"The seventh… King!"
The witch's teeth chattered as she stared at Lucius's impassive face.
She'd once harbored the audacious dream of controlling a Campione, but now, facing a true Devil King, her legs trembled.
"Yo!" Lucius's narrowed eyes glinted with barely concealed malice. "Where exactly are you headed?"
"Your Majesty, please forgive my sin of spying!" Without hesitation, the witch dropped to her knees, confessing her transgression.
It seemed the occult world's denizens shared a universal approach to dealing with Devil Kings.
They treated mortals as insignificant, yet when faced with greater power, their courage and strength evaporated, leaving only groveling pleas.
"I was hoping you'd show a shred of bravery," Lucius said, looking down at the prostrate witch with a quiet, eerie tone.
"No such intent!" She replied, mistaking his words for rebuke, her face twisting into a sycophantic smile.
Her exposed skin, no doubt meant to dazzle impressionable youths, gleamed under the light.
Then, her magically preserved, curvaceous body slithered toward him—not unlike a worm.
Raising her face, her eyes shimmered with crocodile tears, poised to weep.
"Your Majesty, I never meant to offend by spying. It was unintentional, a grave sin—please punish me as you see fit!"
Lucius paused.
His expression shifted.
"Witch, are you mocking me?" He asked, his voice thick with malice—and disgust.
What?
Lucrezia Zola, who prided herself on her maintained beauty, froze.
"If you were bread, I'd praise your worth," Lucius continued. "If you were fertilizer, I'd acknowledge your value."
"But—"
His eyes opened, icy and piercing.
Perhaps due to his growing power, he could now sense others' inner states.
"Using a youthful facade to mask a rotten soul, the dissonance between your exterior and essence is like a burger stuffed with manure."
"If you stayed quiet, I'd ignore you. But what are you doing now?"
"Pfft, hahaha!" Mozlis's laughter erupted in his mind, unrestrained and gleeful. "You misunderstood," She said, wiping tears of mirth. "She's trying to seduce you."
"Seduce me?" Lucius asked.
"Yep!" Mozlis chirped.
"Her?"
"Uh-huh."
Lucius's face darkened, and he raised his foot.
The witch, reeking of decay, had reached for his pant leg.
Smack!
He stomped her hand into the floor.
Then, with a kick, he sent her rolling across the room.
"This rotting thing, from inside out, dares to seduce me?" His gaze was frigid.
"No, you've got it wrong," Mozlis said, tilting her head, her golden vertical pupils twinkling playfully. "Not everyone can sense inner states like you."
A misunderstanding, then.
But still.
"Even so," Lucius said, arms crossed, a sword of condensed mana forming behind him, "for someone with such a decayed mindset to try seducing me—isn't that still mocking me?"
"A witch bold enough to scheme against me? My patience and time are limited. Spill everything now!"
"I—" Lucrezia Zola's eyes widened in terror, her body trembling.
"I'll talk—"
"Forget it. I'm out of patience," Lucius said, frowning with irritation.
Honestly, she was likely a peripheral figure, useful only for providing the Prometheus Grimoire.
Or rather, a minor NPC for the first plot quest.
She probably knew less than he did.
Her allies clearly didn't value her life.
Otherwise—
"You thought this could outsmart me?" Lucius's eyes were cold as he strode to a wall in the living room.
A seemingly aged painting hung there.
He raised his hand, his fingers piercing the glass and canvas like paper, seizing something within.
The aura was unmistakable to him.
He pulled out—
A stone tablet.
"Impossible!" Lucrezia Zola's eyes widened in shock. "The real Prometheus Grimoire is still with me! Ichirou and I agreed to make a fake for him, then slip the real one into Kusanagi's bag when he arrives in Sardinia!"
"Oh." Lucius gave the Prometheus Grimoire in his hand a deadpan glance, nodding slightly.
He sensed a triggered spell centered on the tablet, activated by significant mana use—like an Authority nearby.
Once triggered, it would send a message and attempt to absorb an Authority before teleporting away.
Only a Heretic God like Susanoo could craft such a spell.
From her words, Lucius pieced together the plan.
A valuable divine artifact was safest in his hands, whether he used it or not.
Their scheme was to create a fake tablet for Kusanagi Godou to carry.
Then, once he landed, swap it for the real one.
But this "clever" witch hadn't realized she'd been played. The tablet she held was also fake!
Her allies had a backup plan.
If a Heretic God found her first and attacked, the tablet would absorb an Authority and teleport away.
If all went smoothly, they'd swap the tablet again after her switch.
The triggered spell was meant to teleport the tablet, but Lucius's overwhelming mana disrupted it.
"That's why I said she knows nothing," He said, his expression weary.
The mana swords behind him rained down.
"Waste of my time."
He glanced into the distance.
"Already manifested?"
A towering figure, over two meters tall, stood there.
Wild, unkempt hair and a beard covering half his face gave him a savage appearance.
Bulging muscles exuded overwhelming presence, majestic and divine.
His attire—tattered cloth and leather across his chest, a ragged cloak—did nothing to diminish his grandeur.
A mortal witnessing him, if their heart didn't stop, would likely kneel.
Melqart, Mediterranean god-king.
Also known by a grander name: Baal, the Canaanite god-king.
"Is it you?" Baal's face radiated authority, gazing down at the smaller figure before him. "Did you awaken me to challenge the strong?"
"Hahaha!" The radiant war god Verethragna laughed freely. "I am the strongest! I hold all victories!"
"Oh, Mediterranean god-king, can you grant me defeat?"
"Hmph, what audacity," Baal said, his face curling into a cruel, arrogant smile.
"Since you dare challenge me, I'll grant you defeat to uphold my divine—"
His words halted, his face twisting with rage.
"Insolent! You dare use me as a sacrifice, a stepping stone for your manifestation? Get back!"
"You dare defy me, Baal?"
***
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