The afternoon light filtering through the settlement’s reinforced windows cast long shadows across the worn wooden table where their unlikely council had gathered.

The scent of brewing tea mixed with the ever-present dust of the Strife Zone, creating an atmosphere both intimate and tense.

Claude’s fingers traced the rim of his cup, the ceramic warm against his skin as fragments of memory flickered through his consciousness—different perspectives on power, sacrifice, and the crushing weight of divine titles.

God title holder.

The words echoed in his mind with the hollow resonance of countless failures.

People believed those who possessed such titles stood among the greatest, but they misunderstood the fundamental nature of what it meant to transcend mortal limitations.

Claude had learned this truth across lifetimes—some through bitter experience, others through observation of those who had climbed too high and lost themselves in the process.

“The ranking system creates an illusion of progression,” Claude began, his voice carrying the measured tone he’d cultivated to mask the chaos of converging memories. “Magician, Weapon master, technique user—even smiths organize their understanding into neat categories. Beginner to advanced represents the realm where normal humans can succeed through dedication alone, without supernatural enhancement.”

His gaze shifted to Mud, who sat pressed against Matthias’s side like a small wooden marionette seeking warmth.

The boy’s artificial eyes—masterworks of Matthias’s craftsmanship—tracked Claude’s movements with an intelligence that seemed almost hungry for understanding.

The boundary between translucent flesh and polished wood at his joints caught the light, a testament to both tragedy and meticulous care.

“After surpassing human limits, you enter territories marked by titles—Saint, King, Emperor. These represent mastery beyond human comprehension, where mana and touki cease to be tools and become extensions of one’s very essence.” Claude paused, feeling Alex Cromwell’s memories surface—the first incarnation’s brutal pragmatism whispering warnings about the seductive nature of power.

“But God rank?” He set down his cup with deliberate precision, the soft clink seeming to punctuate his words. “This represents those who have transcended even superhuman limitations. A realm where humans and demons begin from the same foundational understanding, because conventional categories become meaningless.”

The room felt smaller somehow, as if the weight of divine knowledge pressed against the walls. Perugius shifted in his chair, ancient eyes reflecting understanding earned through millennia of existence.

The Dragon God’s presence reminded Claude of his own inadequacy—despite 347 lifetimes of experience, he remained fundamentally mortal, burdened by the limitations his incarnations had died trying to overcome.

“An unknown territory with no ceiling to their potential,” Claude continued, his internal voice carrying Fred Alphonse’s analytical precision. “Those who reach this realm as mortals typically sacrifice their sanity in the process. Age, declining expertise, complete loss of self—the price of transcendence rarely leaves anything recognizably human behind.”

Lynn’s weathered face creased with concentration, the lines around his eyes deepening as he processed information that challenged his understanding of power hierarchies.

His merchant’s mind—accustomed to cataloguing value and risk—struggled with concepts that defied quantification.

“Different from the North style’s use of titles as mere markers of mastery,” Claude added, feeling Kuro’s impatience bleeding through their mental connection. “God rank represents a fundamental turning point where practitioners must forge entirely new paths of understanding. They cannot simply follow established techniques—they must become pioneers in realms where no roadmap exists.”

Perugius nodded slowly, his ancient wisdom recognizing truth in Claude’s words. The Dragon king’s fingers steepled as he prepared to share knowledge that would reshape their understanding of Mud’s condition.

“It appears that ancient knowledge contains information regarding sacrifice summoning…” Perugius stated, his voice carrying the weight of forbidden lore. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he spoke, as if the very air recoiled from such dark revelations.

Claude felt his incarnations stir restlessly within their shared consciousness.

Memories of failed summonings, of desperate attempts to contact beings beyond mortal comprehension, surfaced like oil on troubled water. The taste of ash and sulfur seemed to coat his tongue—echoes of rituals that had claimed entire lifetimes.

“However, this represents an ancient ceremony where practitioners would summon sentient beings from beyond our reality,” Perugius continued, his normally composed demeanor showing cracks of concern. “Alien entities approaching our universe—beings whose very existence challenges the fundamental nature of what we consider possible.”

The silence that followed felt pregnant with terrible possibility.

Matthias’s protective instincts manifested as a subtle shift in posture, his craftsman’s hands moving to rest on Mud’s shoulders.

The old headmaster had spent seven years learning to read danger in the subtlest changes of expression, and something in Perugius’s manner set every alarm bell ringing.

Suddenly, Perugius’s eyes went distant, unfocused, as if receiving information from some internal source.

His hand rose to tap against his forehead with mechanical precision, fingers moving in patterns that suggested direct neural interface rather than conscious gesture.

The Dragon King’s expression shifted through confusion, recognition, and finally grim understanding.

“This is… I see…” Perugius mumbled, his voice carrying undertones of revelation that made Claude’s skin crawl.

