This day, clouds hung heavy over the western part of the continent. Despite it being nearly noon, the land was enveloped in a dim and dismal light. There was no rain yet, but there was little doubt that once it started, it would quickly intensify into a downpour that would obscure their line of sight.
Correction: The rain had just started. One drop hit a leaf, followed by one more drop, and in the blink of an eye, they were joined by countless others. The vast expanse of the west quickly became shrouded in the contradiction of that strange phenomenon where falling rain, when it reached a certain regularity, seemed to be even more tranquil than an actual absence of sound.
The raindrops fell on the ground and the motionless, mountainous form of Country Eater alike. The slime’s glossy appearance would lead one to expect the water to slide off, but on the contrary, it was absorbed. Consuming even the minuscule mass of raindrops was how the monster had grown so huge.
Suddenly, the core deep inside the slime’s murky, semitransparent body lit up with a dull light. Then, as if seeking something, countless tentacles shot out with geometric precision that could seem beautiful or revolting depending on the beholder. After two centuries of being unchallenged in its dominion, the monster was now clearly on the alert. And because it had no idea what it was facing, it was doing all it could to gather information.
All that effort was for nothing, though, as the intruders had zero intention of hiding. First, the floating islands that Sol had granted to each member of the Panhuman League teleported in with multicolored flashes, hovering underneath the rain clouds in a ring that encircled Country Eater. The next moment, a man-made object much smaller than the islands—the airship that would go down in history as Sol’s flagship—appeared in the center of the ring with an explosion of light.
Country Eater promptly responded by sending out a barrage of tentacles. However, attacks from a mere slime, no matter how many levels it had, had no hope of penetrating the basic protective barriers of the floating islands. The magic circles that lit up from the barriers being activated and the flashes from additional shields that became visible only when taking hits filled the dull, inky scene with every color of the spectrum.
When the lights faded, a blade of light descended, punching through the clouds. This was a particle beam launched from Uranos, the only attack satellite still operational. Also known as a Divine Punishment, these satellites were the ultimate lost technology in the arsenal of the Holy Church, which was now entirely under Sol’s control.
High-pitched blasts rang out in quick succession as the many layers of protective barrier that Country Eater maintained around itself were shattered like glass. While the All Dragon had been able to block this attack without breaking a sweat, it was apparently more than enough to tear through the defenses of a taboo territory boss.
When the beam actually reached Country Eater, however, there was no deafening boom as one would expect. Normally, when a projectile attack landed on a target, even if it was blocked, a significant portion of the energy created would be converted into sound. But that did not happen.
Instead, a buzzing reminiscent of the beating of an insect’s wings filled the air as Country Eater absorbed the orbital strike. After lasting a few dozen seconds, the energy involved was more than enough to raze a city the size of Garlaige to the ground. And now, all that energy was packed inside the slime, with the glow of its core expanding to its whole half-transparent body and becoming bright enough to illuminate its surroundings.
The disaster from two centuries ago was on the verge of being repeated.
✦ ✦ ✦
“It really didn’t work,” said Sol, mildly surprised, as he watched from the airship directly above the slime.
Records from two hundred years ago said that Divine Punishment was ineffective against Country Eater, but Sol had wanted to test it out for himself. This was because he hadn’t found any video footage of the last face-off against the monster, even though the Church most definitely had access to technology that could easily keep such records back then. The conclusion he had drawn, therefore, was that there had been footage but it had been erased—probably not by the Old Rulers, but someone in the ensuing lines of popes who had been afraid that it would harm the institution’s image of infallibility. In short, a foolish act by an insecure man.
Regardless of whether their intentions were righteous or malicious, someone who would alter or erase records was simply a coward. While there were people who would seek to leave behind a fragment of themselves as books, there also were those who could, without batting an eye, burn thousands of books—thereby snuffing out the same number of wishes—purely to satisfy their twisted beliefs. Having come face-to-face with a real example, Sol was determined to preserve everything he had retrieved from Biblioteca while praying that Origin, the original scripture that had been taken away from the lectern in the farthest depths of the facility, was still safe and whole somewhere.
“It’s a special ability characteristic of slimes. Any other monster would have been burned to a crisp.” Luna’s helpful commentary was delivered from her seat on Sol’s lap, with her adorable appearance and the savagery of her words presenting a contrast so drastic as to be almost hilarious.
There was, however, a more fundamental issue: There was a distinct lack of tension surrounding them. It was really hard for Sol to seem serious, despite sitting in the captain’s seat, when he had Luna on his lap, Little Alshunna splayed out on his head, and Aina’noa hugging him from behind.