On the northern plains of Uruk, an army—considerable in size for its time—was slowly marching forward.
In this Age of Gods, magical beasts—creatures far stronger than ordinary animals and capable of wielding magical energy—were common. Naturally, people had learned how to tame and ride them.
The commander of the army sat atop a leopard-like magical beast, scanning the surroundings with a wary gaze. His square, knightly face tightened into a frown.
"Still no movement from Uruk?"
"Correct. Our scouts have detected no signs of mobilization."
At the report, the commander stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"According to our intel, the new king of Uruk has shown little interest in governing the city-state. It seems those rumors weren't baseless after all."
"That's exactly why our king sent us—to test their strength," his deputy remarked from behind, riding a similar beast.
"Yes. But even without resistance so far, we must stay cautious."
The deputy frowned.
"Isn't that too cautious? Without the king's command, Uruk won't be able to mobilize immediately. If we wait too long, though, they might act on their own."
Striking now could force Uruk to throw together its defenses unprepared—a clear advantage.
But the commander shook his head firmly.
"A forced march won't help. Even if their army can't move without royal orders, their city defenses will already be in place."
He stared ahead, as if his eyes could pierce the horizon and see Uruk itself.
"Besides, there's no proof the king of Uruk is so incompetent—or foolish—that she'd ignore an enemy at her gates. Wasting our troops now would be senseless."
Uruk's rulers had always been extraordinary, and the city was favored by the gods. Rumor held that even the current king had been chosen by divine decree—hardly someone to underestimate.
"In short, caution above all else. I have a bad feeling about this…"
A sudden gust swept across the plains, raising a curtain of dust and breaking his train of thought.
"Halt!"
The commander's heart tensed as he raised his hand sharply.
Less than fifty meters ahead, a girl had appeared out of nowhere.
Though her beauty would have been striking in any age, the commander felt no stir of admiration—only heightened alertness.
"Who are you?"
A lone girl standing before a thousand-strong army might seem absurd to future generations, but this was the Age of Gods—a time when even deities walked the earth. Heroes capable of facing armies alone were not unheard of; the destruction of a host by one person was no myth.
And this girl—calm, unflinching—was clearly no ordinary mortal.
"Who sent you?"
Ignoring his question, the girl spoke in an even tone.
The commander's frown deepened. He gestured for his troops to form ranks, then faced her again.
"Are you here to block our advance?"
"You won't answer, then?"
The girl tilted her head slightly, as if puzzled.
Their words crossed but never met.
Unease prickled at the commander's chest. He dared not provoke her, yet standing idle was just as dangerous.
His hesitation ended in an instant.
"Enough," the girl murmured.
Seeing he still wouldn't answer, she shook her head lightly.
Seven violet magic circles bloomed behind her without warning.
"[Obliterate]…"
"Throw the spears!"
The commander's shout followed almost at the same moment.
A chorus of whistling filled the air as countless spears rained toward the girl.
But she didn't flinch. Power gathered within her circles, glowing brighter and brighter.
Then, as the spears reached her, a surge of energy erupted from her body—scattering them effortlessly and blasting up a storm of dust that blinded the army.
"Raise shields!"
The commander, less affected, quickly issued another order.
He realized at once how meaningless it was.
Seven torrents of violet energy ripped through their formation and streaked toward the horizon.
He could still feel the searing heat of the nearest blast.
There was no finesse in the attack—of that he was certain.
Even so, that single strike had already dealt catastrophic losses, wiping out over half his army.
"Her magical energy is far too immense!"
He ground his teeth.
"We can't let her fire again! With me—charge!"
He spurred his mount forward. A hundred cavalry behind him broke ranks and thundered after him.
Halfway there, his eyes flew wide.
Three magic circles had formed in parallel before the girl, their aim fixed squarely on the charging group.
So instead of building power again, she was compensating by multiplying the circles…?
He barely managed to yank his beast into a desperate leap before a violet beam obliterated the ground he'd just left.
"Damn it!"
Midair, he roared—and then despair hit. The three circles hadn't vanished after firing; they swung to track him with mechanical precision.
Violet radiance swallowed his sight.
The last thing he saw was the girl's emotionless, dull gray eyes…
...
"My King, you've returned."
At the entrance to the great hall, Ophis descended from the sky. The priestess and several officials—critical to Uruk but irrelevant here—immediately knelt.
Ophis gave a slight nod and moved to enter the hall.
"My King…"
Catching Ophis's glance, the young priestess swallowed.
She had meant to ask about the pile of pending administrative matters—but she had the sinking feeling she'd be ignored again…
"Um… the enemy might still—"
"They won't."
"Eh?"
Paying no further attention to the unimportant priestess, Ophis stepped into the hall.
She accepted the role of "King," after all.
Ignoring paperwork might be chalked up to selfishness. Allowing her people to suffer foreign invasion would be true negligence.
So she acted.
Granted, her sense of direction had been vague at first; she'd circled quite a bit before finding the enemy.
She counted it as sightseeing.
A real fight now and then also served as practice in controlling her energy…
To head off further trouble, she questioned the last surviving soldiers, confirmed their city-state's location and the leader's residence—and fired another cannon blast that way.
Convenient practice for precision at long range.
Although she had targeted the enemy palace, Ophis's imperfect control made collateral harm to innocents unavoidable.
In another context, that might not have mattered—war always hurts bystanders, doesn't it?
But the identity Ophis had taken on was not merely Uruk's king.
She was also the "Wedge," sent from the heavens to the earth to bind humanity and prevent the severing of the bond between gods above and mortals below.
Yet this being had long neglected her duty to humankind, taken innocent lives on a whim, acted recklessly, and ignored the gods' authority.
Undeniably, she had strayed from the path the gods intended, provoking their wrath.
Thus a chain to restrain the king was forged.
It was shaped from clay by the gods themselves.
It had neither soul nor reason—only a monstrous existence without rationality.