Now Leon was the only one left.
A heavy silence settled over the chamber.
Atem's crimson eyes moved to Leon—not casually, not impatiently, but with the calm authority of a king who expected truth.
"So, Leon," Atem said, his voice low and steady. "Speak. What of you?"
Leon did not hesitate.
"My Skill is the Ultimate Skill Purity King Metatron."
For a single heartbeat, the world froze.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
Even the air itself seemed to recoil.
An angelic Ultimate Skill.
The weight of those words pressed down on everyone present like an invisible hand. This was not confusion—this was danger.
Dagruel's brows knit together. "That is not something to say lightly."
Guy scoffed, trying to cut the tension with scorn. "Leon, this isn't the time for jokes."
Leon's gaze hardened. "I am not joking. Purity King Metatron is my Skill."
The silence that followed was far heavier than before.
Atem did not react immediately. He neither doubted nor dismissed Leon. Instead, he studied him—deeply, sharply—like a ruler measuring the loyalty of a general before war.
The truth was simple:
An angelic Ultimate Skill meant vulnerability to control.
And control, in this war, meant annihilation.
Luminas exhaled slowly. "If what you say is true, then we need to know one thing—are you still yourself?"
All eyes turned to Atem.
Not because he was confused.
But because when judgment was required, it was the King of Games who decided.
Atem spoke, calm yet commanding. "Leon, answer plainly. Do you feel interference? Suppression? A foreign will?"
Leon met his gaze without flinching. "No. I am myself. Entirely."
Atem did not respond right away.
Instead, Solarys—Sovereign of Wisdom—spoke within his mind.
«The probability of active domination is low. Angelic Skills acquired independently lack direct synchronization with Michael's authority.»
Atem already knew that.
What mattered was intent.
He turned to Guy. "Explain what happened with Velzard."
Guy's expression darkened. "Feldway breached the Ice and Snow Barriers. He didn't touch her directly—but he came close enough. That was all it took."
Atem's eyes narrowed.
"So proximity is the trigger. Not possession."
Dagruel nodded. "That aligns with what we've seen before."
Atem folded his arms. "Then hear my judgment."
The room stilled instantly.
"Leon will remain among us."
Murmurs rose—but Atem raised one hand, silencing them without effort.
"However," he continued, "he will be classified as gray. Not condemned. Not absolved. Watched."
Leon inclined his head once. "That is acceptable."
Milim grinned. "I trust him. And if Atem says it's fine, it's fine."
Luminas hesitated, then nodded. "I will not object."
Dagruel crossed his arms. "Nor will I."
The decision was final.
Not because of debate.
But because Atem had spoken.
The conversation shifted—inevitably—to war.
Guy's lips curled into something feral. "Michael will fall. I'll destroy him myself."
"So it begins," Luminas murmured. "An open war."
Milim laughed, electric with excitement. "Good! I was getting bored!"
Dagruel's voice grew grave. "Then this is no longer a skirmish. This is the Tenma Great War."
Atem's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
Guy answered. "Every five hundred years, Rudra once activated Army of Angels, Armageddon. An angelic host summoned without bodies—temporary, but devastating."
Atem felt Solarys react instantly.
«Cross-reference complete. Historical data confirms mass angelic incarnations during previous cycles.»
Atem's tone darkened. "And incarnation creates races."
The realization spread like a shockwave.
"Undead elves," Atem continued calmly, "used as vessels. Angels lack ego. But bind them to strong souls… and you create something new. Something terrifying."
No one laughed.
No one dismissed it.
Guy exhaled. "If I were the enemy… I'd do it."
"So would I," Atem replied without hesitation.
The others stared.
Not in disbelief.
In understanding.
"This is not pessimism," Atem said. "This is preparation."
Then Luminas frowned. "Even so, we are outmatched. Velzard has fallen. And Velgrynd—"
"She has not," Atem interrupted.
Every head snapped toward him.
"What?" Dagruel demanded.
Atem's voice remained steady. Absolute. "Velgrynd is free."
The silence this time was explosive.
"She broke free from Ultimate Dominion," Atem continued. "Her Skill evolved in battle. Charity King Raguel is gone."
Guy stared at him. "That's not something you say lightly."
Atem met his gaze unflinchingly. "I do not speak lightly."
"How did you do it?" Guy asked.
Atem's eyes glinted, sharp as judgment itself. "That knowledge remains mine."
Solarys stirred approvingly.
«Information containment: optimal.»
Leon exhaled slowly. "So even Ultimate Skills are not the end."
Guy clenched his fist. "Then I was wrong to think I'd reached my limit."
