In a granite-walled chamber, the four walls were etched with intricate soundproofing runes. A hefty rosewood round table stood at the chamber's heart, surrounded by eight figures in dazzling, varied attire, each with a stack of documents before them.
"Why only eight?" EeDechi whispered to Alphonse beside her. They had arrived at an unmarked room in the capital of the Slane Theocracy, where the secret meeting was now underway.
Alphonse leaned in, voice low. "The Divine Commandant of Holocaust Scripture is undercover in Elf Country and couldn't make it."
Suddenly, several pairs of eyes snapped toward EeDechi. The Pope and other Divine Commandants fixed their gazes on her, the Divine Envoy, their looks a mix of curiosity, reverence, and skepticism.
"The legendary 'Divine Envoy,' huh? Doesn't seem like much," a childish voice piped up, dripping with smug mockery.
EeDechi glanced over. Across the table sat a young boy, his delicate features framed by neatly combed golden hair, dressed in solemn, gold-threaded robes. The formal garb clashed absurdly with his youthful face, like a kid playing dress-up in an adult's clothes, pretending to be serious.
"Who's this little brat?" EeDechi snapped loudly. "Where are his parents? Someone drag him out of here."
"I'm not a little brat!" The boy across the table flailed his arms, cheeks puffed with indignation, as the Pope beside him quickly moved to calm him down.
Alphonse spoke up. "Lady Divine Envoy, this is the Holy Son, Connor Daller. A once-in-two-centuries prodigy, a divine being awakened with the blood of the gods. His talent in magic and religious lore is unmatched, second only to Antilene. He's already mastered 5th Tier magic, stepping into the 'hero' realm. His potential is limitless, making him the prime candidate for the next Pope."
"This little brat doesn't seem to like me," EeDechi said with a frown, not caring that "little brat" echoed around the room. She could sense the sharp hostility radiating from the so-called Holy Son.
"Before word of your battle with Ainz Ooal Gown reached the Theocracy, most believed Connor Daller was the prophesied Divine Envoy," Alphonse explained.
"So I stole his spotlight." EeDechi gave a wry chuckle. "No wonder this kid's acting like I snatched his favorite candy."
"Don't get cocky! When I'm as old as you, I'll beat you to a pulp!" Holy Son Connor Daller shot back from across the table, pounding his tiny fists on the wood.
"Bring it on, I'll be waiting," EeDechi said with a shrug. "This spoiled kid's got no manners. Needs a lesson."
Thud, thud, thud. The Pope, wearing a half-oval golden cap, struck a small wooden gavel on the table, his voice weathered. "This meeting is of grave importance. Please present your proposals for voting."
The eight attendees began leafing through the parchment documents and scrolls on the table. Soon, a sprightly old woman with snow-white hair and beard rose from her seat, giving EeDechi a slight bow.
She was the Divine Commandant of Windflower Scripture. EeDechi noticed the old woman's eyes were a dull, lifeless gray—she was blind. Yet her movements were fluid, unaffected by her lack of sight.
The blind woman spoke softly. "I propose that the Divine Envoy, as a being beyond our ranks and unfamiliar with our nation's affairs, should not have voting rights."
EeDechi hadn't expected the first proposal to target her, but she didn't care much. As the blind woman said, EeDechi wasn't in a position to judge the proposals' merits anyway.
The Pope nodded and struck his small gavel. "Let the vote begin."
Holy Son Connor Daller shot his hand up eagerly, looking like he'd raise his feet too if he could. Alphonse didn't raise his hand, nor did the elderly Divine Commandant of Ashendust Scripture. But the other Divine Commandants and the Pope all raised their right hands calmly.
With EeDechi abstaining, the vote was 3:5. She lost her voting rights for the rest of the meeting.
The meeting pressed on.
"It's only a matter of time before the Sorcerer Kingdom attacks our nation. The Theocracy's safety hangs by a thread. We face our darkest hour—externally, the Sorcerer Kingdom looms like a hungry beast; internally, traitors betray the faith of the Six Great Gods. Our nation has stood for six hundred years. How do we survive this crisis?"
The Pope clasped his hands, his gaze stern. He had set the tone for this secret meeting: to strategize against the Sorcerer Kingdom's imminent assault.
"How do we repel—or even defeat—the Sorcerer Kingdom?" he asked.
"Our nation's fall is inevitable," Alphonse said, his eyes calm as still water, his voice eerily steady. "The Sorcerer Kingdom's demon god is on par with the Eight Greed Kings. We can't defeat him.
"Long ago, our nation survived as a vassal of the Eight Greed Kings' empire, spared during their world-ravaging rampage. Now, our only path is to follow Baharuth and Re-Estize. Surrender, and we minimize the bloodshed."
"Beg for mercy from the Sorcerer Kingdom's king, Ainz Ooal Gown?" The Pope's voice was heavy, his eyes burning with reluctant defiance.
He shook his head slowly. "Don't forget, the Eight Greed Kings spared us not out of kindness, but because the God of Death, Surshana, dealt them a crippling blow. They feared Surshana's divine power. But now, the God of Death has returned to the divine realm, leaving us unprotected."
The blind old woman spoke up. "By the Six Great Gods above, sworn in their holy name, we, the Six Scriptures, will not sit idly by. On this, Your Holiness, rest assured."
The Pope clung to her words like a drowning man grasping at straws. "Divine Commandants, you are the Slane Theocracy's final hope. The fate of our nation and its people rests on your shoulders."
The Pope paused for a moment before speaking. "I have a question. For sixty years, through various channels, we've secretly funneled magic crystals, black crystals, and arcane ores into the capital, draining a fortune from our treasury. The Holy Son, myself, and a few trusted ministers in the cabinet are dying to know: what plan are the six Divine Commandants preparing? Can you share it with us?"
"I propose we inform the Pope. Those opposed, raise your hands."
All the Divine Commandants present, save the absent one from Holocaust Scripture, raised their hands in unison. 5:2.
"Very well," the Pope said with a bitter chuckle, shaking his head in resignation.
The meeting moved on.
This time, the Divine Commandant of Black Scripture stood. He had flowing black hair, thick eyebrows slightly arched, a sharp nose, and striking features—the only youthful face among the five Divine Commandants present. Black Scripture was the most battle-hardened of the Six Scriptures, its ranks filled with fierce, young warriors.
"I have a proposal, directed solely at the four Divine Commandants here. The Pope and Holy Son need not vote." The Black Scripture Commandant deliberately kept the matter within the Six Scriptures. EeDechi couldn't help but wonder: were the Six Scriptures not as united as they seemed?
"On behalf of Black Scripture, I demand to know what mission my reserve member, Antilene, has been assigned. Why am I being kept in the dark?" The Black Scripture Commandant stared at the others, his tone grave.
"Those opposed, raise your hands."
The four other Divine Commandants raised their right hands in perfect sync. The Black Scripture Commandant plopped back into his chair, fuming.
His brows furrowed, barely containing his anger. "Antilene has suffered enough, and you still won't let her be? I don't know what mission you've given her, but whatever it is, it's a death sentence!"
"All for the Slane Theocracy," Alphonse said softly, bowing his head, hand pressed to his chest.
"All for the Slane Theocracy," the blind old woman echoed with a quiet sigh.
The meeting continued.