FFF Class Auto Hero: The Weakest Class Turned Out To Be The Strongest?-Chapter 32: Not of This World

Suddenly, Lunareio raised Eidolon Noctis, his Phantom Moon Spear, into the sky.

A colossal blue magic circle bloomed above them, with the moon phased in the outer rims, stretching wide across the heavens, its runes pulsing with moonlight.

Veyrn’s eyes widened in disbelief. "That magic circle... its size is incredible."

Harrow corrected him. "Veyrn... that’s not magic," he said grimly. "It’s an Authority."

Lunareio’s voice cut through the tension, low and cold behind the demon mask. "Gregor," he said.

"Step aside. You’re in the way."

Gregor’s eyes widened for a moment, but as he gazed at the sheer intensity in his lord’s eyes, he couldn’t help but feel proud and excited. He bowed gracefully.

"As you wish... my lord."

In the next instant, his body unraveled into black shadows, vanishing into the air.

With him gone, the massive circle above began to pulse like a heartbeat in the sky. The wind itself seemed to still, as if nature dared not interrupt what was to come.

Veyrn instinctively took a step back, his breathing shallow. "So he must be the cult leader that sent those crazed women. Then we will need to capture and interrogate him."

Harrow didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on Lunareio, eyes narrowed, trying to assess him—not just as a threat, but as a being altogether different. Authorities were abilities that were not the realm of mortals. It was the privilege of gods, their chosen Avatars who would need to be demigods first before they could pull off such a thing. There were also Realm Eaters, and those who had been touched by something beyond the veil of reality.

Harrow’s aura suddenly surged again, cloaking him in writhing black mist. "Veyrn..."

"...prepare yourself. This man... he isn’t human... nor demigod... he’s something else entirely."

Veyrn narrowed his eyes at the sky, squinting at the colossal sigil as if trying to decipher some elaborate trick.

"Tch. Overdramatic," he muttered, brushing the dust off his coat. "It’s probably just a high-tier illusion spell. I’ve seen greater spectacles in the Sorcery Tournaments of Aetherhold."

Harrow didn’t speak. His silence was warning enough.

Veyrn didn’t catch it—or chose not to. He rolled his shoulders, raising his hand lazily as magical runes shimmered across his forearm.

"I’ve got a containment spell and a null seal that should shut this down," Veyrn said, stepping forward with unearned confidence. "Whatever trick he’s pulling, I’ll dispel it."

"Your arrogance is starting to become annoying," Lunareio said, his voice echoing through the heavens like the toll of a divine bell.

The colossal moon sigils on the magic circle above pulsed once, brighter.

"No matter. It is the responsibility of the gods to provide mortals with enlightenment."

He tilted his right wrist with the slightest motion, the Phantom Moon Spear shimmering in his hand.

"With but a whisper, I command..."

His voice was so gentle, yet it seemed to echo like thunder.

"Luminous Decree: Moonlight Rain."

The massive celestial magic circle flared blindingly, runes spinning outward in cascading rings of argent light. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath—then the skies cracked open, all the clouds in the area disappeared, allowing for a full and beautiful sight of the moon.

From the glowing magic circle, spectral versions of Lunareio’s Phantom Moon Spear began to fall like shooting stars.

Each one was forged from pure moonlight, honed and radiant, hissing as they cut through the atmosphere as they rained down.

At first, they came slow—several spears crashing into the mountainside behind Veyrn, obliterating stone and earth in blinding white explosions.

Then they poured.

Like a rainstorm of death, thousands—no, tens of thousands—of luminous spears descended from the sky in a sweeping deluge that drowned the land in divine wrath.

"RUN, VEYRN!" Harrow’s voice roared, pure panic breaking through his usual composed exterior.

Veyrn’s smugness evaporated as the ground erupted around him, glowing spears spearing down mere inches from his limbs. He stumbled backward, hand raised with a reflexive barrier, but the first impact with a spear shattered it like glass.

"What the hell is this!?" he screamed, rolling aside as another spear struck the spot he’d just been.

Each impact left glowing craters, tendrils of silver flame burning across the scorched earth.

Trees were vaporized, the terrain reshaped as if the heavens themselves sought to erase their presence.

Harrow blurred forward, shoving Veyrn aside just as three spears converged where he’d stood.

Black mist surged from Harrow’s cloak as he threw up a wide veil of darkness to buy them precious seconds of reprieve.

But even that veil began to crack and splinter beneath the endless rain of radiant death.

"This is no spell, Veyrn!" Harrow growled, voice tight with strain. "This is a divine Authority!"

Harrow’s purple eyes gleamed with a rare glint of dread, his voice sharp as he gritted his teeth.

"Didn’t you notice the moon phase sigils? And the words he said just now?"

Veyrn, crouched behind a shattered boulder as radiant spears tore the land around him apart, blinked in confusion.

Harrow’s voice deepened. "Those are not just symbols. That invocation... that Authority..."

He looked up at the colossal magic circle, the moon phase sequence glowing in sacred order.

"Those abilities... they belong to only one god."

The words came like a death sentence.

"It is he who watches over the night... the one who silences stars..."

"The Dream Eater."

Harrow turned to Veyrn.

"Lunareio."

Veyrn paled. The name struck something primal in his soul, like a buried memory of nightmares long forgotten... one of the few Origin gods in existence, beings said to have existed before life began.

A divine being whispered of in forbidden tomes, invoked only in madness or desperate prayer. A god that rarely answered—mostly took.

"Impossible," Veyrn murmured, voice shaking. "That’s just an old myth. Legends say he died 500 years ago—"

"Then explain this!" Harrow roared, gesturing to the divine barrage falling from the heavens, to the very Authority reshaping the world around them.

Above them, Lunareio stood unmoving beneath the sigil, the ghostly moonlight wrapping around him like a divine mantle. His mask obscured his face, but the power bleeding from him was undeniable. Cold. Vast. Eternal.

And for the first time, Veyrn finally understood why Harrow hadn’t attacked.

Because you don’t raise your hand against a god and expect to survive.