Multiverse's Holy Right

Book of Genesis records that after the Great Flood, God established a covenant with humanity when all people spoke one language with unified pronunciation.

United in tongue and purpose, mankind collaborated to build a tower reaching heaven. Their shared language enabled the construction of magnificent Babylon, its tower piercing the clouds.

This endeavor provoked God, who interpreted it as doubt cast upon His covenant—an intolerable act. Thus, God confounded human speech, scattering people across the earth with divided tongues. The Tower of Babel remained unfinished, and mankind lost its universal means of communication.

This primordial language, called 'Adam's Tongue,' holds profound mystical significance. Every syllable of this divine speech carries inherent magic—absolute words of power that countless magi have sought to reclaim.

Whether in the East or the West, magic shares a crucial element: incantations and words of power. Modern humans use various simplified languages to chant spells, bestowing mystery upon them. Yet God's act of dividing languages was akin to scattering that mystery, fragmenting magic itself, making it nearly impossible for modern humans to manifest the arcane secrets of the Age of Gods—for they had even lost the very language needed to wield those divine mysteries.

The fifth form of Hand of Jacob, "Babel's Ascent," was precisely Roy's way of imbuing this mythological power into his fists and palms—dispersing human unity and unraveling magic itself.

With a single grasp, Marquis Voban's body froze mid-air. A series of popping sounds, like bursting bubbles, echoed around him as every magical enhancement upon his form instantly dissipated. Even the grimoire he had summoned through his divine authority wailed in despair before vanishing into nothingness.

As the flight magic failed, Marquis Voban—hovering a hundred meters in the air—suddenly lost his ability to fly. His body plummeted straight down, the howl of gravity's acceleration trailing behind him like a falling artillery shell.

BOOM————————

A residential building beneath him was crushed under the impact of the Marquis' ten-meter-tall werewolf form. The entire ground caved in, leaving a massive crater. Had Marquis Voban not been a Campione, and had he not already activated his divine authority, Legion of Hungry Wolves, an ordinary man would have been reduced to paste upon impact.

"The 'Singing Spellbook' is an authority usurped from the Heretic God 'Baphomet,' capable of forcibly seizing knowledge from magicians for one's own use. This provides considerable convenience for a Marquis like you, who cannot wield magic... But Marquis, this authority has minimal effect on Campiones and Heretic Gods. How could the magic of mortals affect deities?!"

"...Though you possess many authorities, the vast majority are only useful for slaughtering mortals. How many of them can truly be used to battle gods and Campiones?!"

"If these are all the abilities you possess, Marquis, then today, this ancient Demon King shall taste the bitterness of defeat at the hands of a newcomer!"

Roy shouted loudly in midair, descending like a meteor as immense divine power gathered in his limbs, crashing thunderously upon the earth.

The massive crater created by Marquis Voban shattered once more, causing the entire ground to collapse.

Hand of Jacob and Lord of Light—the combination of Godspeed and the fists of scripture—was Roy's preferred combat style in normal circumstances. Though his other authorities were immensely powerful and could serve as finishing blows, in battle, it was the relentless 'basic attacks' that posed the greatest threat.

"Arrogant and ignorant brat! Let this old man see just how long you can last!"

Like a spring being launched from the ground, the Marquis Voban, now a massive wolf, opened his jaws and let out a savage roar. With his howl, raging hurricanes, crackling lightning, and torrential rain poured down once more, engulfing this part of Tokyo in an apocalyptic scene. A corner of the city was completely plunged into natural disaster, as human-made steel and concrete structures crumbled like fragile petals under the authority of a Campione.

Roy's taunting and arrogance had thoroughly ignited the wolfish ferocity within the Marquis Voban. Without hesitation, he charged into the storm, wielding wind and thunder, and collided with Roy's fist amidst the roaring tempest. The two darted swiftly between the city's skyscrapers, sonic booms and explosions echoing in their wake. Tower after tower was pierced through by their bodies and fists, reduced to ruins.

...

"Between Campiones and Heretic Gods, which is truly the greater calamity for humanity?"

Alice stood in the shattered remains of the penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, gazing at the pitch-black sky that nearly covered all of Tokyo. She watched the flashes of lightning within the dark clouds and the distant explosions, listening to the terrified screams of citizens and the blaring of car horns. Even this princess, who thrived on chaos and had little regard for morality, wore an expression of pity.

This was nothing short of a modern war.

