The first night's wind smelled of iron and ruined dust.
The second day smelled of blood.
The third day… Makoto no longer knew what he was breathing other than despair.
In the middle of Valreim, a city nearly destroyed, Makoto and Lyona stood back-to-back, their breaths ragged, bodies wounded. Before them, 9 remaining Mist Arrivals—once chosen humans from other worlds—now twisted into instruments of slaughter by the Supreme God.
They came in waves. Not like monsters. Not like soldiers.
They came like people who could no longer refuse fate, their eyes empty, yet still carrying skills and techniques far beyond normal humans.
---
Makoto blasted one of the Mist Arrivals away with Impact Pulse, but it only slid back a few meters before rising again, its face broken yet carved with a stiff smile.
"Regeneration skill… some kind of forced blessing," Lyona growled.
Attacks came from the side, from above, from behind—the Mist Arrivals striking simultaneously without pause, as if governed by a single mind. Makoto glimpsed faint mist flowing from the sky, like unseen threads.
Those threads came from the Supreme God.
But he didn't understand yet.
---
When Makoto fell for the umpteenth time and Lyona was nearly pierced by an energy spear, several local adventurers appeared:
"Don't think we're just watching you die!"
"Even if it's just a few of us—we're on your side!"
They were only mid-rank. Some died instantly.
Others helped hold back the assault as much as possible.
The battle was no longer only Makoto and Lyona—the city itself was forcing itself to live.
Yet every time they began to gain the advantage…
…an invisible pressure crushed Makoto.
His bones trembled. His breath broke.
His mind froze, as if a voice spoke:
> "Fight. You must fight Marchaos. He is the source of all this."
Makoto didn't know whose voice it was.
He only knew it wasn't his.
---
A Mist Arrival tried to stab Lyona from behind.
Makoto twisted, taking the slash on his shoulder, then smashed the enemy down.
"Makoto! You're bleeding badly!"
"Three days without sleep… expected."
Lyona gathered all her magic, condensing it into a single attack that split the air. Makoto channeled Arc Pulse into it, amplifying it further.
As the attack pierced through three Mist Arrivals at once, Makoto heard the voice again:
> "See? They are Marchaos' servants. Kill him, Makoto. Only you can."
Makoto trembled. Not because he feared his enemies.
But because he was starting to believe the voice without realizing it.
The Supreme God's manipulation worked.
---
By the end of the third day, only two Mist Arrivals remained.
Both were utterly destroyed by the combined assault of Makoto–Lyona–the city's adventurers.
Lyona was nearly unconscious. Makoto wasn't even sure he could still stand.
But they won.
A victory more like punishment than achievement.
Meanwhile, in a dimension separated by several layers from that world…
Marchaos stood still.
His face expressionless, yet his eyes sharp, watching Makoto.
> "You grow stronger… too fast. Even without me touching you.
And the Supreme God is really playing this card."
He didn't interfere.
He didn't help.
He only observed—because this was Makoto's trial, and a war of strategy between himself and the Supreme God.
In the city, Makoto leaned on the ruins, hearing the faint voice again:
> "Marchaos… he will betray you. You must strike first."
Makoto clutched his head.
Lyona touched his shoulder.
"Makoto… what's wrong? Hey… don't lose focus."
Makoto smiled faintly, but his eyes wavered.
> "Why… am I starting to believe that voice…?"