My name is Jerry Martin. Twelfth child of the Martin bloodline. The last-born. The overlooked.
Six months ago, my father—Austin Martin—failed a coup to seize control of the Republic. A small but powerful nation, governed by a ruler 'chosen by the people.' Chosen only to serve the people. Only for a limited time.
But that's all just a lie.
A Republic is meant to be ruled by those elected by the people. Restia, however, is a nation run by a royal family disguised as governors. No commoner has ever sat on that chair.
Only heirs.
From the heir, the people 'choose' their next ruler. A choice wrapped in illusion.
My father—Minister of Finance and State Security—saw the cracks in that system. He saw opportunity. And he took it.
He rallied the people. Used his position, his power, his reach into the underworld. He fed them stories. Fed them hope. Fed them lies.
Oh, how glorious it was.
Watching the common filth devour every word. Their eyes glistened with sympathy whenever we staged our little dramas. I could hardly hold back my laughter.
But in the end, that thing of a father failed. The coup collapsed. And we fled in shame to Melt— The land of Immunity. Where no one can touch us. Where no one can punish us.
How I wish to turn those things into paste for ruining it all. But I can't just go after those four. Not yet. First, I'll have to take care of the eleven before me.
But how wrong we were.
In this world, none is above the law— Except for us, of course. Or so we believed.
But the world claims differently.
Among the eyesores of religion, there exist two beings who stand above all. Above the Pope, above the Saints, they are the Avatars and the Apostles.
They walk as gods among men, but they are not gods. They are puppets. Servants of the divine beings they worship. Their mere existence is an affront— to us.
To me.
Who do they think they are?
Who do their gods think they are?
They do not belong to this world, yet they roam freely, deciding our fate, shaping our faith. And yet— deep down, there is admiration. One I wish I never had, but I do.
And I want that power. The power to rule over all. To place every soul beneath my feet.
But even with the threat of those beings, those four remain unfazed. Even when the coup collapsed, their expressions held no disappointment, no anger.
Only… nonchalance.
It's unsettling.
Their behaviour isn't right.
And that's what scares me.
Do they know something I don't? Is the coup not their ultimate goal? Then what is? Why do they remain unfazed? Unchanged?
What are they waiting for?
For months, I sat pondering and preparing. As did the eleven.
Waiting.
Watching.
Waiting and watching for the right moment.
But the four did nothing. So we kept watching. Kept waiting.
Until today.
Those four— they may have given off a calm, eerie presence. But throughout all our surveillance, they did nothing. Pretentious bastards. Their aura was a performance. A scare tactic. And we saw through it.
Tonight, we strike.
Yet before any of us could move, a voice echoed through the mansion. Mysterious, uninvited, unseen.
It spoke of a myth long forgotten, but there were inconsistencies. From the tales those four told us as children, to the ones recorded in the records— this version was false.
And yet… they said nothing. Even when the voice claimed it to be a "near-faithful rendition."
But their faces— their faces showed fear. Fear I hadn't seen before. Fear I had longed to see. It was there. Finally there.
Or so I thought.
A second look said it all. Those faces— I'd seen them before. Several times. They weren't genuine, they were masks. The faces of actors.
The voice continued.
It began the tale of another myth. One we'd never heard before, one not in the records, one that doesn't exist.
Yet those four responded to it. Not with denial, not with correction, only commentary. And whenever any of us twelve tried to speak— our voices wouldn't come, our mouths wouldn't open. We were mute.
Then it gave a command.
One that silenced all:
"LET THERE BE SILENCE."
I can't believe it. That thing was able to silence me.
Me.
Me of all people.
I can't accept this. I mustn't accept this. But it's the truth, a truth I cannot escape. Such power. Such raw power. I want it. I must have it. That voice doesn't deserve it. It has to be mine.
Mine.
Mine.
At the end of the tale, she walked in.
Just the sight of her nearly took my breath away. She is something I cannot describe— beyond the common filth, yet beneath me.
She's the only one I'd ever consider to stand beside me.
Oh, what I'll do to her. What wouldn't I do?
For everything that roams this world belongs to me. From the sky above to the earth below— all mine. And so is she.
Her name is Helen Phi.
But she has another name.
One she goes by no more.
One not to be spoken.
That's right. She's my woman, I'm the only one who deserves to know that name. Not even that voice. She said his name was Light.
He shall be the first—once I'm done with them.
I must rid myself of Father, and his things. They know of her identity. No one should.
All must be gone.
Her sweet voice should never be forced to feel anger over such beings.
But there's one thing I cannot comprehend.
Is she stupid?
An idiot?
Or what?
Did all her intellect go into keeping that beauty?
She goes around calling those four Maguses. Doesn't she understand what that word means?
And those four—
They just stand there, acting high and mighty, when they only have two to five Mana Cores among them.
Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic.
I, who possess seven and a half Mana Cores, dare not claim the title of Magus just yet. But I will.
I'll be one. I'll surpass them all. I'll have to educate her properly. Just wait, dear.
I'll be free of these bounds in a second.