Three weeks later, the first crisis arrived.
Ayanokoji was in the library, deep in a tome about magical warfare, when the door burst open.
Puck flew through, his tiny form crackling with barely contained energy.
“Ayanokoji!
We have a situation!”
Ayanokoji set down the book, his posture shifting to alert.
“What kind of situation?”
“Roswaal’s network just picked up movement from the Witch’s Cult,” Puck said, his usual playfulness gone.
“They’re mobilizing.
We don’t know where, but it’s close.
Too close for comfort.”
Ayanokoji stood, his mind already racing through the implications.
“How reliable is this intelligence?”
“Very.
Roswaal’s people have been tracking the Cult for years.
If they say the Cult is moving, it’s moving.”
“Where is Emilia-sama?”
“In her chambers.
She’s trying to stay calm, but she’s worried.
The Cult has never been this active before.”
Ayanokoji moved toward the door.
“I need to speak with Roswaal immediately.”
He found the Margrave in his study, surrounded by maps and reports.
Roswaal’s normally theatrical demeanor was subdued, his mismatched eyes sharp with focus.
“Ah, Ayanokoji-kun,” Roswaal said, not looking up from the map spread across his desk.
“I assume Puck has informed you of the situation.”
“He has.
What do we know?”
Roswaal gestured to the map.
“The Cult has been active in the northern territories.
Small attacks, mostly—villages raided, travelers killed.
But their movements suggest they’re gathering for something larger.”
“Something larger?
Like what?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Roswaal’s eyes met Ayanokoji’s.
“The Cult doesn’t mobilize without purpose.
They’re planning something.
And if I had to guess, it’s connected to the Royal Selection.”
Ayanokoji moved closer, studying the map.
The northern territories were remote, sparsely populated, and strategically insignificant.
Unless…
“Are there any valuable resources in the north?
Anything the Cult might want?”
Roswaal’s lips curved into a thin smile.
“Now that’s an interesting question.
The north is home to several ancient ruins—remnants of the era before the Witch’s fall.
Some believe they contain powerful artifacts, relics of the old magic.”
“Artifacts that could be used to influence the Selection?”
“Or to destabilize it entirely.” Roswaal leaned back in his chair.
“The Cult’s ultimate goal has always been the resurrection of the Witch of Envy.
If they were to obtain an artifact of sufficient power, they could potentially accelerate that process.”
Ayanokoji absorbed this information, his mind working through the implications.
“And the other candidates?
Do they know about this?”
“Some do.
Crusch Karsten has her own intelligence network.
Anastasia Hoshin has eyes everywhere.
Priscilla Barielle…
well, she probably knows more than she lets on.” Roswaal paused.
“The question is what we do about it.”
Ayanokoji considered the options.
“We could send a force to investigate.
But if the Cult is truly mobilizing, we’d be walking into a trap.”
“Exactly.
The Cult wants us to react.
They want us to send soldiers into the north, leaving the capital vulnerable.”
“So we don’t react,” Ayanokoji said.
Roswaal raised an eyebrow.
“And if their plan succeeds before we can stop it?”
“Then we adapt.
But rushing in blindly is exactly what they want us to do.
The Cult doesn’t make mistakes.
They’ve been planning this for a long time.
We need to be smarter than them.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Then Roswaal laughed, a sharp, humorless sound.
“You know, Ayanokoji-kun, I’ve met many strategists in my life.
But you’re the first one who truly thinks like the enemy.
It’s…
unsettling.”
“Unsettling, but effective,” Ayanokoji replied.
“I’m not here to make people comfortable.
I’m here to win.”
Roswaal studied him for a long moment, his mismatched eyes gleaming with calculation.
“Very well.
We’ll do it your way.
For now.
But if the situation escalates, I expect you to be ready to act.”
“I’m always ready.”
As Ayanokoji left the study, his mind was already racing ahead.
The Cult’s mobilization was a threat, but it was also an opportunity.
If he could predict their movements, anticipate their plans, he could turn their own strategy against them.
But he needed more information.
He needed to understand the Cult’s leadership, their methods, their weaknesses.
And he needed to do it quickly.
The game is accelerating, he thought.
The pieces are moving faster than I anticipated.
I need to adapt, to stay ahead of the curve.
He found Rem in the hallway, her expression tense.
“Ayanokoji-kun, is it true?
