Multiverse's Holy Right

A surge of dense, violent magical energy erupted, shattering the door of the Ritz-Carlton's presidential suite. The room was instantly engulfed as if by a Category 12 hurricane, the howling currents of magic sending everything flying, transforming the space into a junkyard in mere moments.

Alice's face turned deathly pale, her delicate frame swaying slightly. Though she had received Roy's Authority and her condition had improved significantly, as Roy had said, her body wasn't fully healed yet and required further treatment.

Even as Europe's most powerful witch, with spiritual power far beyond the ordinary, Alice's abilities paled in comparison to those of a Campione.

As the door was torn apart, the footsteps outside grew heavier and clearer. Under the watchful eyes of Roy and Alice, a vigorous old man slowly made his way into the room from the corridor outside—where all the hotel staff had been turned into pillars of salt.

The old man had neatly combed gray-white hair and wore a long overcoat over a crisp shirt and tie, complete with white gloves. By all appearances, he was the picture of an intellectual elderly gentleman, the very image of amiability—until one met his pale green, wolf-like pupils, which evoked nothing but primal dread and terror from the depths of one's soul.

"Marquis Voban!"

Alice, her delicate frame swaying unsteadily under the Marquis's violent magical energy, spoke in a hoarse voice. Her expression was haggard, tinged with a faint trace of fear. Compared to Roy, the newly ascended king, the terror Sacha Dejanstahl Voban had instilled in the world over two centuries ran far deeper.

Even the renowned Sage Princess was nothing more than an insignificant ant in the eyes of this most ancient Campione.

Just as Alice trembled with the icy chill of instinctive fear, a crimson figure stepped in front of her. At the same time, she felt warmth envelop her delicate body—Roy had draped a coat over her slender frame, covering her scantily clad, fair skin entirely.

"Before a strange gentleman, Princess Alice, you should show some restraint—at the very least, wear proper clothing. Though this 'strange gentleman' happens to be an old man on the verge of the grave."

Alice clutched the coat with her pale hands, gazing at the crimson back shielding her. A warmth spread through her heart, an indescribable emotion welling up inside her, coaxing an unconscious smile to her lips. Even the fear of facing the ancient Demon King vanished without a trace.

Though the boy before her was four or five years her junior—not even an adult yet—his broad back felt like a warm, sheltered harbor, shielding her from all storms. For the first time, Alice experienced a sense of security she had never known before.

She was Princess Alice, the former chairman of the Greenwich Assembly. Always, she had been the one standing in front, shielding others from the storm, facing the Demon Kings of the world alone. But now, for the first time, she tasted the feeling of being protected—something Alexander Gascoigne had never done for her.

"Don't worry, Alice. I'll protect you. With me here, you need not fear an old man who's halfway into his coffin."

Roy spoke softly, a gentle smile on his face as he raised his left arm to shield Alice behind him. Yet his eerie eyes held no trace of warmth—only cold, unwavering seriousness.

Strategically, he might belittle his enemy, but tactically, he would never underestimate Marquis Voban. Though Roy considered the Marquis's greatest strength to be the sheer variety of his Authorities, in actual combat, his threat paled compared to the Eastern Cult Leader or the Sword King of Italy.

This was because no matter how many Authorities a Campione possessed, their quality had limits. And since Campiones did not accumulate more magical energy over time, the oldest among them held no qualitative advantage over the newer generation. Still, Marquis Voban was not to be underestimated—his versatility made him a formidable opponent in battles of equal footing.

"Heroic sentiments, tender affections—these are the privileges of youth."

Marquis Voban's tone was stiff, as if reminiscing about the past. Yet the cruelty in his wolf-like eyes only grew more pronounced.

He was no docile old man, but a Demon King who treated the world as his playground—and the slaying of Heretic Gods as his entertainment.

"My newly born kin, I shall not comment on your actions, for every Campione has their own individuality. But as an old man nearing the end of his days, as you've described, I must still offer you an elder's counsel—being overly sentimental is no virtue. You may protect the girl behind you, but can you safeguard those two young ladies you sent to capture the hime-miko?"

Roy frowned, recalling that Marquis Voban seemed to possess an authority related to the dead—one that allowed him to resurrect those he had personally slain, imprisoning their souls to serve as his loyal retainers while retaining their former strength.

This authority held little use in battles against other Campiones or Heretic Gods, but against ordinary magicians and knights, it was an overwhelmingly formidable ability. Roy knew the "young ladies" Voban referred to were Erica and Liliana, and it was likely the Marquis had already deployed this authority, sending his retainers to intercept them.

Roy wasn't overly concerned for Erica and Liliana's safety. After all, the two girls were the prodigies of their generation from the Copper Black Cross and Bronze Black Cross respectively. While they couldn't hope to face a Campione or Heretic God alone, mere resurrected retainers—even if they couldn't defeat them—wouldn't prevent their escape.

The real trouble would be if the hime-miko, Yuri Mariya, were captured by Marquis Voban. Retrieving her from the Marquis afterwards would prove far more troublesome.

"Hmph, to think one of my retainers, Kranjcar, had such an outstanding granddaughter as a witch. It seems I paid too little attention to him in the past. Regardless, I must thank you, my junior, for your assistance. Thanks to you, the girl behind you has been healed. The ritual I needed two more years to complete can now be held ahead of schedule."

"...But ah, my junior, you are far too greedy. To casually seize an elder's possessions without asking—you must be prepared to pay the price!"

Though Marquis Voban's voice was cold and arrogant, he did not underestimate Roy. Those who became Campiones were no ordinary men. Two years prior, he had suffered a setback at the hands of Salvatore Doni.

'So Liliana's grandfather was one of Marquis Voban's retainers...'

This was the first Roy had heard of it, though he wasn't particularly surprised. In the world of magic, even the most renowned families and powerful individuals could only ever become servants in the face of a Campione.

"Marquis, for those of us who have achieved greatness through the sin of deicide, verbal sparring is meaningless. In the end, it always comes down to a contest of strength."

Roy's dual-pupiled gaze met the Marquis' wolf-like, ruthless eyes, allowing his own visage to reflect in the Marquis' pupils—the very trigger for one of his authorities.

"Hahaha! Well said, young kin. It seems you are no rigid traditionalist. For that alone, I must commend you!"

Marquis Voban laughed, his mirth as cold and resonant as a tolling bell, shaking the walls of the room with its reverberations.

And in that moment, Roy demonstrated to the Marquis what it meant to strike first—

The instant the Marquis' laughter faded, Roy activated his authority—The Face of God!

***

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