Atem turned toward the chamber's exit.
"This war will not be decided by angels," he said. "Nor by fear. It will be decided by will."
His presence filled the room—regal, overwhelming, undeniable.
"We move forward," Atem declared. "Together. And anyone who stands against us—god, angel, or king—will fall."
The demon lords did not argue.
They did not question.
Because in that moment, they did not see a slime.
They saw a king.
And the war had truly begun.
The discussion was still dragging.
Not because of confusion—but because some truths demanded absolute clarity.
So I corrected it.
Calmly. Decisively.
"So," I said, my voice carrying across the chamber, "there is no misunderstanding. Velgrynd is not merely free."
All eyes turned to me.
"She fears me."
Silence fell instantly.
Not shock—recognition.
I continued, unwavering.
"I defeated Velgrynd completely. Not through chance. Not through negotiation. Through overwhelming force. She remembers that defeat clearly."
No one interrupted.
"In that battle," I said, "her will broke before her body did. That is why Ultimate Dominion failed. That is why Charity King Raguel collapsed. Fear was the catalyst."
Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, confirmed it without emotion.
«Psychological dominance established. Subject Velgrynd displays permanent instinctive avoidance response toward you.»
Guy exhaled sharply. "So that's it…"
"Yes," I replied. "She is not my enemy. She cannot be."
I let the weight of that settle.
"Velgrynd now protects Masayuki not as an equal—but as a shield. And she will never raise her power against me again. Even the thought of opposing me triggers hesitation."
Milim grinned. "That's terrifying. I kinda feel bad for her."
Dagruel crossed his arms. "A True Dragon ruled by fear… That alone proves your authority."
Guy clicked his tongue, clearly irritated—but not in disagreement.
"Tch. With Velzard already lost, that means Velgrynd is effectively neutralized. Good. At least one catastrophe won't turn against us."
"Correct," I said. "She is not a variable. She is a constant—one that bends away from conflict."
I looked around the chamber.
"Which means we count her as non-hostile. Nothing more is required."
No objections followed.
Because no one doubted it.
After all, among those present, only a handful could truly face a True Dragon—and fewer still could break one.
That fact alone reshaped the war.
I continued without pause.
"Now, regarding the Primordial Angels—four crossed into another world alongside Feldway.
There was one point that needed correction.
And it mattered more than the others.
I addressed it without raising my voice.
"The Primordial Angels did not attack the Labyrinth," I said. "Not because they were unable to—but because they chose not to."
The room stilled.
Ramiris looked up sharply. Guy narrowed his eyes.
I continued, my tone calm, absolute.
"After Feldway witnessed me destroy Rudra, and after Velgrynd was defeated beyond recovery, the angels stopped advancing. Not retreating. Freezing."
Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, responded at once.
«Behavioral analysis complete. Enemy forces entered a passive observation state immediately following confirmation of your combat supremacy.»
In simpler terms—
Fear.
"They saw it," I said. "Not rumors. Not reports. They saw Rudra erased. They felt Velgrynd's collapse. And from that moment onward, Feldway made a decision."
Guy crossed his arms. "To halt."
"Yes," I replied. "To reassess."
The implication was clear.
The Labyrinth was not attacked afterward.
No probing assaults.
No phantom incursions.
No angelic pressure.
Not because the Labyrinth was impregnable.
But because I was present.
"Feldway is arrogant," I continued, "but he is not reckless. When confronted with power he cannot immediately quantify—or control—he waits."
Luminas frowned. "So the angels hesitated because of you?"
"Yes," I answered plainly.
Dagruel let out a low breath. "A being that makes angels hesitate… That is no longer a local threat. That is a cosmic one."
Milim smiled, sharp and satisfied. "Heh. Guess even angels know when the game's over."
Guy clicked his tongue, annoyed—but not dismissive.
"So Feldway pulled his army back after confirming Rudra's destruction and Velgrynd's defeat. That means he's no longer testing us blindly."
"Correct," I said. "He is thinking."
That, more than anything else, made the situation dangerous.
"When an enemy stops moving," I added, "it's because they're planning something decisive."
I looked around the chamber.
"The absence of attack is not mercy. It is caution."
Solarys spoke again, precise and cold.
«Conclusion: Enemy commander Feldway has reclassified you as a primary existential threat. Engagement protocols suspended pending countermeasure development.»
Which meant one thing.
"They are no longer acting," I said. "They are preparing."
The angels had not attacked the Labyrinth.
Not because they lacked confidence.
But because fear—true, measured fear—had entered their calculations.
And once fear enters the board—
The next move is never small.