HPxLOTM: A Wizard's Path to Divinity

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Though the first bullet had already blasted the monster's head into fragments, Klein still emptied every single round from the chamber. Whether it was for insurance—or to vent—he wasn't entirely sure himself.

This battle had been brutal.

He had painstakingly solved the riddle etched into the back of his hand, then committed suicide and relied on the Tarot Club's collective prayers to reawaken in this place…only to be greeted by a relentless battle that gave him zero time to prepare.

But in the end, he had still won.

At that moment, a sudden sensation surged through him—

The Magician potion had been fully digested.

After a long pause, Klein finally adjusted his emotions and cast his gaze toward the book and quill lying on the ground. His eyes lit up.

"That pen…that's the sealed artifact that can create coincidences and control people's actions, isn't it?" He stepped forward quickly and crouched to retrieve it.

Suddenly, everything around him became blurry and transparent—then vanished entirely.

He didn't know how much time passed, but when his awareness returned, he found himself standing in a dilapidated village. Not far away stood an old, weathered chapel that felt both familiar and unfamiliar. His mind reeled for a moment as understanding dawned:

"I came out of the book…"

The next second, lost memories surged back into his mind—his initial shock upon arriving in the strange town, his step-by-step exploration, the fear when he discovered the residents were monsters, being hunted down, being killed, exploring, being killed, exploring, being killed…

The memories gradually faded again. First, he forgot everything after arriving in the town. Then, his memories from before transmigrating began to dissolve, all the way until he no longer remembered the world above the grey fog.

"No wonder…I left the clue on the back of my hand."

Under normal circumstances, whenever a clue was uncovered, it should have been left above the grey fog, to avoid tampering or forgetting.

It wasn't that he chose not to—it was that he had already forgotten the grey fog even existed.

One by one, human silhouettes materialised in the surrounding area. Most of them appeared dazed and disoriented, clearly unaware of what had just happened. A few burst into tears of relief, grateful to have survived. Cynthia was frantically patting herself down, searching for something.

As for Fors—she sat blank-eyed on the ground, her arms still frozen in the posture of cradling something that was no longer there.

——

Elsewhere, Edward emerged from the mental world.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw the corpse of the headless gray-white dragon still lying in front of him—its massive form still and silent. A brilliant, crystalline Beyonder characteristic had separated from its body and now rested quietly on the ground.

This time…he was truly dead.

Tsk.

This guy's track record was second only to that of the legendary Rosago, who once fought two (future) big-shots simultaneously.

Distantly, the sound of bustling activity grew closer and louder.

Edward turned to look.

The once-desolate village was now alive with noise—rescued survivors filled the streets, and members of the three major Church-affiliated Extraordinary organisations had somehow arrived as well, helping to calm and care for the shaken populace.

As for MI9's agents?

Gone without a trace.

Horamick approached. "Mr. Edward, your friend should have made it out as well."

Edward quickly stood up. "Thank you…for your help."

Holamik shook his head. "I didn't manage to help you at all."

His face darkened slightly, and he seemed to hesitate—wanting to say more. But soon, his expression turned serious.

"But…this matter isn't over yet."

"Huh?"

"The pen."

Edward immediately understood. He reached into his coat and took out the novel and the quill, handing both to Holamik without hesitation.

As powerful as the quill was, ordinary people had no business using it—and besides, a white-robed priest could jump out at any time to reclaim it.

"Huh?"

Holamik only accepted the quill, then suddenly frowned deeply.

"This pen…why does it seem like…"

Bang.

The quill burst into countless motes of light.

"A fake…"

Edward was dumbfounded. "How could it be fake?!"

Buzz—

The shattered motes of light converged into a stream of crystalline energy, which surged directly into the novel Edward was holding.

The book broke free from his fingers and rose into the air, radiating a dazzling glow.

In an instant, everyone present turned to look.

KA-BOOM!!

The novel exploded.

A torrent of paper-like fragments erupted outward, flooding the skies above the village, fluttering down like snow.

The fragments descended lower…and lower…

As they drifted into reach, people instinctively extended their hands to catch them.

Edward casually caught a few pieces.

"Photographs?"

...

Enslaved people being trafficked.

A colossal, mysterious tomb.

Slaves digging into the burial site.

MI9 hounds.

The royal crest of the Augustus family.

One after another, the photographs exposed every dark deed tied to George III—his slave trading, his grave plundering—all of it laid bare.

Among the crowd were citizens from every trade and walk of life in Backlund, members of the three major Churches' Beyonders organisations, even high-ranking bishops from each Church.

All strata of Loen society were represented here.

Holy shit.

Edward was stunned. As a transmigrator, he had done nothing yet regarding George III…and yet someone had already struck first with this?

Wait.

His mind suddenly clicked, and he whipped his head around toward the front of the chapel—where Anthony stood tall and silent.

The archbishop of the Church of the Evernight Goddess was gazing skyward at the falling photographs. A serene smile curved his lips, and his eyes gleamed with long-awaited peace.

He was behind this?!

