Divine Right of Various Anime and Manga

Like a spring launched from the earth, Marquis Voban, flung into the air, opened his massive wolf maw and let out a savage roar. With his howl, a howling gale, crashing thunderbolts, and torrential rain descended once more, sweeping through this district of Tokyo like a scene of doomsday. One corner of Tokyo was plunged into natural disaster; the reinforced concrete creations of humanity were as fragile as flower petals beneath the power of a Campione.

Roy's provocation and arrogance had fully stirred the wolf blood within Marquis Voban. Recklessly, he charged into the rain, carrying gale and thunder, and collided with Roy's fist amid his roars. The two swiftly weaved through the city's cluster of buildings, sonic booms and rumbles sounding at every turn. High-rises were pierced and shattered by their bodies and fists, reduced to rubble.

"Between a Campione and a Disobedient God, which one is truly the greater calamity for humanity?"

Princess Alice stood in the ruined top-floor room of The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, gazing into the pitch-black sky that nearly covered all of Tokyo. She stared at the lightning flashing within the dark clouds and the distant chain of explosions and bombardments, listening to the terrified screams of citizens and the blaring of car horns. Even this princess, who loved to meddle and had little sense of good and evil, wore an expression of reluctance.

This was practically a modern war.

"You sneaky old fox who loves to do evil in the shadows and spy on others—actually showing a compassionate face? Could it be that some Authority has made the sun rise from the west?"

A cold male voice suddenly came from the ruined top floor of the hotel. Hearing it, Princess Alice showed no surprise. She merely tightened the jacket over her delicate shoulders, hiding her exposed collarbone beneath the fabric, then turned around with a beaming smile.

At some point, behind Princess Alice, a young man in his mid-twenties sat on one of the few remaining chairs in the ruined room. He crossed his legs, had neatly combed black hair, and wore a dark gray jacket, exuding an air of nobility.

He was Alexander Gascoyne, the Campione of England.

"What wind blows you from the English countryside to this Far East Island Nation? There shouldn't be any news of the 'Holy Grail' you seek here."

Princess Alice's smile was bright and radiant. She held her collar with her hand, elegant as a noblewoman, her manners flawless to the point of perfection.

But it was precisely this perfection that made the princess seem somewhat fake, as if this wasn't the real her.

She was already very familiar with Alexander Gascoyne, so she didn't hold back in her words.

"Put away that fake smile of yours, you grumbling woman—you're no perfect noble lady!"

Gascoyne, seeing Princess Alice being so insincere with him, felt an inexplicable irritation.

The Campione, possessing the Authority of Divine Speed, stood up and approached Princess Alice, reaching out to grab her.

But just as Gascoyne's hand was about to touch her, Princess Alice's fair Jade Hand subtly withdrew into her sleeve, and she stepped back.

Gascoyne's face stiffened, and he said discontentedly, "...What do you mean by that?"

"I should be the one asking what Lord Alexander Gascoyne means. Reaching for a lady's hand without permission is not the act of a gentleman."

Princess Alice wore a faint smile on her lips, but her tone was indifferent and cold...

"Aren't you..."

Gascoyne thought of the intelligence he had seen—the intimate gestures between Princess Alice and the New King—and his expression filled with anger.

But Gascoyne was a rational Campione at heart. He quickly calmed down and urged, "...Stop being difficult. I came to save you this time. Come with me and leave this place quickly."

"Oh? For the 'Black Prince' to come to the rescue of his sworn enemy—how unbelievable... But please forgive me for declining. I have been summoned by 'King' Roy. If I leave with you, it would incur 'King' Roy's wrath."

Princess Alice's tone carried a hint of sarcasm. Her clear pupils fixed on the Black Prince, making Gascoyne deeply uncomfortable.

He suppressed his anger and tried to keep his voice level. "...Then aren't you afraid of my wrath?"

"You won't get angry, Lord Black Prince... Your personality is just like this—frank and troublesome, calculating everything before acting, never taking risks without absolute certainty. As a Campione, I don't know whether to praise or mock such a personality."

Princess Alice turned her head back to look at the distant battlefield between Marquis Voban and Roy. Fighting so recklessly, unleashing one's Authorities without restraint—this was something Alexander Gascoyne would absolutely try to avoid. This should have been a relief, but this man's over-calculating nature made his personality seem somewhat gloomy and unmanly, the kind of gloom that women dislike.

