Elia made his way into a district filled with souvenir shops and stepped into one of the stores.
The shopkeeper quickly noticed him and spoke with a hint of appraisal in his tone:
"Dressed this sharp, huh? Looking to buy something, handsome?"
Elia glanced around before letting his gaze settle on the accessories displayed on the counter.
"Do you have anything meant to be worn on the hand?"
The shopkeeper's lips curved slightly, as if he had expected that question.
"Of course."
He took out a small box from the cabinet. Inside lay a pair of rings engraved with delicate wing patterns.
He held them out to Elia.
"These are… wedding rings?" Elia frowned. "I don't have a girlfriend."
The shopkeeper didn't elaborate. He simply said calmly:
"These are exclusive to Seraphis. They have the effect of 'anchoring another person.'"
He paused, his gaze carrying a subtle, meaningful weight.
"As for how to use them… you'll have to figure that out yourself."
Then he added in a lower tone:
"Though something like this is rarely used on oneself."
Elia was momentarily taken aback but didn't press further.
After a brief silence, he decided to buy the rings anyway, slipping one onto his index finger.
The moment he stepped out of the shop, a broadcast echoed across all of Seraphis.
"Welcome, honored guests, to the God-Given Realm—Seraphis."
"Once again, I invite all guests who hold invitations to gather at the central plaza."
The instant the voice faded, the surrounding crowd visibly changed.
Some stopped in their tracks. Some turned around. Others quietly quickened their pace.
Several gazes briefly swept over Elia—as if confirming something.
Without overthinking, Elia immediately headed toward the plaza.
His footsteps rang sharply against the ground, the crisp rhythm of leather shoes striking the floor echoing with urgency.
By the time he arrived at the center, people from all sides had already gathered.
Each of them held an invitation.
Unlike ordinary visitors, nearly everyone here had been summoned.
The air was unnaturally still.
No one spoke first.
Everyone observed one another, as if waiting for a signal.
Just as the tension reached its peak, a woman dressed in a nun's habit appeared on a screen above.
"It seems everyone has arrived," she said flatly.
"Then I will now convey the purpose of this invitation."
A faint glow began to gather around her.
In the next moment—
A far more radiant light unfurled behind her.
From within it, a winged woman bathed in pure white brilliance slowly emerged.
Her presence alone seemed to redefine the light of the entire plaza.
Her voice held no emotion.
It wasn't speaking—it was a proclamation.
"I will speak on behalf of the Pontiff."
"You have all been invited here to participate in a game."
"A game?"
A man in formal attire couldn't help but speak up from the crowd.
"May I ask, Your Excellency, have you ever heard the phrase 'time is money'?"
The angel did not react to his tone. She merely glanced at him indifferently.
"Maintain silence."
"Questions will be addressed later."
The moment she finished speaking, a spear appeared in her hand.
Without hesitation, she hurled it toward the ground.
In the next instant—
The spear struck.
A deafening explosion erupted.
The entire plaza shook violently as the ground was blasted open, forming a massive crater.
The man's face turned deathly pale.
Cold sweat streamed down his forehead.
"If you wish to continue objecting,"
her tone remained calm,
"then in the name of the Pontiff, I will have you expelled from this God-given realm."
The man immediately lowered his head.
"My apologies. I misspoke."
Standing among the crowd, Elia fixed his gaze on the angel.
The power of that strike had far exceeded his expectations.
But what concerned him more was something else.
She just… looked at me.
For a moment, her expression changed.
Not indifference. Not pressure… but… sorrow?
At that moment, a faint whisper brushed past his ear.
"Have you been noticed?"
Elia instinctively turned his head—but the speaker had already melted back into the crowd, as if they had never been there.
He frowned slightly.
"Next, I will announce the rules of this game."
Her wings spread gently.
Feathers began to fall.
They drifted through the air as if guided by will, flying toward every individual present.
When one of them landed in Elia's hand, it instantly transformed into a slip of paper.
"This game is called—the 'Game of the Righteous.'"
"Each participant will receive a riddle."
"Those who solve their riddle will advance to the next round and receive a new one."
She paused briefly.
"Those who fail… will be eliminated."
A faint stir rippled through the crowd.
"However, there is one exception."
She continued:
"An eliminated participant may replace another by solving that person's riddle first."
The moment those words fell, the atmosphere in the plaza changed completely.
The earlier stillness was replaced by a suppressed unrest.
Some people began stepping back. Others started scrutinizing those around them.
"As for those truly eliminated—"
Her tone did not waver.
"They will be removed from this place."
"The final sixteen participants will work together to solve the last riddle."
"The one who succeeds will earn an audience with the Pontiff—and obtain the answer promised in the invitation."
She raised her hand slightly.
"Additionally, there are three fundamental rules."
"First, participants may not attack one another."
"Second, riddles may not be given to others."
"Third, participants may jointly establish one new rule."
She paused.
"But the cost—will be the death of a sinner."
The air froze instantly.
No one spoke.
She lifted her gaze toward the sky.
In the next moment, the heavens of the dream began to shift.
Light warped. Clouds rearranged. A massive clock slowly emerged across the firmament.
Within its markings, faint images of God creating the world flickered.
"When the hand points to the Sabbath, the first round will end."
Her voice echoed once more.
"One more hint."
"The answer to your riddle—will appear on someone else. And that person may not be a participant."
Her words fell.
"Then—"
"Let the 'Game of the Righteous' begin."
At the same time, every slip of paper in their hands burst into blinding white light.
The light surged like a current, flowing directly into their consciousness.
A riddle formed in Elia's mind.
There are two people in a city.
One has spent his life doing good—helping the poor, treating others with kindness—yet has never acknowledged his own sin.
The other has committed evil, even harmed others, but has bowed his head, admitted his sins, and sought mercy.
One day, the two stand before judgment.
The crowd says, "Isn't the outcome obvious?"
And yet—
The one who believed himself righteous is judged guilty;
The one who confessed his guilt is called righteous.
Why?
Before Elia could fully process the question, the angel in the sky suddenly looked at him again.
Her gaze lingered for a brief moment.
Then, a faint whisper brushed past his ear—
"Don't disappoint me… you little one who's lost his memories."
As her words faded, her figure dissolved into countless motes of light, scattering into the night sky.
The plaza fell silent once more.
But this time, no one felt at ease.
Everyone lowered their heads, staring at the slips in their hands, their expressions gradually changing.
Some began to study those around them.
Others started to tremble in fear.
⸻
End of Chapter