"You, a sly, scheming vixen who loves lurking in the shadows and spying on others, actually showing compassion? Has some divine authority made the sun rise from the west now?"

A cold male voice suddenly rang out in the ruined penthouse. Hearing it, Alice showed no surprise. She merely tightened the coat draped over her delicate shoulders, hiding her exposed collarbones beneath the fabric, before turning around with a radiant smile.

Behind her, a young man in his mid-twenties had appeared at some point, seated on one of the few intact chairs left in the wrecked room. He crossed his legs, his neatly combed black hair and deep gray jacket giving him the air of a nobleman.

This was Alexander Gascoigne, the Campione of England.

"What wind has blown you from the countryside of England to this far eastern island? There shouldn't be any news of the 'Holy Grail' you're searching for here."

Alice's smile was bright and dazzling. She clasped her collar with one hand, exuding the elegance of a noblewoman, her manners flawless to the point of perfection.

Yet it was precisely this perfection that made her seem somewhat artificial, as if this wasn't her true self.

She was already quite familiar with Alexander Gascoigne, so she didn't mince words.

"Drop that fake smile of yours. A grumbling woman like you is no perfect noble!"

Gascoigne's mood inexplicably soured as he watched Alice feign courtesy with him.

The Campione, wielding the Godspeed authority, stood up and moved toward her, reaching out to grab her.

But just as his hand was about to touch her, Alice subtly withdrew her fair, jade-like hand into her sleeve and took a step back.

Gascoigne's expression stiffened, and he said discontentedly, "...What do you mean by this?"

"I should be the one asking what you mean by this, Lord Alexander Gascoigne. Grabbing a lady's hand without permission is hardly gentlemanly behavior."

Alice wore a faint smile at the corners of her lips, but her tone was indifferent and cold...

"You're not..."

Gascoigne recalled the intelligence reports detailing Alice's intimate interactions with the new king, and his face darkened with anger.

However, Gascoigne was ultimately a rational Campione. He quickly regained his composure and urged, "...Stop being difficult. I came here to rescue you—let's leave quickly."

"Oh? For the 'Black Prince' to come save his sworn enemy is truly unbelievable... But I must regretfully decline. I have already been summoned by King Roy. Leaving with you would incur his wrath."

Alice's tone carried a hint of mockery as her clear eyes fixed upon the Black Prince, making Gascoigne deeply uncomfortable.

Suppressing his anger, he forced a calm tone. "...Then aren't you worried about my wrath?"

"You won't lose your temper, Lord Black Prince... Your personality is just like this—unforthcoming and averse to trouble. You calculate every move before acting, never taking risks unless victory is assured. As a Campione, I'm not sure whether to praise or mock such a disposition."

Alice then turned her gaze toward the distant battlefield where Marquis Voban and Roy were clashing. Such unrestrained displays of authority in combat were things Alexander Gascoigne would absolutely avoid—something people should be grateful for. Yet this man's excessive scheming made his personality seem gloomy and unmanly, the kind of gloominess women found unappealing.

Fortunately, Alexander Gascoigne was also inept at dealing with women.

"Give me a reason, Lord Black Prince. A reason why you came here to rescue me. If it's convincing enough, I'll leave with you... Could it be that you've fallen for me and came here out of jealousy?"

Alice suddenly blinked mischievously, her body trembling slightly as she giggled.

"Don't joke around, you troublesome woman!"

Alexander Gascoigne turned away in flustered irritation, ignoring Alice. "...Since you refuse to appreciate kindness, consider my visit void."

After a brief pause, he added, "...The new king and I are fundamentally incompatible."

"Hmm, King Roy may be reckless and unrestrained, but he shares some traits with you—rationality and cunning. Two Campiones equally adept at scheming can never coexist peacefully."

Alice nodded lightly, affirming the Black Prince's words.

"I have a premonition that one day, one of us will inevitably die by the other's hand."

With those words, Alexander Gascoigne activated his Godspeed authority and vanished from the scene.

"An unstraightforward woman can only be a loser in life, and an unstraightforward man won't find a girl to spend the rest of his life with... That's why I prefer Roy's straightforwardness."

Watching the Black Prince depart, the White Princess sighed softly. He had his chance—a chance to get close to her heart, a chance to win her heart—but he was an unstraightforward man who let the opportunity slip away.

Then, a faint trace of worry appeared on Alice's face. "...King Roy, if you keep fighting like this, you'll be defeated."

Knowing some of Roy's authority traits and the Marquis Voban's abilities, the princess grew increasingly anxious.

***

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