Published: January 24, 2026
◇ ◇ ◇
The sound of footsteps echoed through the silent, dimly lit corridor.
The source of the sound was one of the executives of the Cyclamen Cult, the Rakshasa Stieg Stroem. When he stopped walking, he turned his body.
Before him stood a huge door emitting a strange aura in the dim space, blocking his way.
Stieg raised a magical tool like a card, and the door slowly began to open.
The room was bathed in a soft light, bright enough to see clearly.
At the center was a huge rectangular table with eight chairs evenly spaced around it, and at the far end was the chair of the master of this place, decorated differently from the others.
Four people were already seated in their chairs inside the room.
The first to notice Stieg’s entrance was an old man, the second seat of the Cyclamen Cult—Thunder Emperor Gunnar Stern.
“Rakshasa, good work on dealing with the Doctor.”
Gunnar praised him for recently killing Oswell in Darane.
“You’re quick to hear things, Thunder Emperor.”
“That was because he was useless and an eyesore. I was watching when I heard you were moving.”
“I see, so that’s how it is.”
“Huh? Dealing with the Doctor? I haven’t heard a word about that.”
As Stieg spoke with Gunnar and took his seat, a man with a rough atmosphere who had his feet up on the table spoke up.
His name was Demon Ogre.
He held the fourth seat in the Cyclamen Cult and was nicknamed the War Demon.
“It’s natural you didn’t know. You were given the important task of wiping out the Amuntzarse group roaming the eastern continent. We made sure you weren’t disturbed by irrelevant information.”
Earlier this year, when Shion attacked the farm, the Amuntzarse launched a simultaneous multi-front attack on the cult’s bases across the continent.
Their operation succeeded in the west but failed in the east.
The reason was the presence of the War Demon.
He appeared at every battlefield and disrupted them, causing considerable losses to the Amuntzarse as well.
“Ah, I see. So you were handling things behind the scenes. Fighting those bastards was a blast! Some stragglers remain. I hate following your orders, but I’ll take them down as told!”
Demon, who was as bold as he was reckless, decided to let go of the fact that he wasn’t informed about Oswell’s disposal after hearing Gunnar’s words.
Just as their conversation settled, the door opened again.
A woman with deep green hair—the Guide Philly Carpenter—entered the room.
“...The Undead Spirit still hasn’t come, huh.”
Moving to the chair nearest to her own seat at the head of the table, she commented on the absent executives.
“She’s the same whether she’s here or not. Belia-sama probably doesn’t care either.”
Gunnar responded to Philly’s mutter.
“That’s true... Blazing, it’s almost time. You should wake up.”
Philly nodded at Gunnar’s reply and sat in her own seat, then called out to a red-haired girl sleeping with her head on the table beside her.
“...Still sleepy...”
The girl lifted her head and rubbed her eyes in response to Philly’s voice.
She looked about ten years old and behaved like a child.
Blazing Ruari Velt, the third seat of the Cyclamen Cult, was a girl with such a cute appearance.
After confirming Ruari was awake, Philly averted her gaze.
Her eyes, which had been friendly toward Ruari, now looked cold and merciless.
Turning those cruel eyes toward the master’s chair, a dark red mist began to gather from nowhere.
After a while, a man in his mid-twenties with his left arm missing and an eyepatch over his right eye appeared through the mist—the leader of the Cyclamen Cult, Belia Sans.
“There seem to be two empty seats... Ah, the Doctor and the Undead Spirit.”
Belia voiced his doubt about the empty seats but then changed to an understanding tone upon recalling the absent members.
“As you know, I dealt with the Doctor recently. As for the Undead Spirit, she is presumed absent by her own will, but shall I forcibly bring her here?”
Stieg reacted to Belia’s question.