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The ominous red glow illuminated the night sky more brightly than the full moon, casting an eerie yet beautiful twilight over the shores of Lake Quartz and the tourist town of Clarus. Although it was well past midnight, the entire area was suffused with this strange hue.

The townsfolk, most of whom were either affiliated with the Saintess’ Church or devout believers, spent the night sleeplessly praying as they gazed up at the sky. Meanwhile, wary travelers and those with quick instincts gathered their belongings, attempting to flee. But as the town gates remained closed for the night, heated arguments broke out between the would-be escapees and the guards, with insults and rumors flying. Panic spread, and chaos loomed on the brink of turning into a full-blown riot.

In the midst of this turmoil, relief finally came as the nation’s stationed forces and the private soldiers of the local lord returned, having successfully protected the students and associates of the Livitium Imperial Academy nearby. Their arrival bolstered the overwhelmed guards, who at last managed to keep the restless crowd at bay, breathing a collective sigh of relief.

Though the disturbances in the sky showed no signs of abating—and in fact could easily worsen, leading to a full-scale riot—there was a rumor spreading quietly yet steadily among the soldiers, the adventurers of the town, and, most importantly, the priests of the Church. This whisper soon rippled through the anxious populace, bringing tears of awe and joy to those who had feared the worst.

“She’s returned.”
“That esteemed one has come back.”
“The Shrine Maiden Princess has descended!”

This news would, over the course of a year, spread across the entire Eunice Theocracy, reaching all the towns and cities of the northern region and the Arlea province. But at that moment, none could foresee the impact this revelation would bring.

♦♢♦♢

“…Hmm.”

A young man stood with an unsettling poise atop the highest bell tower of the Saintess’ Church, the “St. Campbell Church.” He appeared as though he were floating, completely at ease and seemingly unaffected by gravity. His face was partially obscured by a veil, yet even the visible parts—from his nose down—hinted at a strikingly handsome countenance. Beneath the veil, his gaze fixed on the red-lit isolated realm below, and he let out a dismissive scoff, clearly unimpressed.

“Tracing the source of this peculiar spatial anomaly led me right to the heart of the Saintess’ Church, of all places… They never fail to stir up trouble, do they?”

He muttered under his breath, contemplating the idea of petitioning to have the Order swiftly eradicated. To him, both the Church—parading around their self-serving doctrines under the name of the Saintess—and the violently unstable zone that seemed to be the result of some botched spellwork, were nothing more than eyesores. Like litter defacing a pristine snowy field, they stirred in him a visceral sense of disgust.

“I could just as well erase this entire nation along with it,” he murmured. “But then again, being here myself, standing by and doing nothing… that wouldn’t do. I suppose I should take care of this nuisance.”

Just as he raised his right hand, as if to sweep away some trivial mess, someone interceded between him and the red-lit domain.

“Please, wait!”

The young man turned his head, his lips parting slightly in a surprised “oh,” as a towering figure, wings of pure white spread wide, stood before him.

“It’s been a while. You’re well, I take it? —Now then, given that you’re meant to be watching over the Graviol Empire, I assume you have a compelling reason for being here, and for stopping me. Care to explain?”
“Yes, sir. Currently, there is an individual of utmost importance to both the Graviol and the Princess within that domain. I am certain that, once their task is completed, this disturbance will swiftly be resolved. Thus, I have taken the liberty to request your patience, hoping you might refrain from intervening for just a while longer.”

“Hou…?”

Knowing well the overly earnest nature of the man before him, the youth under the veil was momentarily taken aback by his unexpected plea not to join the fray but to “stand by and observe.” His eyes widened slightly beneath the veil, then his lips curved upward in amusement.

He turned his gaze toward the red-lit domain and, in an instant, comprehended every detail within and around it down to the last particle.

It was a feat of scanning and analysis so remarkable that even the word “brilliant” would fail to capture its magnitude. His abilities were of an entirely different dimension from Coppelia’s, far beyond comparison. If Dr. Victor or the world’s top magic researchers had witnessed such prowess, they might have ground their teeth in frustration—or even taken their own lives in shame.

“Well, well… a curious group, gathered here for quite the interesting spectacle. I see now—this indeed would be a shame to simply crush,” he remarked, his voice almost musical.

“—Then?”
“Very well. As long as the situation does not deteriorate, I too shall observe… in the name of the Superempire.”

At this magnanimous gesture, the giant figure gave him a deep bow mid-air.

♦♢♦♢

“Talisman Art really has quite a wide range of applications,” I remarked, genuinely impressed as I watched Cestlavie’s barrier cards arranged in a polyhedral pattern around us, held in place by his non-elemental telekinetic magic.

Thanks to these, we could walk safely together through the Red Light Zone without getting struck by lightning, feeling almost as though we were encased in a bubble. Though, given the tight confines for maximizing strength, we still had to proceed single file, as if in an old-school RPG’s caterpillar formation.

“But they’re essentially disposable. They’re useless in a battle of endurance,” Cestlavie grumbled, replacing each card as it was scorched by lightning strikes. “I’m already down to two-thirds of my stock. Seeing the cards I spent three months restocking going down like water through a sieve… Honestly, it feels like I’m bleeding talismans dry every time I partner up with you.”

At his sigh of resignation, Coppelia—who was leading—turned her head a full 180 degrees. Startled, I almost shrieked and reeled back, barely saved by Cestlavie, who steadied me from behind.

“You there! It’s absolutely disgraceful for a mere commoner to speak so casually to Lady Clara! Kneeling and groveling on the ground would be far more fitting—know your place!”

She scolded, her eyebrows knitted in irritation.

“Now, that’s a bit—”

“Hmph. Hate to break it to you, but I, Jill, and everyone outside are all students of the same Imperial Academy. Officially, the rules say no one’s above anyone else, royalty or saint.” Cestlavie replied dryly. With a mumble he added: “at least on paper.”

Author’s note:

Residents of the superempire calling their country the “Superempire” is mostly for a joke.