The Silent Deity: Saiki Kusuo in Tensura

Velzard stood beneath the surface of the Storm Kingdom, the vast underground shelter now echoing with laughter and relief. Families reunited, children ran around, and the anxious silence that once blanketed the shelter had finally lifted. She stood in a quiet corner, leaning against a crystal pillar, arms crossed, but her sharp blue eyes were soft — thoughtful.

Her gaze wasn't fixed on anyone in particular; rather, it was focused inward. Veldora… he had told her to stay behind. Not because he thought she was weak — far from it — but because he knew the citizens trusted her, and her presence would bring them comfort. She had agreed, albeit reluctantly. But now, seeing how smoothly everything had gone, how Veldora had coordinated the entire defense, protected the people, and annihilated the heavenly army without damaging a single country…

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"…You've grown, brother," she whispered to herself. "Maybe more than I thought."

Far across the snowy plains of the Ice Continent, in a grand throne room of jagged sapphire ice, Guy Crimson sat alone on his crystalline throne. Rain and Misery had already retired for the night, but Guy was wide awake. His elbow rested on the armrest, chin propped against his knuckles, eyes staring off into the dark swirling skies outside the tall windows.

His mind wasn't at peace.

"Transcendent… demons," he muttered.

The word tasted strange on his tongue.

When Diablo had stood before him earlier, calm and confident, something had felt off — wrong even. Diablo wasn't posturing, wasn't bluffing. He was changed. They all were. The Transcendent Demons — beings who surpassed even the Demon Lords. Guy couldn't analyze them. He, the ancient crimson demon, the first of his kind, couldn't even grasp their powers. That should be impossible. And yet…

"They've left me behind," he said, his voice low and sharp with frustration.

He clenched his fist, frost forming around the throne.

"How? How did they do it? I've trained. I've evolved. I've devoured beings far older and stronger than myself to rise to the top. So why—?" His eyes flared red.

But no answers came. Only silence.

Meanwhile, in the Eastern Empire, a heavy atmosphere loomed over the grand imperial palace.

Rudra and Velgrynd had returned, their expressions unreadable as they walked through the long, torch-lit corridors. The servants bowed, but their eyes were filled with fear. Whispers ran wild. Everyone had heard what happened. The angels Rudra summoned — his ultimate move — had been wiped out. Effortlessly.

Now, everyone feared one name: Veldora.

The generals of the Eastern Empire were already assembled in the war chamber. All of them straightened as Rudra entered, followed closely by Velgrynd. The room was dead silent.

Rudra didn't speak right away. He just looked at their faces — his most trusted men and women. Most were trying to remain calm, but the tension was heavy, almost suffocating.

One of them finally stepped forward. A tall man with a sharp jaw and steel-gray armor. "Your Majesty… is it true? The angels—?"

"Gone," Rudra said, his voice hoarse.

Murmurs erupted. Some gasped. Others simply stared at the polished floor, unable to meet his eyes.

"Then… what now?" another general asked quietly. "Veldora has every reason to retaliate. You summoned angels and targeted his land… This was a declaration of war. And now… we are vulnerable."

"I know," Rudra said, his voice low.

Velgrynd stepped forward, slamming her palm on the table. "If Veldora wanted to, he could have crushed us already. You all know that."

The generals flinched. No one dared argue.

She looked to Rudra, her crimson eyes blazing. "And you. I hope you finally understand. This isn't about pride, or power. You lost. You gambled your empire, your people — me — and you lost."

Rudra remained quiet.

"So tell me, Rudra… was it worth it?"

The question struck like a blade.

Rudra closed his eyes. His fingers trembled slightly.

"…No," he said. "It wasn't."

"I don't want to fight him anymore," Rudra said. "We're not ready. We may never be. But we have something worth protecting. And I won't let my pride destroy it."

Velgrynd let out a slow breath. "Finally… some sense."

Rudra smiled bitterly. "Then it's time we focused on our people, not our enemies."

And with that, the Eastern Empire began to shift. Not toward war… but toward rebuilding what they almost lost — before it was too late.

The streets of the Storm Kingdom were alive again—brimming with bustling energy and joy. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, music echoed between the stone buildings, and laughter filled every corner. The celebration from the aftermath of the angelic onslaught had evolved into a full-fledged festival, marking not only victory, but return.

A few days after peace was declared, King Veldora assembled his council in the high hall. The underground shelters had emptied; citizens had returned. The kingdom felt whole. Falkor, the royal herald, cleared his throat as Veldora stood at the head of the table.

"Let the gates to the Storm Kingdom be reopened," Veldora commanded, voice confident and proud. "Merchants, visitors, ambassadors—all are welcome once more. We owe them the joy of living in peace."

He paused, eyes sweeping across the council members. "Our people sheltered them during crisis—now we must welcome them back with open arms. Show them why our kingdom stands."

The council bowed, and word of the reopening spread like wildfire. Caravans dusted off their wagons. Traders polished their goods. Visitors polished their shoes. Everyone wanted to stand again in the kingdom that had saved them and helped them rebuild.

Soon, the roads into the capital were filled with travelers arriving from other lands—Dwargon, Sarion, Blumund, Raja, and Coleus, among others. Faces familiar and friendly once again filled the marketplaces.

Families reunited in tearful embraces. Children ran toward neighbors they hadn't seen in weeks. Merchant stalls reopened, selling spices, silks, tools, and treasures from every corner of the world.

In one famous moment, families escorted benevolent kings and commoners alike through the gates, chanting:

"Welcome home!"

"Long live the Storm Kingdom!"

The return was more than physical—it was emotional: a statement of shared survival and gratitude.

In the sky above it all—just a bubble away from the pavement—hovered Saiki Kusuo. He remained invisible, unperturbed, sipping coffee jelly from his ever-present cup. Around him, floating projections shimmered with images of the bustling city's new growth.

He cast a bored glance downward.

Another tourist troupe? More merchants? People dancing under lanterns?

Sigh.

His spoon paused.

"Yare yare…" he muttered.

The magic projections he maintained displayed smiling reunions and joyous crowds. He could easily shut them off, disrupt them—but why?

The world was doing fine. Better, even.

With a soft snap, he created one final projection: a side-by-side of before and after the attack—a testament to the kingdom's resilience.

He ate another bite of jelly, cheeks puffing slightly.

"Just business as usual," he whispered with a sigh.