Noah almost thought he’d misheard.
These colossal, godlike phantoms radiated utter mystery. Perched above the sea of clouds, their words should’ve been divine decrees—each syllable scripture-worthy.
At the very least, some lofty, cryptic phrase to uphold their aura.
But their first line was: *“You are not allowed to attend the party?”* Seriously? That’s *that* down-to-earth?
Do even you ethereal beings get this petty?
Before Noah could process it, the eight star-river giants on the right erupted in thunderous roars.
Limbs massive and shadowy, they jabbed fingers at the left-side eight. A chaotic storm of inhuman tongues clashed—primordial, guttural, echoing violently in Noah’s ears.
The left-side giants fired back fiercely. The one speaking human language unleashed a torrent of vulgar curses.
Clearly: being barred from the party had enraged them.
Noah was stunned at first. Then it just felt like two street gangs bickering below.
Judging by the fury, this wouldn’t end soon.
He looked down at his soul.
Since stepping through the misty gate, he’d felt himself fading.
His ankles were already gone. Faint starlight swirled around him. As the glow crept upward, his soul dissolved bit by bit—no pain, no warning. Just… natural.
A time limit. He couldn’t stay here long.
But why had the reflection in the glass dragged him here?
Just to listen to celestial giants squabble?
And why did that reflection exist? How could two words—*“Come here”*—yank his soul straight to the heavens? Wait… *was* this above the clouds?
Too many questions. The Ayn Continent’s mysteries weren’t even solved yet.
For the first time, Noah felt his brain wasn’t enough.
Then—a flicker of light caught his eye.
“Hm?”
He peered down (though he had no feet) into the clouds. Something gleamed.
In any RPG, this’d be a hidden treasure.
Could a soul even pick things up? He’d try. Free shot.
He hovered a few seconds, adjusted, then leaned down and grabbed it.
A real, icy chill filled his palm. He cradled the object, staring.
A gemstone.
Perfectly smooth. Crystal-clear.
Its crimson hue outshone any jewel on earth—flawless, pure, impossibly spherical.
Just gazing at it, Noah sensed unimaginable power humming within.
Its luster was even more alluring than Miss Monica’s black-stockinged, lace-trimmed dress—as if woven with ancient magic.
He nearly lost himself. When he snapped back, starlight had reached his waist.
Time’s up. Leave now.
Could he take it back?
Clutching the gem tight, he resolved to flee before the light consumed his hands.
Only after stepping toward the misty gate did he sense his body waiting quietly in the Azure Round Table’s president’s office. A single thought would return his soul.
First time soul-traveling… yet he *knew* he could do it.
Maybe that’s the confidence of someone who’s died once.
One last glance at the sixteen squabbling star-river giants.
The human-speaking one still raged:
“The party does not welcome you! How many times must I say it, you ignorant fools?!”
“You failed last time! This turn is ours!”
“You won’t shake the theorem! The nation’s agent has descended—he *will* punish your arrogance!”
Noah: *Huh. Still nonsense.*
Ears aching from the verbal brawl, he muttered under his breath as he turned to leave:
“All this talk? Just fight.”
Silence.
Instant, absolute silence.
Sixteen star-river giants froze mid-rant in the holy-light-dappled clouds.
Then—razor-sharp gazes plummeted from above, locking onto Noah.
Noah: “….”
*Holy crap. You can SEE me?!*
…
…
His provocation was exposed.
Awkward.
Wait—they *could* see him all along?
He’d spectated unnoticed, assuming his soul form was invisible.
Turns out they’d just been too busy yelling to notice a speck smaller than their fingernails.
*Bad.*
*Scram.*
As Noah focused on returning, the human-speaking giant’s voice boomed:
“Lord Purvin speaks sense.”
He’d *agreed* with Noah.
The other fifteen giants stirred, voices rising in guttural consensus. Noah couldn’t understand the words—but the intent was clear.
“Then there is no other way.”
The human-speaking giant raised a limb. His seven allies leaned forward, aggressive.
The right-side eight twisted grotesquely, revealing eerie forms, advancing.
Battle intent erupted like thunder and flame.
“Let the Holy War begin!”
The last words Noah heard.
Starlight swallowed him.
His soul shot back like a shooting star.
One breath later—Noah shuddered in the president’s office.
Light returned to his hazy eyes. Soul reclaimed.
Window light flickered.
He sat slowly, staring at the glass. The self-aware reflection was gone.
But this wasn’t a dream.
Proof?
He uncurled his palm.
There it lay: the flawlessly perfect crimson gem.
Deep silence.
…
…
Southern Continent, Grand Duchy of Alvia.
Third Church of the Holy Order.
An elderly man with snow-white hair knelt before a cathedral statue, fingers laced, eyes closed. Wrinkles softened by devout light.
Stained-glass radiance fell upon the Cardinal—ordinary to most, but now striking him like lightning. Eyes flew open. Head lifted in joyous awe toward the divine statue.
“Ah… O mighty Divine Lord Kale, have You finally scorned the incompetent Mediator?”
Bliss bloomed on his face. He pressed his forehead to the floor. “This is Your rightful decree. I shall obey—”
“—and ignite this long-overdue Holy War.”
…
…
Northern Continent, Fontia Empire.
First Church of the Holy Order.
A silver-haired maiden placed flowers in the cemetery. Her snow-white clerical robe barely concealed her graceful figure. Regret and sorrow softened her delicate features as she knelt, murmuring prayers.
A withered tree shuddered twice.
She jerked her head up—meeting a beam of celestial light piercing the distant clouds.
Astonishment lit her face. Then calm resolve.
“I humbly accept my Lord’s decree. As Your loyal follower, I walk this path with You.”
She rose, gaze steady. After a silence:
“Bishop Fontia.”
“Yes.”
A pale-gold-robed man answered from beyond the graves.
She turned to him, voice solemn: “Divine Lord Kale has delivered a decree. One sentence.”
“Launch Holy War against the Third Church on the Southern Continent.”
