Chapter 69
After Mammon was expelled from the mental realm, Asmodeus hurried to the fallen soul of Amael.
“Tsk.”
Even under her protection, perhaps it was because he was still a fragile human soul—
His condition was visibly unstable.
“It’ll take a bit of time to stabilize him.”
But that was no issue.
She had just absorbed the divine essences of multiple powerful gods—healing someone like Amael was well within her capabilities.
She slowly reached out, lifted Amael into her arms, and began the healing process.
Just then, he stirred, half-conscious, and his eyes fluttered open to look at her.
“Don’t open your eyes. Just rest.”
Asmodeus smiled gently as she spoke, but Amael didn’t close his eyes.
With effort, he kept them open, staring up at the Demon Lord of Lust.
“Lilia… Goddess?”
It was then Asmodeus realized—she was in her true form, not the muscular male figure she usually assumed.
For some reason, Amael seemed to draw strength from that male appearance.
As she carefully started shifting her form back, Amael clutched her collar with surprising force.
His voice was barely audible, on the verge of fading into unconsciousness, yet filled with a desperate cry.
“Please… don’t send me to Hell.”
Asmodeus let out a quiet laugh at that.
“Is that what you’re afraid of?”
“Everyone was just… in so much pain. If I hadn’t stepped in, an entire family might’ve committed suicide.
They didn’t do anything wrong. They were good people who even tried to give me black bread.
But they couldn’t handle reality anymore. I… I had no choice but to use my powers to save them.”
“I know. I saw everything.”
“I’ll take responsibility. I’ll become a martyr.
Before my powers spiral out of control… I’ll make sure to die a martyr’s death.
So please… don’t send me to Hell.”
Seeing Amael sobbing like a child, Asmodeus couldn’t help but laugh again.
What a foolish creature.
He didn’t even truly understand what lived inside him, yet he was so terrified of Hell.
“Don’t worry. I’m here with you, Amael.
You can rest easy now.”
Asmodeus gently stroked his head.
His grip on her collar loosened slightly.
Still, he fought to keep his eyes open, refusing to slip into unconsciousness.
“This city… Mammon is here.
He’s in the Scrap Yard.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Please save this city.
Peter and Anna… Jim and Amy are still here.
And so many other poor, suffering people…”
Asmodeus softly caressed his cheek.
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes. Lady Lilia… you’re a goddess of the Pantheon, aren’t you?
Please… somehow… protect them.
I don’t want to see people suffer anymore.”
“Then it shall be, just as you wish.”
At those words, Amael finally let go of her collar.
“Sleep now, Amael.
When you wake, everything will be alright.”
“…Why must I… suffer like this?
Couldn’t you just let me be a little happy…”
Right before falling asleep, he mumbled one last, tearful whisper:
“Why is Asmodeus… inside my body…
I never wanted any of this…”
Amael fell fully asleep.
Asmodeus wrapped him tightly in her arms and rose to her feet.
She gazed up at the heavens.
She could feel the gods of the Pantheon watching her from above.
Because of the damage Lucifer had done to the pathway between Heaven and Earth, the presence of the gods was barely perceptible on the mortal plane.
Asmodeus slowly began to summon her divinity and authority.
“From now on, I’ll be busy healing Amael…
So I’ll have to leave what’s left of Mammon’s followers to you.”
Gradually—
For the first time in ages—
An overwhelming divine force surged from her body.
The powers she had absorbed from Mammon’s divine essence began to manifest, forming radiant pillars of light that shot out from Amael’s body and spread across the mortal world.
“Anathema! Anathema!”
“It’s the sun! The flames! Aaaaaagh!”
Screams echoed in every direction as countless demon worshippers and Hell’s denizens in the Scrap Yard howled in agony.
“I’ve opened the path.”
Asmodeus declared.
“I leave the rest to you.”
She held Amael close and began to heal his soul with her divine power.
***
[Awaken.]
A voice she had never heard before—majestic and commanding—echoed through the void, and Iomene’s eyes snapped open.
When she looked up, a towering man wreathed in radiant light stood over her. She couldn’t see his face, but she instinctively knew who stood before her.
“Lord Dullaneir?”
Without a word, Dullaneir pointed in a direction.
There, she saw a city she recognized well—
A city of steel and steam, forged from towering factories.
The Scrap Yard.
And within that city, she saw the chaos unfolding: Mammon’s followers and infernal beasts rampaging through the streets.
[Run!!]
[To the mines, where the light cannot reach! Get underground! Aaaagh!!]
Seeing the hellspawn frantically fleeing, unable to cloak themselves under the oppressive pillar of divine light engulfing the city—
Iomene felt a visceral revulsion rise within her.
“Filthy vermin of Hell…!”
But her fury was short-lived. In the very next moment, she sprang to her feet, pale with horror.
“A-Amael!!”
She saw the saint—Amael—collapsed on the ground.