It was fortunate that Alexander Gascoyne wasn't Good At dealing with women either.

"Give me a reason, Lord Black Prince. Give me a reason why you came to save me. If the reason is acceptable, I'll leave with you... Could it be that you've fallen for me and came out of jealousy?"

Princess Alice suddenly blinked playfully, her body trembling slightly as she let out a charming laugh.

"Stop joking, you troublesome woman!"

Alexander Gascoyne turned away in embarrassment and irritation, ignoring Princess Alice. "...Since you're ungrateful, pretend I never came."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "...My compatibility with that New King is very poor."

"Mm, though 'King' Roy is reckless and unrestrained, there are indeed some ways he resembles you—very rational and calculating. Two Campione who are both Good At scheming can never get along amicably."

Princess Alice nodded lightly, affirming the Black Prince's words.

"I have a feeling that one day, one of us will surely die at the other's hands."

With that, Alexander Gascoyne activated his Divine Speed Authority and left.

"A woman who isn't frank can only be a loser in life, and a man who isn't frank will never find a girl to spend the rest of his life with... So, I still prefer Roy's frankness."

Watching the Black Prince leave, the White Princess let out a faint sigh. He had had a chance—a chance to approach her heart, a chance to win her heart—but he was precisely an unfrank man who gave up that opportunity himself.

Then, a trace of worry appeared on Princess Alice's face. "...'King' Roy, if you keep fighting like this, you'll be defeated."

Knowing some of Roy's Authority traits and those of Marquis Voban, the princess grew increasingly anxious.

Chapter 44: Hesitation Leads to Defeat! (Seeking Self-Subscription)

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(I can't write anymore today. Four chapters total nearly 12,000 words, equivalent to six chapters from others. My chapters are still quite long. I'll continue after waking up tomorrow.)

"Kid, what's the matter? Is this your limit?"

On a grassy field in the park, Marquis Voban, transformed into a Werewolf, faced off against Roy.

This was Tokyo's famous Shinjuku Gyoen. The battle between Roy and Marquis Voban in the city had finally brought them near Shinjuku Gyoen.

"Hah... Though I hate to admit it, 'not hitting the wall until you turn back' isn't my motto. As you said, Marquis, I'm just about at my limit."

Roy's body was covered in wounds, his cardinal robe torn in several places, his skin stained with blood that streamed down like a dying man just crawled from a pool of gore.

But for a Campione, this kind of injury, though terrifying to behold, was at most superficial—not enough to break bones or sever tendons. The reason Roy said he had reached his limit was that his authority, "Lord of Light," had run out of time.

The flame-like wings behind him vanished, the angelic halo above his head disappeared, and Roy returned from his angelic form to a human one. In short, Roy had lost his greatest mobility.

He had studied magic diligently during this time, and with magic power far surpassing that of ordinary mages, he could still fly using spells. But mortal magic couldn't grant him the "Divine Speed" of his authority. Ordinary flight held no meaning in a battle against Marquis Voban, unless he could unleash an angel-class ritual.

"Hmph. To push me this far, you've done well as a newborn of our kind. But while your authorities are powerful, their restrictions are too many. Once I know how to bind your rules, I can claim victory with ease."

Though Marquis Voban was ruthless and cunning, no true warrior, he didn't withhold his praise for Roy, who had fought him to the very end.

"Victory with ease? You don't look like you're having an easy time, Marquis. To anyone watching, you're hurt worse than I am."

Roy took a deep breath and kept provoking him.

His "Sounding the Seventh Trumpet," "Lord of Light," and "Sword of Judgment" were all spent for the day. "Sodom's Sin" couldn't deliver a killing blow against Marquis Voban. According to the Council of Sages' intelligence, the Marquis still had "Punisher of Blazing Fire," stolen from Zhurong, unused—the two authorities were quite similar.

"Isaac's Redemption" wasn't an offensive authority; it was for last-ditch escape or a desperate gamble. "Jacob's Ladder" couldn't finish Marquis Voban either. Aside from Roy's final, ultimate, strongest authority, on the surface he was indeed a spent force, no longer able to contend with the Marquis.

"Still so sharp-tongued at death's door. You've got more nerve than I thought..."

Marquis Voban's body reverted from werewolf form to human. His injuries, as Roy had said, looked even worse—some flesh had been gouged away, revealing pale bone beneath, with massive blood loss. If he were a normal man, he'd have been dead long ago.

