation, their divine presence alone suffocating. For Gascoigne, they were now foes that had to be taken seriously. And with their arrival, Gascoigne knew the truth—escape into the skies was no longer an option.

A barrier of divine warriors in front. A relentless pursuer behind.

There was no way out.

"If I can't escape through the sky…"

Gascoigne immediately adjusted his strategy—he plunged downward.

In a matter of moments, he and Roy had crossed from the United States into Canada. If the sky was no longer an escape route, then he would rely on the terrain of the earth to find a way to shake off his pursuers.

It was a solid plan.

But, just as he began his descent, he saw her. A tall, breathtakingly beautiful goddess, a wreath upon her head, a divine bow drawn in her hands. She stood atop the head of an enormous serpent, her piercing gaze locked onto him.

And surrounding her—hundreds of serpents, poised for battle.

Above, angels blocked the sky. Below, dragons and serpents ruled the land.

At this moment, Gascoigne knew that he had nowhere left to run.

His fate was sealed.

***

(T/N: Hoho)