Chapter 280

[Third Person's PoV] 

"Hmm~ How exactly should I go about this?" Epsilon mused, perched elegantly atop a rooftop with her legs crossed. The moon's illumination bathed her in a ghostly glow, its light reflecting off her teal-colored hair as she gazed down toward the church below.

A soft smirk curled her lips. "Luckily, it's nighttime, which means almost no one is around... well, no one that doesn't deserve to die, that is~."

Swaying side to side, she absentmindedly strummed the strings of her axe-guitar, the vibrations humming through her fingers. She was in a rather good mood.

"But then there's the matter of who exactly should suffer..." she sighed dramatically. "It's not just the church itself at fault, but those who support them as well. Decisions, decisions…"

Epsilon rolled her shoulders and shrugged. "Whatever I decide, I better do it quickly. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I get to go on a date with my Darlin'~."

With a fluid motion, she pushed herself up, standing gracefully on the rooftop. A delicate hand rested on her pointy chin as she mulled over her options.

'I could use that new Monarch ability I gained… but better not. It's not exactly suited for this kind of mission—not to mention, it'd cause too much panic. I need something subtle but effective.'

A few extra seconds of pondering, then—snap!

Epsilon's grin widened as an idea struck. She began fine-tuning her guitar, the familiar sensation of power surging through her. A radiant blue ethereal glow pulsed from her body, perfectly matching the vibrant hue of her hair.

'I'll use my abilities as a Goddess… I'll create the perfect pitch and frequency—one that only the Cult members will be able to hear. I'll synchronize it to their magic's unique wavelength. Should be easy~ After all, they all give off that same repulsive stench.'

Her dragon-like eyes pulsed, their irises shimmering with raw energy, accelerating her calculations.

With deliberate care, she ran her fingers across the head of the guitar before gliding them gently down the strings.

A melody washed over the city—undetectable, unseen, unheard by anyone except its intended victims.

For the average citizen, the night continued as usual. But for the Cult of Diabolos…

Their bodies froze.

A flicker of horror crossed their faces as the color drained from their eyes, pupils dulling as their minds sank into a trance. Their hands twitched, weapons trembling in their grips.

Epsilon's voice carried no hesitation, no remorse—only cold command.

"Kill yourselves."

Like puppets whose strings had been cut, the Cult members obeyed.

Knives plunged into chests. Swords slit throats. Daggers carved wrists. Some disemboweled themselves, their entrails spilling onto the cold stone. Others fell limp, their bodies collapsing into lifeless heaps.

One by one, they perished, an orchestra of agony playing in perfect, synchronized harmony.

Even the elite—the Seat of the Round Table—was not spared. His body shuddered violently as his own sword hovered inches from his chest, his will desperately resisting. But it was futile.

With painstaking slowness, the blade sank into his heart.

He gasped, his breath hitching as blood seeped from his lips. His knees buckled, his body slumping forward. The sword drove deeper, tearing through his chest until he crumpled into the pooling crimson beneath him.

Epsilon sneered, stepping back to admire her handiwork before flashing a pleased grin.

"Now that's what I call efficiency. One Seat down~," she reported with a satisfied hum.

…

"Why did I have to get this one…" Eta muttered with a dejected sigh.

High above the ground, obscured by the night sky, she lay sprawled across her pillow, her face buried deep within its comforting embrace. "I doubt even Alpha had to deal with this many…"

Below her, the situation was far from ideal.

There wasn't just one Seat of the Round Table.

Not even two.

But three.

Each of them held a vital role in the Cult of Diabolos—one ensured their secrets remained hidden, another eliminated any who posed a threat, and the last worked tirelessly to expand the Cult's influence.

And now, all three had gathered in a heavily fortified mansion, nestled far from any city or kingdom.

It wasn't just the grand building itself that was imposing. The entire compound was crawling with numbered children, acting as unwavering sentries to protect their masters.

Eta's lips quivered as she took in the overwhelming odds.

"Don't cry… don't cry… don't cry…" she whispered to herself, trying and failing to hold back the impending despair.

Her grip on the pillow tightened as she let out a muffled, pitiful whimper. "Why am I so disliked? What could I have possibly done wrong? Is sleeping really such a sin? Why am I punished so unjustly?"

Her trembling fingers curled around the pillow as she sniffled.

But when she lifted her head, her expression had darkened into one of sheer resentment.

Her tired, sleep-deprived eyes locked onto the cult's stronghold, her brows furrowing in a deep scowl.

"This is all their fault…" she grumbled bitterly. "If they didn't exist, I wouldn't have to be awake right now…"

The very thought of losing more sleep fueled her fury.

Stretching out her hand, a massive magic circle surged into existence, engulfing the ground surrounding the cult's base.

Intricate layers of secondary circles stacked themselves in the air, each one carved with meticulously inscribed runes and symbols—knowledge Eta had actually studied during the rare moments she wasn't asleep.

The magic formations extended outward, growing larger and larger, until the final and most massive one hovered right in front of her hand.

Her dragon-like eyes gleamed with unrestrained anger.

"Perish, you parasitic worms!" Eta roared, her voice reverberating through the air.

Below, the cult members jolted in alarm.

They had sensed the overwhelming surge of magic, but their bodies barely had time to react before the attack was unleashed.

A flash.

A deafening boom.

And then—

A radiant beam of destruction erupted from Eta's outstretched palm, its power amplified exponentially by the layered magic circles.

The energy tore through the night sky like a vengeful comet.

In mere seconds, the devastating blast struck the cult's headquarters.

The ground split apart. The earth melted into bubbling lava, swallowing everything in its path. Shockwaves rippled outward, triggering violent earthquakes that obliterated the surrounding landscape.

Nothing remained.

Not a single trace of the mansion.

Not a single trace of the numbered children.

Not a single trace of the three Seats of the Round Table.

By the time the light faded, all that was left was a scorched crater—molten, seething, and utterly devoid of life.

Eta let out a deep, satisfied scoff as the final magic circles flickered and shattered into fragments.

"That's what you get…" she muttered under her breath. "Three more Seats down."

Then, with an exhausted groan, she collapsed back onto her pillow, repeatedly slamming her fist against it.

"Now. Let. Me. Sleep. In. Peace!!"

---

Deep within the Shadow Realm, Cid watched the events unfold, his expression calm and unreadable.

And then—he smiled.

"Good work, everyone…" his voice echoed. "That's all ten. Your work is now complete, you're allowed to rest easy now knowing you have extinguished the Cult from this plane of existence"

The weight of those words settled over them like a final, resounding bell.

All that remained of the Cult of Diabolos were stragglers—mere remnants of an empire that no longer existed.

Their mission… the one they had devoted their entire childhoods to… was complete.

Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta—

And even Eta—

All of them, although stationed in different parts of the world, gained faint smiles, the unspoken truth washing over them like a long-awaited dawn.

The Cult of Diabolos was no more.

Their war was finally over.