There was a gaping wound in his chest, and his body was drenched in blood.
Her heart sank deeper than she thought possible.
“No… no! Amael!!”
While she screamed, Dullaneir withdrew the vision and met her eyes squarely.
[Go now. Protect the people of this city—and protect the one you love.
This is my command. Do not defy it.]
“I will! I’ve been training for this very moment for months! Use me, my lord!”
In response, Dullaneir lifted Iomene up.
[Show the wretched forces of Hell my wrath, O Chosen One.]
A brilliant light wrapped around her—
And the next moment, Iomene realized she was no longer in the royal palace where she had been resting.
The scent of iron.
Of oil.
Of scalding steam.
And through it all, she saw him—the man she loved—lying limp on the ground with a hole in his chest.
“Amael!!”
She rushed to embrace him, but the radiant pillar surrounding his body repelled her with overwhelming force.
As she stumbled back, a man standing nearby caught her and pulled her away—Karl Lenaro.
“Stay back! You mustn’t approach the light pillar recklessly! Forcing your way in could severely injure you!”
His warning snapped her out of her panic.
Tearing her gaze from Amael, Iomene surveyed her surroundings.
A few scrappy laborers stood staring at her, clad in tattered clothes, armed with pistols, machine guns, and makeshift explosives.
Once Karl Lenaro stepped away from her, he bowed his head respectfully.
“Your Highness, Princess of the Empire.”
“Explain. Right now. I want a full report—everything that happened.”
Karl gave her a quick, precise summary.
“While speaking with the Saint, a lump of melting flesh appeared, screamed, and vanished. Then the Saint collapsed. Five minutes later, Your Highness appeared out of nowhere.”
Even as he explained it, his expression was a mix of confusion and awe. But Iomene didn’t seem surprised.
She glanced at the pile of flesh—what remained of Mammon—melted on the ground, then turned and stepped outside.
For sixteen long years, she had suffered under the corruption of a demonic shard.
Her soul, more than anyone’s, was attuned to the stench of the Abyss and the powers of Hell.
And now, with the divine light blazing across the city, the forces of Hell could no longer conceal themselves.
Following her instincts, Iomene easily tracked the scent of corruption and soon came upon a group of monstrosities screaming in agony.
[The mines! We have to get underground! Now!]
[Anathema! It burns! The sun! The flames!!]
[We’re burning! It hurts! IT HURTS!!]
Grotesque, towering abominations thrashed violently, their twisted bodies covered in dozens of blinking eyes, smashing everything in their path.
Behind them, panicked humans fled, screaming.
Seeing Iomene pass, some of the fleeing citizens ran straight to Karl Lenaro, breathless.
“Comrade Lenaro!! There were demon worshippers and dark mages hidden among us!”
“They transformed into monsters out of nowhere and started destroying everything around them!!”
“Our bullets do nothing! Pistols and machine guns can’t stop them! Comrade!!”
At this, Iomene smiled and gave a firm nod.
“You won’t be able to kill those abominations with ordinary weapons.”
Then she began walking—directly toward the charging monstrosities.
“Princess!! It’s too dangerous—!”
The laborers tried to stop her, but in that moment, a wave of divine energy burst from her body, forcing them back instinctively.
A glowing sigil blazed on the back of her hand—the mark of Dullaneir.
And the monsters noticed her presence, too.
[Dullaneir!]
[The mad god!!]
[How did the dogs of the Pantheon arrive so quickly?!]
[Just one of them!]
[That path leads to the mine—it’s the fastest route down!]
[We don’t have time to detour!]
[Break through! Tear her apart!]
[For Mammon!!]
The cultists and beasts let out a unified scream as they charged at Iomene.
She held no weapon.
Took no stance.
Instead, she slowly raised her marked hand toward the heavens—
And spoke.
“Legiones Quattuor.”
Dozens of shafts of light descended from the sky.
“Assemble.”
The light vanished—
And in its place stood warriors the people of the Scrap Yard had never seen before.
Each one stood over two meters tall.
In one hand, they carried weapons more akin to heavy machine guns than rifles.
In the other, massive blades and hammers too large for a human to reasonably wield.
Their pauldrons were massive.
Their armor—crafted from adamantium and mythril.
Their helms, painted a cold, unyielding white.
And every inch of their armor engraved with the sacred scripture of the Codex Proelium.
The White Order’s most elite paladins—
And the most battle-hardened war-priests among them—
All turned to face Iomene, the one who summoned them.
“First Company has answered your call, Saint.
Give your command.”
Iomene pointed toward Mammon’s rampaging followers.
“Kill them.”
A simple, searing command.
Their answer wasn’t spoken—it thundered.
Each paladin raised a sidearm—each one as large as an average man’s torso.
“Cover your ears.”
With that final warning—
The pistols roared like cannons.
It was not gunfire.
It was artillery.
And with it—
The bodies of Mammon’s cultists were torn apart as if they were made of paper.
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