This world closely resembled medieval Europe, with its noble hierarchy and supreme Church authority. The Church and imperial powers checked each other—though the throne should’ve been crushed, a prophecy preserved it. Now, they coexisted in a tangled dance: allies one moment, rivals the next.

Contradictions ran deep here, no simpler than my old world. Duchies clashed over borders; empires and duchies bickered over gains and losses. No grand wars raged, but skirmishes flared constantly.

Humans shared this land with demi-humans—mostly beastmen like Yeluo, plus vampires and such. Such diversity bred strife. Different appearances drew wary stares and division. In human-dominated cities, demi-humans faced discrimination.

And in this strength-worshipping society, men and women stood unequal.

My speech draft had simmered in my mind—no written words, just raw feeling. I knew what to say, but how? Pure improvisation.

A cardinal sin for orators. Yet today, confidence surged unbidden.

“...Why are some born nobles while others are slaves?”

“...Why, with equal minds, are some called civilized and others barbarians?”

“...Why do women hold no voice at home?”

“...What justifies such unequal births?”

The questions detonated through the crowd like a boiling stone tossed into still water—*whoosh*—instant chaos. This world’s tensions had reached breaking point. Only magic and Battle Aura held them back.

These unnatural forces served dual roles: tools to crush dissent like ancient laws, and faint hope for commoners to climb. With enough power, even a peasant could become nobility. But was it ever that simple?

“Some enter noble academies by birthright,” I pressed on. “Rich and connected, they grasp elite teachings faster than ordinary folks grinding day and night. Resources flow to them—even lazy fish become big shots.”

“Down with nobles!” A shout ripped through the square. The scene exploded into bedlam. I watched Church knights in clanking armor struggle to restore order.

Some shoved the knights; others hurled stones. No real harm done, but the Church’s dignity bled.

I didn’t need rebellion today. Just seeds of revolution. Soon, war might ignite without my hand.

“Silence!” The Pope’s voice thundered across the square. Instant hush. He rose—unimposing in height, yet immovable. His tone wasn’t loud, but it pinned every ear, thick with pressure.

Even restrained, his aura crushed like a god’s herald.

“What is your aim, Dark Lord?” he challenged, eyes calm but simmering. “To shatter peace with your duties?”

Using my title to corner me? Perfect. Let the crowd cool down, ponder later. Seeds need time to sprout.

“My apologies,” I bowed slightly to the Pope, then to the audience. Life taught me: apologize first. It softens impressions and silences opponents. I gathered my thoughts. “I’m no saint. No grand compassion drives me. But curiosity led me to study Dark Lords and Heroes. I found a pattern.”

“They say existence justifies itself. So—what purpose does a Dark Lord serve? Why would heaven and earth birth such a scourge?” I paused for effect. “Records show each Dark Lord’s rise sparks societal change. Each Hero arrives just in time to end the suffering change brings.”

“Perhaps my coming means change too. I won’t let my duty die young. So I choose gentle methods—spreading ideas to spark spiritual revolution. I hope it moves some to reshape society.” Another pause. “Or... other methods.”

The last phrase slipped out fast. But many caught it—including the Church.

“What if a force bound the powerful? Laws granting equal rights to all...”

A utopia bloomed in their eyes. Unreachable as a fairyland, yet I painted the dream. I told them it existed. Made them crave it.

Of course, this clashed with Church and noble interests. But it served the many. Hope flickered on faces; whispers swelled.

“...Perhaps a world where the rich share wealth, leaving none hungry or cold...”

“...But building it demands crushing old powers...”

“This isn’t impossible. Not some distant heaven—earth can be this way. So... change needs you to stand. My Dark Lord’s revolution may fail. But I won’t let change itself die.”

“Enough!” A roar erupted behind me. Unleashed power surged like a gale, slamming me off the platform.

Could’t hold back, Archbishop? That force reeked of you.

Lott yanked me up. His face was grim.

Suddenly, dark energy flared in the crowd. Five massive, flesh-and-blood demon shadows rose—no wisps this time.

Chaos swallowed the square. I groaned, sitting up. Pain throbbed, but no wounds. Just... filthy clothes.

“Ouch!” The voice-amplifying array carried my cry across the square—raw and jarring.

But my body didn’t matter. A stumble was nothing. The real horror? Total loss of control.