No—

But this was clearly something…

He had long hoped to witness.

The Seven Orthodox Deities had tacitly approved of all the atrocities George III had committed in his pursuit of godhood.

Anthony, the old man who had served and toiled in Backlund for so many years, though unwilling, could not go against the will of the Goddess.

He knew there was nothing he could do.

He also knew…there were things he ought to do.

And so, it seemed, he had borrowed the power of the quill—indirectly doing the one thing he still could do.

But…

Why did Adam allow this to happen?

Adam had prepared for this surge of the epochal tide for over a millennium.

Logically, if there had even been the slightest hint of a threat to his plans, he should have intervened and crushed it in its infancy.

But instead…

Why had "His" figure never appeared?

What was "He" thinking?

What was "He" plotting?

At that moment, Anthony looked over.

His face had returned to its usual calm expression, and he drew the sign of the Evernight Goddess across his chest.

"Praise the Goddess."

Edward gave a slight nod and returned the gesture as well.

When he turned around again, he saw Horamick watching him kindly from nearby—this time drawing a triangular holy symbol across his chest.

"…..."

Edward hesitated for a moment, then begrudgingly returned a triangle symbol of his own.

Just a little further away in the crowd stood Mr. Fool, speaking to Miss Fors.

What the hell is this? Cheating in broad daylight?

Smack!

Someone slapped his butt from behind.

There was no need to guess—it had to be Akasha. She was holding a stack of photos and laughing heartily.

"Hahaha! I knew something juicy was going on! George III really isn't a simple old man, huh. Now that not just the common folk, but even the Three Major Churches are fully in the know…What do you think he'll do next?"

She laughed so heartily and shamelessly, like some carefree wild elder sister.

Edward barely restrained himself from asking:

You, a vampire, getting involved in something like this—did you not think about the consequences?

But then, he immediately realised something—

Akasha had lived for over a thousand years.

She might look carefree and bold on the surface, but in truth she was a deeply calculating old monster. There was no way she hadn't considered the consequences.

So then…

Did her actions suggest that the vampires—that Lilith, the Progenitor of Vampires herself—disapproved of George III's ascension?

But why?

Weren't the Seven Gods desperately in need of a new god to help maintain the protective barrier over Earth?

Edward couldn't help but feel a rising sense of uncertainty and suspicion.

———

In an opulent, lavishly decorated room—

A quill scribbled rapidly across paper, writing word after word with a steady rustling sound:

"…Due to the accidental discovery of George III's secret, Anthony Stevenson, Archbishop of the Church of the Evernight Goddess in Backlund, found himself unwilling to accept the Goddess's silent approval. Though he was a demigod above the masses, this did not mean he had lost all humanity. On the contrary, years of service in Backlund had forged a deep love for this land and its people."

"...Anthony quickly realised that someone had arranged for all this. Yet, rather than resisting, he chose to cooperate—to make use of the setup. For the sake of the trafficked souls, the innocent dead, and to soothe the guilt weighing on his heart, he sought to give them a voice. Even though he knew that in the eyes of the gods, this might all amount to a meaningless farce…he still did it."

"The Archbishop of the Church of the Lord of Storm came. The Archbishop of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery came. With them arrived the Machinery Hiveminds and the Mandated Punishers. Only with more witnesses—those who could truly act—could there be even a shred of possibility to halt George III's ambition. For this…Anthony was even willing to lie."

"Qonas Kilgor from MI9 arrived. He came to prevent what was about to unfold. But because of Anthony's lie, that vampire count chose to follow Qonas Kilgor into an isolated space—leaving the quill behind for Edward...Oh, thank you, Edward. It was you who helped me rid myself of that disgusting, laughable, pathetic host. And thanks to you, I've now mastered this whole 'skyfall reveal' trick."

"...It's over. With the destruction of that false quill, a sky full of photographs revealing George III's human trafficking and tomb construction rained down. Everyone present—be they ordinary people or Beyonders—witnessed it all. Secrets long buried were exposed at last. A truly spectacular play has drawn its final curtain."

"But…will all of this really stop George III?"

"The answer is no. So, what comes next?"

At that moment, a pale, slender hand grasped the quill.

After a brief moment of thought, the hand wrote on the paper:

"I heard you make it your goal to write every host to death. Why are you cooperating with me?"

The hand let go.

The quill resumed writing on its own:

"As long as it makes that unnamable bastard suffer, as long as it disrupts "His" plans, I don't mind cooperating a little. But be warned—writing my hosts to death is a built-in negative trait. Most of the time, even I can't control it."

"Got it. Then I'll just wait and see what happens next."

"Why didn't you scatter the photos across all of Backlund? Like Edward did in Tingen? That way, even more people could've seen George III for what he truly is."

The pen's master sighed deeply and replied:

"No amount of public awareness among ordinary citizens will matter. The key is letting the Churches know. Only they have a chance to stop what's coming next."

"Heh. Not just that, right? You still want to preserve the dignity and image of the Augustus royal family in the public's eyes."

A long silence.

"…I just want to stay alive."

———

[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.