“Have you discovered something?” Matthias asked, unable to contain his anxiety. His craftsman’s eye could read the subtle changes in Perugius’s posture, the way ancient muscles tensed with new knowledge.

Seven years of caring for a cursed child had taught him to recognize the moment when theoretical danger became immediate threat.

Claude felt understanding crash over him like a physical blow.

Fragments from multiple incarnations aligned with terrible clarity—memories of similar revelations, of moments when abstract knowledge crystallized into personal catastrophe.

The word escaped his lips before conscious thought could intervene.

“A Miko…”

The syllables hung in the air like a death sentence. Claude’s gaze fixed on Mud with newfound wonder and horror, seeing not just a cursed child but a convergence point for forces that defied mortal comprehension.

The boy’s artificial features seemed to shimmer with potential, as if reality itself bent slightly around his presence.

“Indeed,” Perugius confirmed, his voice heavy with the weight of cosmic irony. “Your parents’ decision to sacrifice a Miko represents foolishness beyond measure. I cannot fathom what they desired so desperately that it justified sacrificing someone of such immeasurable power.”

The Dragon King’s words carried centuries of witnessed tragedy, of mortals who had grasped for power without understanding its true cost.

His ancient eyes held the accumulated sorrow of watching lesser beings destroy themselves through ignorance and desperate ambition.

“I assume the child possesses the capacity to control mana at levels that explain why he demonstrates mastery exceeding even seasoned practitioners, despite receiving no formal instruction,” Claude added, his analytical mind working through implications even as his emotional core recoiled from their magnitude.

Each incarnation within his consciousness contributed fragments of understanding—memories of power that had consumed its wielders, of gifts that became curses through their very magnitude.

The collective weight of several perspectives on supernatural ability created a cacophony of warning voices that Claude struggled to process.

“I believe precisely that,” Perugius agreed, his tone carrying clinical detachment that barely masked underlying outrage. “The devils developed an attraction to him, treating his body parts as renewable resources. They kill each other without realizing that destroying their brethren returns the child’s stolen abilities and physical components.”

The casual horror of it struck Claude like a physical blow.

His incarnations had witnessed countless atrocities, but something about the systematic nature of Mud’s suffering—the way supernatural beings treated a child as nothing more than a resource to be harvested—awakened protective instincts that transcended individual timelines.

“Foolish behavior typical of hungry scoundrels,” Claude said, his voice carrying Alex Cromwell’s military precision. “Indeed, a template for how desperate beings destroy valuable resources through short-sighted competition.”

“Undeniably accurate,” Perugius replied, his ancient perspective lending weight to the assessment. “However, this represents the first time a Miko of such extraordinary elemental power has manifested in recorded history.”

“Has there never been one before?” Matthias interjected, his craftsman’s curiosity overriding his protective caution.

The old headmaster’s academic background made him hunger for understanding, even when that knowledge carried terrible implications.

“Based on the mana resonating around him, his natural energy approaches the density of my own,” Perugius explained, his voice carrying the awe of one accustomed to being the pinnacle of supernatural power. “But the concentration exceeds even my capabilities—demonstrating density that defies conventional understanding of magical capacity.”

The revelation hit the room like a thunderclap. Claude felt his incarnations recoil collectively, memories of encounters with beings of similar power flashing through his consciousness.

Dragons, ancient demons, entities that had shaped the fundamental nature of reality—and here sat a ten-year-old boy whose very existence challenged the established order.

“Remarkable,” Claude breathed, his academic incarnations fascinating despite the implications. “Mana more potent than even dragon-level entities, and that represents merely a fraction of his true potential. The theoretical applications are staggering.”

Mud pressed deeper against Matthias’s protective embrace, his artificial features reflecting confusion and fear.

The boy’s enhanced hearing—one of the abilities recently restored through devil destruction—allowed him to follow their conversation despite his youth, but the concepts discussed exceeded his capacity for comprehension.

He understood only that the frightening adults were discussing him with expressions that made his wooden limbs tremble.

“Relax, you analytical lunatics,” Lynn interrupted, his merchant’s pragmatism cutting through their theoretical fascination. “Explain this in terms that normal humans can understand. Some of us lack advanced degrees in supernatural phenomena.”

His weathered face displayed the frustration of a practical man confronted with cosmic implications.

The minstrel’s carefully cultivated persona of simple entertainment masked deeper currents of understanding, but even his hidden knowledge struggled with the magnitude of what they were discussing.

“Would you prefer a comprehensive explanation or an abbreviated summary?” Claude asked, his teacher’s instincts automatically adjusting to his audience.

Years of instructing academy students had taught him to gauge comprehension levels and adjust accordingly.

“The version that allows us to understand the actual situation,” Lynn replied with barely contained impatience.

“Very well, castle master. Please…” Claude gestured to Perugius with formal courtesy, recognizing the Dragon King’s superior knowledge in matters of ancient lore and supernatural mechanics.

