Following Manstein through the church and into a small side house, he pointed at a hidden passage and smiled, a lantern glow like warm honey in his eyes. “Hero, walk the secret way with me.”

Birand gestured back at the church, his tone dry as sun-bleached bone. “And your church? And that cluttered study?”

Manstein’s mouth twitched, a knife-edge under velvet. Inwardly, his temper flared like sparks in dry grass. Damn you—this whole mess is your doing. If you hadn’t made that entrance, none of this trouble. At a time like this and you still mouth off.

Outwardly, he wore a gentle smile like a paper fan. “Don’t worry. My avatar will handle it.”

Birand nodded, the motion smooth as a falling leaf, and followed Manstein into the passage.

They walked for several dozen minutes, feet tapping a hollow rhythm along stone, the air tasting of damp moss. Time stretched like shadows; the corridor wound like a burrow through the earth.

Birand smiled, a blade sheathed in silk. “At our speed, it still took this long. You hid this place deep.”

“Heh. You flatter me,” Manstein answered, voice steady as a still pond.

Birand sighed inwardly, thoughts coiling like smoke. The maze and those shifts in direction chewed time like a slow mill. This guy’s guard sits high as a cliff. Fair enough—no one lays bare their vault to a stranger.

Manstein led Eli out of the passage, the dark loosening like a night curtain drawn aside.

Outside, a forest rose, all spears of green and trunks like pillars of an ancient hall. Only a ribbon of gravel trailed from the doorway; the rest stood crowded with towering trees.

Birand narrowed his eyes, keen as a hawk staring into wind. While he wasn’t looking, this man had slipped a space transfer underfoot. Within a hundred kilometers of the human empire’s capital, most ground lies shaved into roads, houses, and fields. But these trees, dozens of meters high, stood like old giants—impossible for that ring of civilization.

So the passage only masked the ripples of spatial transit?

Manstein savored Birand’s silence, a cup of tea held at the perfect heat. If people guess everything at the start, your momentum leaks away like water. Fewer benefits to knock loose later.

He led Birand along the path to a mound wrapped in jungle vines, the earth rising like a sleeping beast. A huge stone gate crouched on the mound’s face toward the road, a lid on a buried heart.

“Let me show you what I’ve dug up,” Manstein said, pointing at the gate and making a courteous gesture, head dipping like a crane at water. “I hope this convinces the Hero I’m worth partnering with—along with that mysterious creature at your back.”

Birand smiled, weathered and calm, then reached out. His left hand brushed the strange stone; an ancient breath rolled up like dust from old scrolls. He exhaled, surprised, and glanced at Manstein. “Not bad. Looks like you know more than I thought.”

Manstein’s smile flickered like a candle steadying. “Curiosity is a human instinct. I just do what I can.”

“Then, Hero, please?” His smile turned sunny as a spring morning. He squinted slightly, measuring Birand with a lazy sweep.

“Open the door,” Birand chuckled, voice cool as iron.

Manstein snapped his fingers. Runes swarmed across the stone like fireflies, then the gate lifted, heavy as a leviathan rising, and hung in the air.

Birand lifted a brow, amusement like a silver coin. “You’re the host. Shouldn’t you lead?”

“Oh—my mistake.” Manstein bowed, apology smooth as silk, and walked in first, steps falling like measured drums toward the world beneath the mound.

Birand’s face cooled, frost over dark water, and he moved in behind him.

Once they were inside, the runes faded like embers, and the stone gate sank back down, sealing the mound’s mouth.

They passed through a long darkness, the hallway a throat of stone. At another snap, a chamber opened, light spilling like gold across Birand’s hard expression.

Birand loosened his fist, a knot untying. He snorted. “You do love theatrics. Always with a corridor long as a winter night.”

Manstein bowed. “For concealment, you know. If this gets found, it won’t end well for me.”

“With the complexity of your maze, anyone could even reach this?” Birand’s smile held a playful hook.

“Who knows,” Manstein said, easy as smoke.

“All right, let’s stop gawking.” He grinned, bright as a torch. “Come. I’ll show you my leverage.”

“Lead,” Birand said, pointing forward, a command thrown like a short spear.

“These rooms hold what I’ve gathered—stories from the far ancient era,” Manstein explained as they walked, gesturing at chambers polished like clean stones. “We’re talking business now. Read them later if you like.”