Under Roy's relentless, fierce assault, Marquis Voban had been battered like a punching bag, only occasionally managing to trade wounds for wounds in a desperate bid, leaving Roy with some superficial cuts.

If Roy's "Lord of Light" authority could last longer, if his magic power were abundant, Roy was confident he could beat Marquis Voban to death with his fists alone.

But those were all "ifs"—the weaknesses of Roy's current authorities, things he would need to make up for in the future.

"Boy, your magic power must be running low. Those fists hurt like hell on these old bones of mine. But that kind of burst drains your magic power heavily too. I wonder how many more punches you can throw?"

Marquis Voban's wolf-like pupils fixed on Roy, his voice cold and cruel.

"Why don't you come over and find out how many punches I've got left, Marquis?"

Roy raised an eyebrow, his tone still fearless and arrogant.

"Heh. Letting your taunts drive me into a rage was my mistake. Your authority is too bizarre. I can't guarantee you don't have some killing move hidden. Laugh at me all you want—I won't get close to you now. But your mockery will cost you your life."

Marquis Voban narrowed his emerald eyes, cautious as a wolf.

"I won't mock your caution, Marquis. But... hesitation leads to defeat!"

Roy said in a low voice, a grin spreading across his face, his smile growing more arrogant.

"My body has reached its limit, but my soul can still fight. Since you've pushed me this far, boy, don't regret it. Let me show you what decisiveness looks like! It's been eighty years since I last used this authority—using it on a fellow of our kind is worth it!"

Marquis Voban let out another earth-shaking laugh, then it cut off abruptly. His body went stiff, as if dead, losing all signs of life.

Then, before the Marquis's 'corpse' could fall, a thunderous dragon roar echoed. His soul broke free from the flesh's shackles, transforming into a black dragon over forty meters long. The dragon had the same violent emerald eyes as the Marquis, a muscular, fearsome body, like a massive war machine.

"You've seen this form of mine—are you ready to meet your death! I will send you on your way, to the hell of the underworld!"

The black dragon roared at the sky, shaking heaven and earth with its thunder, and the dragon's voice was Marquis Voban's.

One claw reached out, grabbing its own feigned-dead body. This authority was the Marquis's trump card in life-or-death crises. To guard against any strange move Roy might still have, he used it decisively, preparing to slay Roy with his dragon body.

"'Black Dragon of the Underworld'—an authority stolen from the ancient Mesopotamian Earth Mother Goddess, 'Inanna'..."

"Inanna, also known as Ishtar, is the Queen of Heaven, the goddess of Venus, the predecessor of Aphrodite in Greek mythology. At the same time, Ishtar is a two-faced goddess—she and her sister Ereshkigal can be said to be one person."

"...Ereshkigal is the goddess of the underworld. A Campione's authorities are stolen based on compatibility with the god they slay. So, Marquis, you killed Inanna but didn't gain the Queen of Heaven's authority—instead, you got the power of the underworld goddess."

Roy calmly explained the origin of this authority.

From the Marquis's werewolf transformation and his dead servant authority, one could see his nature and compatibility—he had a deep connection with death and the underworld.

"Hahahaha!! You got all that knowledge from that little girl at the Council of Sages, didn't you! But what does knowing my authority's origin matter!"

The black underworld dragon let out a wild laugh, as if victory was already assured.

"True, I don't have the means to turn 'wisdom' into an attack. But I'm not the type to just sit and wait for death!"

Roy's magic power stirred again. He activated his fifth authority—"Isaac's Redemption"!

This authority was meant for a brief resurgence when gravely wounded, to either fight to the death or flee. But Roy's injuries weren't severe; he didn't need to suppress them temporarily. Instead, he used this authority to squeeze himself dry, temporarily restoring his magic power.

"Come on, Marquis! I can still fight!"

Roy straightened up, staring directly at the massive pitch-black dragon before him, resolute and fearless.

"A cornered beast's struggle. You've reached your limit. That fearlessness is commendable, but that's all it is. Your life ends here!"

The underworld dragon opened its massive maw, spewing a colossal dragon's breath that scorched the ground beneath into dead charcoal.

"'Ten Plagues Coercion'!"

Roy struck back, using "Jacob's Ladder's" defensive counter to block the dragon's breath. A layer of scorched marks appeared on his skin, searing pain shooting from his nerves to his brain, making him grunt.