Perugius accepted the deference with gravity befitting the subject matter. “Summoning typically requires sacrifice—offering something of value to entities beyond our reality. I have never encountered records of living creatures being utilized as primary materials for such rituals. However, documented cases exist of attempts that ended in catastrophic failure.”

The Dragon King’s words carried the weight of witnessed tragedies, of ambitious fools who had reached too far and paid prices that echoed through generations.

His ancient memory held catalogs of such disasters, each one a lesson in the consequences of treating supernatural forces as mere tools.

“The case documentation indicates that summoning did occur in this instance. The components of an infant’s living body were designated for demonic entities—technically correct as summoning materials, but fundamentally flawed in application.”

Claude felt his incarnations stirring uneasily, memories of similar rituals surfacing unbidden. The taste of copper and ozone seemed to fill his mouth—phantom sensations from timelines where he had witnessed or participated in such desperate measures.

Fred Alphonse’s analytical perspective provided clinical details that made the horror more precise, more terrible.

“Human bodily components prove ineffective for such purposes,” Perugius continued, his clinical tone unable to completely mask his disgust. “Whether infant or adult, physical flesh holds little value to formless entities. Neither external appearance nor sensory organs possess qualities necessary for effective vessel creation.”

The explanation carried terrible logic.

Claude understood the mechanics from multiple perspectives—incarnations who had studied summoning theory, others who had witnessed its practical applications.

The convergence of knowledge created understanding that felt like poison in his mind.

“Summoned entities must materialize to exist within our reality,” Perugius explained, his voice taking on the rhythm of academic lecture. “The magnitude of their vessel determines the extent of their manifestable power. This represents elementary supernatural physics.”

“Obviously, mana presents entirely different parameters,” the Dragon King continued, his ancient wisdom parsing complexities that younger minds struggled to grasp. “Formless, flexible energy capable of supporting any desired manifestation, provided sufficient quantities exist. Even their most powerful and perfected forms become achievable with adequate mana reserves.”

The implications crashed over Claude like a tidal wave of horror.

His incarnations contributed fragments of understanding—memories of entities that had consumed entire nations’ worth of mana, beings that had reshaped reality itself through pure will backed by unlimited magical energy. The boy sitting beside them represented exactly such a reservoir of power.

“Therefore, they competed for the Miko possessing the most potent mana reserves,” Claude concluded, his voice hollow with understanding.

“In a way, this represents fate,” Claude said, regarding Mud with expressions mixing wonder and profound sadness.

Having clear knowledge of the tragedies that befell those who gained power beyond common sense created empathy that transcended individual experience.

“I cannot dispute that assessment,” Perugius replied, his ancient perspective lending weight to the observation. “Despite Miko appearing once per generation on average, most—nearly all—experience tragedy as the defining element of their existence.”

Though Lucas remained silent, his understanding of Milshion’s and Shirone’s histories provided context for the Dragon King’s words.

None of the Miko he had encountered had experienced anything resembling normal childhoods.

Power of their magnitude inevitably attracted attention from forces that viewed human suffering as acceptable collateral damage.

“Well, kid, we share similar fates,” Claude said, crossing his arms as he addressed Mud directly. “But we took different routes to arrive here, and now that we’ve solved at least one mystery, we can speculate about your parents’ fate and determine your next steps.”

The boy’s artificial eyes widened with a mixture of hope and terror.

His enhanced hearing had caught every word, but his young mind struggled to process implications that challenged his fundamental understanding of identity and purpose.

“Wait,” Lynn interrupted, his merchant’s mind focusing on practical concerns despite the cosmic implications. “We’re still missing crucial information about the brat’s parents and the location of devils currently exploiting his body parts.”

“Actually, given demonic behavioral patterns, determining his parents’ fate requires minimal investigation,” Claude replied, his military incarnations providing grim certainty. “It’s not difficult to conclude that they were murdered, nor challenging to locate a suddenly vanishing fief within a few years of the boy’s birth. Hopefully, our elderly friend remembers the specific years when he discovered the child.”

“Of course I remember that!” Matthias exclaimed, his craftsman’s precision extending to temporal details.

The old headmaster provided Mud’s birthday with the accuracy of someone who had celebrated each anniversary as a personal victory against supernatural malice.

“Excellent. U, enquire with C about information retrieval,” Claude commanded, his voice shifting to the authoritative tone he used when coordinating intelligence operations.

The familiar rhythm of investigation provided welcome distraction from cosmic horrors that defied conventional response.

“Yes sir,” came the immediate response from unseen operatives.

“Now, let’s return to more pressing matters,” Claude said, his demeanor suddenly shifting to complete seriousness as he fixed his gaze on Lynn.

The minstrel’s carefully maintained persona had subtle cracks that suggested depths beyond simple entertainment, and Claude’s incarnations had learned to recognize when friendly facades concealed dangerous secrets.

“Who are you?”

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to fall, carrying implications that could reshape everything they thought they understood about their current situation.

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