The [Root of Fantasy] had already descended.
The [Alien God] was about to descend.
In three months, the rewriting of the Lostbelts had been confirmed complete, and the planet's future had fallen into the hands of the Crypters.
But Kirschtaria was not satisfied with that.
He rose in the empty hall and walked to the edge of the window, looking down from that height at—
That prosperous, beautiful city.
His expression was somewhat grim.
The sages of Proper Human History had been far too naive, and the Beast who called himself the Mage King had been far too merciful.
They were nothing but fools who cared nothing for humanity.
For over two thousand years, with Mystery severed, the foundation of the world had been completely handed over to humanity.
I will challenge it.
Challenge a world no sage had reached in two thousand years, a theory no magus had dared to speak of.
"Watch closely, Marisbury Animusphere."
He no longer bowed his head toward the prosperous city below. Instead, he raised it and looked toward the vast starry sky.
"Your empty words on paper will be fulfilled by me."
He turned and left down the corridor.
Not a single person remained in the hall.
The Crypters had all returned to their own Lostbelts.
Sunday.
It was a word I had once hated.
Not because of something from when I was still a child, nor as a side effect of hating my parents.
The young me had borne all of my parents' wishes. I firmly believed that everything entrusted to me could be accomplished.
So there was no need to hate it.
Nor was there any need for excessive affection.
I only needed to walk the road that had been laid out for me.
Surely, in the end, I would become