At the same time, God's "Ten Plagues" curse surged into Marquis Voban's body as he attacked. But now the Marquis was the underworld dragon; he bore the "Ten Plagues" curse through sheer force. Dragon-serpents inherently possessed strong immortality, and this black dragon was a creature of the underworld—Marquis Voban was now a true undying monster.

"Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain!! This curse even has the power to terrify my soul! Fitting, as God's punishment on Egypt!"

The black dragon cried out in pain. The Ten Plagues of God were a famous mythological tale; how could Marquis Voban not recognize the origin of Roy's move?

"Marquis, this authority of yours is your strongest power, isn't it..."

Roy's skin still smoked with scorched fumes, the pain dulling his thoughts, but a victorious smile spread across his face.

"...The final piece of the puzzle is complete. It's time for this war to end. Victory belongs to me—victory belongs to the Lord of Hosts!"

Roy shouted aloud. As his voice fell, from the twisted, mosaic-like void on his right shoulder, a golden hand suddenly extended.

Upon seeing that golden hand, Marquis Voban, transformed into the Underworld Black Dragon, blurted out in shock: "...What is that?!"

Chapter 45: "Who Resembles God the Most"

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It was a colossal hand steeped in gold, radiating a sacred brilliance. It stretched forth from Roy's right shoulder, like a dragon's claw, like a divine finger, as if containing all mysteries and miracles within itself. The mere sight of this hand made Marquis Voban's scalp tingle, his blood flow quicken, stirring a dread that seized his heart.

This 'Third Hand' spread its five fingers, flexing its sinews. With its movement, the space around it seemed to twist, to shatter, dissolving into an illusory river of time—as if this hand did not belong to this world at all, but existed in a higher phase and dimension beyond human comprehension.

"In Christianity, God is the One God; all miracles should be governed by that One God. The right side, in Christianity, represents 'equality.' The Son of God heals all illness with His right hand, and people use their right hand to baptize believers. All the miracles of Christianity are contained within this right hand. Ah, well, I don't fully understand it myself, Marquis. You can roughly think of this hand as the 'Hand of God.'"

Roy raised his right arm, and the 'Third Hand' on his shoulder mimicked his motion. As that golden giant hand swept through the air, a power that Marquis Voban could not comprehend at all filled that single hand.

"Boy, are you trying to tell me this hand is the 'Right Hand of God'? That's impossible!! A God Almighty like Yahweh cannot descend as a 'Heretic God.' Under the existence of paradox, this world simply cannot support 'Omniscience and Omnipotence'—this is the most basic knowledge shared between Campione and Heretic Gods!"

"...Moreover, the god you slew was Michael. How could you possibly summon such a 'Hand of Miracles'!"

The Marquis Voban, transformed into the Underworld Black Dragon, let out an incredulous roar. That dragon's cry was laced with immense fury and... a trace of barely perceptible fear.

"If you insist on an answer, Marquis, perhaps I can give you one—though I suspect it's not the answer you want."

"Michael is known as the 'God-like Being,' standing at the right hand of God. And in the records of the Bible, several titles given to Michael should not belong to an angel—they are honorifics reserved for the Son of God. Thus, later scholars came to believe that Michael is actually the 'Son of God.' Only then can it be explained why Michael holds the title of 'Son of God' in the Bible, and only then can it be proven that Michael did not blaspheme God."

Roy's tone was unhurried. He stood in place, calmly watching Marquis Voban, whose mood was growing increasingly agitated.

This was not arrogance or overconfidence—it was the natural truth of the matter. The moment Roy summoned this 'Divine Right,' Marquis Voban's defeat had already become a certainty.

"Marquis, have you read the Dead Sea Scrolls? In the Dead Sea Scrolls, it is recorded that Michael, the Son of Light, led the Angel Legion as Vice-Lord of Heaven and Lord of Light, fighting against the legion of Belial, the Son of Darkness. The two battled for six days and six nights, winning three times and losing three times. On the seventh day, the Lord Himself descended and easily won victory with the 'Light of the Right.' Therefore, I name this final Authority the 'Light of the Right'—the supreme Authority of the King of Kings, the Lord of Hosts, Yahweh!"

The index finger of the 'Third Hand' on Roy's right shoulder pointed at the Underworld Black Dragon that was Marquis Voban, and he delivered his final judgment: "...As hard as it is to believe, accept your defeat, Marquis! Before this 'Right Hand,' all your struggles are meaningless. Before this 'Right Hand,' 'victory' will surely belong to me!"