IBHJ 1383

Over the course of several days, through patient, deliberate questioning, Shirou began to piece together fragments of knowledge about the planet.

It was primitive. A world whose civilization hovered somewhere around Earth’s Stone Age—tools of bone and stone, fire carried in baskets, myths whispered by firelight.

The monstrous insect he’d slain earlier was known to the villagers as an earth demon, one of many. These creatures weren’t anomalies—they were an infestation. The entire planet teemed with them. They tore through villages, devoured livestock, and dragged children screaming into the soil.

And yet, the people endured.

They didn’t survive merely by burrowing underground—because sometimes, the subterranean depths were even more dangerous than the surface. No, they endured because, once upon a time, they had protectors.

Powerful warriors had risen among them. Men and women who stood against the demons, who guarded the weak. The villagers called them heroes.

But all of them were gone now.

Taken, one by one, by the beings they referred to as angels from the sky.

…

After staying several more days and gathering no further useful intel, Shirou decided it was time to move on.

He returned to the central cavern where the village chief resided, standing once more before the massive, spiraling pit.

“Village Chief! Village Chief!”

His voice echoed into the depths, bouncing off the stone walls. But there was no answer.

Frowning, Shirou exchanged a glance with Tiamat. She nodded.

They jumped.

With a quiet pulse of magical energy to soften the landing, they dropped into the depths.

“Village Chief?”

Shirou’s voice echoed down the tunnel as he walked.

No response.

Then a small voice called out from ahead.

“Hmm? Lord Shirou?”

Shirou turned—and spotted a familiar figure standing in front of a massive stone wall.

A boy, face painted in tribal ink, blinking up at him with surprise.

“Ruka,” Shirou said, recognizing him immediately. “What are you doing down here?”

Ruka tilted his head, confused. “I could ask the same. How did you get in here?”

“I came to say goodbye to the village chief.”

At that, Ruka’s expression fell. He sighed softly.

“So… Lord Shirou is leaving the village.”

Shirou nodded. “The time’s come. But the chief isn’t here?”

“No,” Ruka said, shaking his head. “He left earlier. Didn’t say where.”

“I see.” Shirou smiled gently. “Then I’ll have to trouble you to pass along a message for me.”

“Of course.”

The farewell was a courtesy. Shirou had no intention of waiting around. Time, especially here, was a resource he couldn’t afford to waste.

Over the past few days, he had tapped into his Dragon Core and begun generating a modest amount of magical energy. It wasn’t enough to power Tiamat for interstellar flight—but it was enough for planetary exploration.

And exploration was exactly what they needed now.

Just as he turned to leave, a small tug on his sleeve stopped him.

“Master,” Tiamat whispered behind him, her voice unusually quiet.

He looked back. Her violet eyes were fixed ahead—not on him, but just past Ruka.

“What is it?” he asked.

Tiamat didn’t answer right away. She simply raised a finger and pointed toward the stone tablet behind the boy.

He followed her gesture—and froze.

Behind Ruka, half-hidden in the cavern wall, stood a massive stone carving, weathered by time but still chillingly clear. It depicted a sprawling star system—planets, moons, and orbits. But that wasn’t what stopped his breath.

The entire star system was coiled inside the abdominal cavity of a monstrous centipede.

A centipede with hundreds—thousands—of needle-like legs, each one stabbing deep into the planets it enclosed. Piercing. Feeding.

[Tiamat… that can’t be what I think it is—]

[Yes, Master. I ran an immediate comparison. That carving has a seventy-percent match with our previous encounter.]

If the carving was accurate… then the “pillars” that had impaled planets and devoured the golden fleets weren’t separate constructs.

They were legs.

The legs of this thing.

A cosmic centipede large enough to swallow entire solar systems whole.

He instinctively pushed the thought away before it could spiral into something darker—something paralyzing.

He pointed to the mural. “Ruka… this stone carving—what is it?”

The boy turned casually, as if this horrifying monument were nothing out of the ordinary.

“That?” Ruka smiled and pointed to the centipede at the center.

“That’s a god.”

Shirou stared. “A… god? You’re saying that’s a god?”

“Yes,” Ruka said, his tone reverent, his fingers tracing the massive segmented body carved in stone.

“He’s the supreme cosmic god. The ruler and master of everything in the universe. He was born after the creator god shaped the cosmos. He governs all things. Nothing exists beyond his reach.”

Shirou blinked.

“But… the creature you call an earth demon—the one I killed outside your village—it looked just like this. Don’t you see the resemblance?”

Identical wasn’t even the right word.

The mural showed the same anatomy, the same silhouette. The only difference was scale—one the size of a mountain, the other the size of a galactic system.

“How rude, Lord Shirou!” Ruka huffed, puffing out his cheeks. “How could a god be the same as a demon?”

Then, in a quieter tone, almost somber, he added, “But… the demons are connected to the god. They’re his punishment upon humanity.”

“Punishment?” Shirou echoed, brow rising. “For what?”

Ruka lowered his head. “A long, long time ago—so long that even the elders don’t know how long—there was a human who defied the gods. He crossed mountains, braved rivers, traveled through the stars… and found a weapon powerful enough to kill a god. And then… he did.”

The boy’s eyes lifted, wide and solemn.

“He slew one of the gods. So the supreme one became angry. He cursed all of humanity. And from that curse… the demons were born.”

Before Shirou could speak, Tiamat gasped behind him.

“M-Master—look!” She pointed toward another stone tablet on the opposite wall.

Shirou followed her gaze.

There, carved into the stone was a creature that defied natural shape. Spherical and membranous, like a swollen bubble.

He didn’t need Tiamat to tell him. He recognized it instantly.

The darkness that had lunged at them in hyperspace.

The thing that recoiled from his Akasha Arrow.

“That’s it,” Tiamat said. “The one we encountered in hyperspace. I’m sure of it.”

Shirou nodded slowly. His eyes hadn’t left the mural.

He turned to Ruka again. “And this one—what is it?”

Ruka smiled. “That’s also a god.”

A god…

Shirou exhaled silently.

It was all starting to come together.

These weren’t just decorations. The murals were a record.

But unlike Earth’s early mythologies, born from thunder, rain, and fire, these people had crafted their belief systems around things that truly existed.

Cosmic horrors. Interdimensional predators. Beings of impossible scale and shape.

They had seen them. Or heard of them. Or suffered because of them.

And so, they’d deified them.

Not out of worship—out of survival. Out of awe. Out of terror.

The primitive mythology of the Golden Universe.

Shirou’s thoughts swirled.

Compared to Earth, the myth-making process was nearly identical. Both civilizations shaped gods in the image of what they feared. But in the Golden Universe, the monsters were real.

The civilization here may have looked primitive—but behind the stone tools and huts, it was built atop truths too massive to comprehend.

Which led him to the final question.

What was the role of the Golden Emperor—the one feared even by Origin Gaia and Alaya?

Feared as the Cosmic Destroyer.

And what connection did it have… to the birth of the Lord of Salvation?

“Looks like I’m not leaving this village anytime soon.”

Shirou sighed, half in resignation, half in amusement.

Fate really was a tangled mess.

Getting swept into the Golden Universe, hunted by golden fleets, stranded on a world that had never heard of technology—it all reeked of his cursed Luck E.

And yet…

It was because of this detour that he’d begun to catch a faint glimpse of something deeper—

The truth behind the Lord of Salvation.