In her dream, Nilu heard the words and felt heat bloom from head to toe even as she lay under the covers. "Lord Kusunali… w-what are you saying?"
Nahida, standing within the dream's soft, leafy glow, smiled. "Nothing special—just something simple and true. Idris is the sort who pours everything into his work. If you don't take the initiative, he may never even realize what's in front of him."
"O-okay…" Nilu nodded, cheeks aflame. A flicker of surprise tugged at her thoughts: Is the Little Lucky Grass King… actually on good terms with the Grand Sage? That sounded absurd—after all, the one who'd held the Little Lucky Grass King under "guard" was the Grand Sage himself. How could they…?
Before she could unravel that knot, Nahida faded from the dream. Another scene flowed in, gentle and drowsy, and Nilu drifted into deeper sleep.
—
Meanwhile, with Nahida off roaming, Idris finished absorbing the draconic tempering blood. Faint, scale-like patterns shimmered along his wrists and ankles—residue of power yet to be fully digested. They weren't the malign "miasma scales" plaguing Sumeru's patients; these were the benign signs of reforging. Even so, the energy was potent enough that complete assimilation would take days, perhaps weeks.
Rest could wait. With the Little Lucky Grass King not glued to his shoulder, it was time to inspect the lynchpin of the god-making plan:
The Divine Machine—Shouki no Kami.
(Seven-Leaf Radiant Lord of Secrets, as the old epithet styled it.)
Smashing it would be wasteful. Repurposing it—that was a villain's thrift.
Because the Akasha could no longer funnel dreams into the reactor, Idris needed to see exactly where the deficit lay. In truth, he should've checked sooner, but an ever-present godling playing "ring-spirit mentor" had cramped his schedule.
Nahida's leniency toward him existed only because he hadn't truly harmed Sumeru—or her. In the original tale, Grand Sage Azar's second great sin had been treason: acceding to Scaramouche's ambition to become Sumeru's god. No doubt those sages had believed they could "control" their man-made deity.
Five centuries of groundwork later, the pieces were already on the board. Idris's task was simple: seize the pieces.
Sumeru lacked top-tier combatants. Nahida was wisdom, not war. That left Idris to stand in for muscle—and the Divine Machine would do nicely in a pinch. Preferably without Nahida knowing.
Guided by a handful of discreet subordinates, he descended beneath the Sanctuary of Surasthana. There it stood: a towering frame, shell complete, only a trickle of energy and—most importantly—a pilot missing.
Energy I can patch with pills—or with the dragon blood I haven't yet burned through, he thought, stepping closer.
Then he noticed the shadows.
Too many boots in the dark. Mercenaries. Fatui masks. And among them… a few familiar robes from the Sages' ranks. Steel rasped from sheaths as a ring of blades drew tight.
Idris sighed. "Oh? Planning to do this here?"
A long-bearded elder sneered, voice echoing off stone. "That's right, Grand Sage Idris. You've offended too many people, broken too many of Sumeru's 'rules,' and now you mean to carve up our share of the profits."
To read advanced Chapters, head over to p@treon:
patreon.com/nani_kaito