Chapter 12: The Ruler's Judgment
Riya's gaze fell to the Homunculus — the boy barely clinging to life, a hole in his chest crudely stitched shut by Siegfried's last sacrifice.
His skin was pale as paper, and his breath came in shallow, trembling gasps, like a candle flickering against the wind.
Astolfo knelt beside the broken body, his usual cheer gone, replaced with quiet desperation.
He was trembling — not out of fear, but helplessness.
"Please," he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking with emotion.
"Save him."
Riya frowned.
He hadn't come here to save anyone.
He wasn't some kind of saint.
He hadn't taken on this twisted war to play the hero.
He didn't wear white armor or swing a sword of justice.
He was a man burdened with a singular mission:
fix the timeline.
Destroy the distortion.
And return home.
But this boy… this barely-alive construct with too-human eyes…
If saving him was part of that path, then so be it.
Not because it was the right thing to do.
Because it was necessary.
Riya turned his gaze toward Darnic, who stood like a shadow among giants — calm, calculating, coiled.
The man's presence radiated that of a chess master in mid-play.
He was already thinking three moves ahead.
"Tell me," Riya said, his voice cold, sharp, stripped of pretense.
"Why do you need this Homunculus?"
Avicebron stepped forward, his tone clinical, detached.
There was no malice in his words — only conviction.
"He is to be the core for My Noble Phantasm: Golem Keter Malkuth."
"A perfect creation."
"One that transcends the limitations of mortal flesh."
"A golem that embodies life itself."
Riya's eyes narrowed. "And once complete?"
"It will surpass humanity," Avicebron said simply.
"Guide mankind to a new Eden."
There it was.
The reason Revelation had led him here.
A whisper from the heavens wrapped in blood and steel.
Riya clicked his tongue, irritation pulsing beneath his skin. "Unacceptable."
The declaration hung in the air like thunder.
The Black Faction flinched.
Even Darnic's composed mask cracked slightly.
"I don't care what you think," Riya continued, his voice now echoing with subtle power.
"As Ruler, I deem this a threat to humanity itself," Riya said coldly.
"That Noble Phantasm, if completed, wouldn't save humanity — it would overpower it."
"Something with that kind of unchecked power has no place in any future."
Avicebron's fingers twitched, and magic thrummed faintly around his robes — a silent challenge.
Before tensions could ignite into violence, Vlad Tepes raised a hand, his voice iron and cold.
"If the Ruler has judged," he said, "we are bound to accept."
The words fell like a gavel.
Final.
Binding.
Darnic gritted his teeth, jaw tight, eyes burning.
But even he — master manipulator, puppetmaster of the Black Faction — knew better than to cross both Vlad and the spiritual authority of a Ruler.
Silence.
Then, without waiting for more protest, Riya walked to the wounded Homunculus.
His boots crunched over dried leaves and scattered stones.
Muramasa followed behind, wordless, his sword hand resting loosely by his side — prepared for trouble, even as he moved like a shadow.
Riya crouched beside the Homunculus.
The boy's eyes, dull with pain, flickered open — barely.
No words came.
Only a shallow breath.
"Still alive," Muramasa muttered. "Barely."
He scooped the boy into his arms with practiced gentleness, like lifting something fragile and sacred.
The Homunculus whimpered but didn't resist.
Astolfo took a hesitant step forward, heart caught between hope and panic. "Wait—!"
Riya's gaze pinned him in place.
"You stay."
Astolfo blinked. "But—"
"You're contracted to the Black Faction," Riya cut in.
"You can't come."
"You're no good to him now."
Astolfo's hands trembled at his sides, knuckles white.
He looked ready to defy everything — Master, War, Command Seals — just to follow.
But he didn't.
After a long pause, he bowed his head.
Tears slipped down his cheeks in silence.
"Please protect him," he whispered.
Muramasa nodded once, shifting the Homunculus' weight in his arms.
Riya turned without a word, cloak fluttering behind him as he moved through the dark woods.
Out of the camp.
Away from the others.
Out of the lies.
Away from the twisted future promised by men who thought themselves gods.
As they walked, the forest lightened.
Dawn peeled over the treetops, slivers of gold cutting through the mist like divine fingers.
The world stirred from its slumber.
Riya looked up at the sky, the warmth of sunlight brushing against his face.
He let out a low sigh.
"Damn it… I missed my chance to sleep."
Muramasa chuckled quietly.
"Guess you'll dream some other time."