Birand scanned the shelves, a crease in his brow, familiarity rising like a ghost. The layout tugged at him, echoing something he’d seen before.

They moved on to other stone rooms. Light ran clear as spring water, and magic pulled fresh air like a breeze through reeds. Bottles and jars crowded the tables, their glass skins cold as rain. Birand felt a prickle—an old, odd familiarity.

This… felt like a biochemical weapons lab from his old world, a memory coughing up cold air.

He wiped sweat, palm rough as sand. Must be a mistake. An illusion. In a world of magic, the shape of science felt like snow falling on midsummer—hard to accept.

He shoved the noise down and followed Manstein deeper into the “laboratory,” steps steady as a metronome.

“Up ahead is what I called my trump card,” Manstein said, grin flashing like a blade.

“Hero, you want to bring down the entire Celestial Realm for revenge, yes? What’s inside will help you a lot.”

Birand eyed him, suspicion coiling like a snake. “You sure?”

Manstein opened a larger door. Weapons of strange forms lay hidden like bones in tar pits, shapes bent by time and war. This chamber sprawled like an underground city, dwarfing the previous lab.

“Here are remnants of Godslayer Weapons from the ultra-ancient war between the Abyss and the Celestial Gods,” Manstein said, voice bright with heat. “I gathered and organized them. Research has spread across multiple sites. Soon I’ll break through and replicate these super-weapons.”

Birand froze, surprise cracking like ice. “Where did you get these? I sent many hunters and found nothing. You…”

“Hahaha. Can’t tell you,” Manstein said, laughter dry as tinder. “I found plenty. This is only a portion. My people study the rest.”

Birand’s stare weighed him like a judge’s scale. “You were raised on the Holy Sanctuary’s creed and its little brainwashings. Groomed as successor to bishops and popes. I can’t believe you’d keep things this blatantly forbidden. Shouldn’t you lift your staff and purge them?”

A thin flame of fanatic light leaked through Manstein’s eyes, then vanished like a spark under ash. “Yes. I was baptized by the Holy Sanctuary. My heart was set toward the Celestial God—otherwise, how could I sit a bishop’s throne? My faith has… shifted, a little.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Birand said, curiosity draped like velvet.

“I yearn for divinity, but I don’t crave being a god’s messenger,” Manstein answered, words hot as a kiln. “I don’t have those old men’s awe. I just… I want to become… a god.”

Birand’s gaze flickered with a thin edge of mockery, then smoothed like river stone. “How can you be so foolish?”

“Foolish?” Manstein frowned, confusion wrinkling like ripples. “The creed says fear God, hold God in your heart. I do. But the one in my heart is also myself. So I desire godhood—what’s foolish about that?”

“Forget it. Cause and effect runs like a river. You’ll learn it’s a daydream,” Birand said, shrugging, shoulders loose as ropes. “So this is your trump card?”

Manstein pressed his doubts down, voice turning steady as steel. “Not only this. The passage to the Celestial Realm is already built; it only lacks energy to activate. I have a large army trained to wield Godslayer Weapons. They can pull the Celestial forces thin. What do you say?”

Birand turned, smiling like a knife’s reflection. “How confident are you in repairing these weapons?”

“Over eighty percent,” Manstein said, a spark in his tone.

“Pretty high. So, what’s your price?” Birand glanced at him, eyes cool as slate.

That fever flickered again in Manstein’s gaze, a wick catching. “I bless you to butcher the Celestial Realm. Then you grant me a portion of the Celestial Realm. How about it?”

“What do you even want it for?” Birand’s laugh came cold as winter rain. “You don’t think standing in the Celestial Realm makes you a god, do you?”

“Hahaha. I have uses,” Manstein said, smile curved like a crescent. “I only want one-third. How’s that?”

“I want more than your help slaying gods,” Birand murmured, voice low as drum thunder. “I want stranger things—like a ghost army. Can you deliver?”

Manstein paused, a blink quick as a sparrow’s, and glanced behind Birand.

Birand shrugged, casual as a breeze. “Relax. That one has no eyes on me anymore.”

“Then… you mean?”

“I’m killing him too,” Birand said, smile thin as wire. “Can you do it? One word.”

Manstein rubbed his brow and chuckled, sound dry as a reed. “What wouldn’t I dare? I’m only worried you’ll flinch. If you rebel against two extremes at once, you might choke.”

“Not two,” Birand sneered, lifting his fingers like black banners. “Three.”