About the Cult?”
“It is.
We’re not taking immediate action, but we’re preparing.
I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to teach me about Mabeasts.
Everything you know—their classifications, their weaknesses, their behavior patterns.
If the Cult is mobilizing, they’ll likely be using them as weapons.”
Rem nodded, her expression grim.
“I can do that.
But…
why now?
What do you expect to face?”
Ayanokoji’s eyes were cold as he replied.
“The Cult doesn’t just command Mabeasts.
They create them.
If we’re going to fight them, I need to understand their weapons as well as I understand my own.”
The training began that afternoon.
Rem led him to a clearing in the forest, far from the mansion, where they wouldn’t be disturbed.
She had brought a collection of materials—books, diagrams, even preserved specimens—that detailed the various types of Mabeasts that roamed the world.
“There are three main classifications,” she explained, spreading the materials out on a flat rock.
“Beast-type, Insect-type, and Aberrant-type.
Beast-types are the most common—they resemble natural animals but are larger, stronger, and more aggressive.
Insect-types are smaller but often venomous, and they tend to attack in swarms.
Aberrant-types are…
different.
They don’t follow the normal rules.”
“Different how?”
Rem’s expression darkened.
“They’re the result of corruption.
Creatures that have been exposed to so much of the Witch’s miasma that they’ve mutated into something…
wrong.
They’re unpredictable, dangerous, and often possess abilities that normal Mabeasts don’t have.”
Ayanokoji nodded, filing away the information.
How do they control these creatures?”
“They don’t control them, exactly.
They attract them.
The Cult’s members are steeped in the Witch’s miasma.
It clings to them like a scent, drawing Mabeasts to their location.
The Cult has learned to use this to their advantage, directing the creatures toward their enemies.”
“So the Cult doesn’t need to fight directly.
They just need to get close enough to a target, and the Mabeasts will do the work for them.”
“Exactly.” Rem’s voice was bitter.
“That’s how they destroyed my village.
They didn’t attack us themselves.
They just…
walked through, and the Mabeasts followed.”
Ayanokoji considered this.
The Cult’s methods were insidious, relying on psychological warfare as much as physical violence.
They didn’t need to win battles; they just needed to sow chaos and fear.
They’re terrorists, he realized.
Their goal isn’t military victory.
It’s destabilization.
They want to create an atmosphere of fear that makes the population desperate for any solution—even one that means accepting the Witch’s return.
“What about the Archbishops?” he asked.
“The leaders of the Cult.
What do you know about them?”
Rem shook her head.
“Very little.
They’re almost never seen in public.
Some people believe they’re not even human anymore—that they’ve been so corrupted by the Witch’s miasma that they’ve become something else entirely.
The only thing anyone knows for certain is that each one represents one of the seven deadly sins.”
“Seven Archbishops, seven sins,” Ayanokoji murmured.
“Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth.
Which one attacked your village?”
Rem’s hands clenched into fists.
“Gluttony.
The Archbishop of Gluttony.
He…
she…
it…
consumed everything.
Not just food, but memories, identities, souls.
People didn’t just die—they were erased, as if they had never existed at all.”
Ayanokoji felt a chill run down his spine—not from fear, but from the cold realization of what they were facing.
The Cult wasn’t just a political threat.
They were an existential one.
Their power didn’t just kill; it unmade.
If the Cult obtains an artifact that amplifies their power, the consequences would be catastrophic.
Not just for the Selection, but for the entire kingdom.
“I need to learn more about the Cult’s history,” he said.
“Their origins, their beliefs, their ultimate goals.
If we’re going to fight them, I need to understand them on a fundamental level.”
Rem nodded.
“The library has some texts on the subject.
But be careful—some of those books are dangerous.
The knowledge they contain can…
affect you.”
“I’ll be careful.”
As they gathered up the materials and headed back toward the mansion, Ayanokoji’s mind was already working through the implications.
The Cult was a larger threat than he had initially realized, and their connection to the Witch made them unpredictable.
But they’re not invincible, he thought.
They have weaknesses—the same weaknesses that all fanatical organizations have.
They’re driven by belief, not logic.
And belief can be manipulated.
The question was how.
How could he turn the Cult’s faith against them?
How could he exploit their devotion to the Witch in a way that benefited Emilia’s campaign?
He didn’t have the answers yet.
But he would find them.