This Isn't an E*otic Game?-Chapter 69: Legiones Cæteratus

After Mammon was cast out of the mental realm, Asmodeus hurried toward Amayel’s collapsed soul.

[“Tsk.”]

Even under her protection, was it because he was just a fragile human soul?

His condition was highly unstable.

[“It’s going to take a bit of time to stabilize him.”]

But it wasn’t a problem.

She had just absorbed an overwhelming amount of divine essence—enough to heal Amayel’s soul without any difficulty.

Just as ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) she reached out, gently picking him up to begin the healing process—

Amayel stirred, opening his eyes in a dazed state, looking up at Asmodeus.

[“Don’t open your eyes. Just rest.”]

Asmodeus smiled softly and reassured him, but Amayel didn’t close his eyes.

Struggling to keep them open, he forced himself to look up at the Demon Lord of Lust.

“...Lilia... Goddess?”

At those words, Asmodeus realized something—

She wasn’t in the muscular male form she usually took. She was in her true form.

For some reason, Amayel always seemed to draw strength from that masculine figure.

She was about to carefully shift back into it when Amayel suddenly grabbed onto her collar with surprising force.

His voice, barely a whisper, trembled as though he was on the verge of fading.

He sobbed, his words coming out in a desperate wail.

“Don’t... send me to Hell.”

Asmodeus chuckled.

[“Is that what you want?”]

“...People were... in so much pain. If it wasn’t for me, whole families would’ve killed themselves. They did nothing wrong. They were kind people who tried to give me black bread even when they had nothing. But reality crushed them. They were going to die. I had no choice but to use my power to save them.”

[“I know. I saw it all.”]

“...I’ll take responsibility. I’ll be a martyr... Before my power spirals out of control, I’ll make sure to sacrifice myself. So please... don’t send me to Hell.”

Watching Amayel sobbing like a child, Asmodeus burst into laughter.

How foolish.

He had no idea what truly resided within him, yet he feared Hell this much.

[“Don’t worry. I’m here for you. Amayel. For now, just let go and rest.”]

She gently stroked his head.

His grip on her collar loosened slightly.

But still, he fought to stay awake, stubbornly keeping his eyes open.

“...This city... Mammon is here. Scrap Yard... Mammon is still here.”

[“Yeah. That’s right.”]

“...Save this city. Peter and Anna. Jim and Amy. They’re still in this city. And so many other poor, suffering people are here, too.”

At those words, Asmodeus softly cupped Amayel’s cheek.

[“Is that what you want?”]

“Yes... Lilia is the goddess of the Pantheon, isn’t she? Somehow... protect them. I don’t want to see this city’s people suffer anymore.”

[“It will be as you wish.”]

At her words, Amayel finally let go of her collar.

[“Sleep, Amayel. When you wake up, everything will be alright.”]

“...Why... Why do I have to suffer like this... Can’t I just... be happy for once...?”

Just before drifting off, Amayel mumbled, his voice full of sorrow.

“...Why is Asmodeus inside me...? I never wanted this...”

And then, he completely fell asleep.

Asmodeus held him tightly in her arms and rose to her feet.

She lifted her gaze toward the sky.

She could feel the gods of the Pantheon watching her from above.

The pathway between Heaven and the mortal world had been severely damaged by Lucifer’s actions, making it difficult for divine beings to fully manifest on Earth.

Slowly, Asmodeus summoned her divinity and power.

[“I’ll be busy healing Amayel from now on. So, I’ll leave the remaining remnants of Mammon to you all.”]

Slowly—

For the first time in a long while, she released an overwhelming surge of divine power from her body.

The immense authority she had absorbed from Mammon’s essence began to radiate out, forming a pillar of light that extended beyond Amayel’s body into the mortal realm.

[“Anathema!! Anathema!!”]

[“The sun!! The flames!! Aaaagh!!”]

From all corners of Scrap Yard, the screams of demon worshippers and Hell’s minions erupted.

[“I’ve opened the path.”]

Asmodeus spoke.

[“I’ll leave the cleanup to you.”]

Holding Amayel tightly, she began to heal his soul with her power.

****

[“Awaken.”]

A majestic voice, one she had never heard before, rang out.

Iomene's eyes snapped open.

As she lifted her gaze, she saw a towering man, his face shrouded in radiant light, looking down at her.

She couldn’t see his features, but she instinctively knew who stood before her.

“...Dulaneor?”

Dulaneor said nothing. Instead, he gestured to the side.

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There, a city she knew all too well appeared before her.

A city of steel and steam, built upon colossal factories.

Scrap Yard.

And within Scrap Yard, she saw Mammon’s minions and followers running amok.

[“Run!!”]

[“To the mines where the light cannot reach! Go underground!! Aaaaagh!!”]

They shrieked in terror, their disguises shattered by the massive pillar of light enveloping the city.

As she watched them flee in disarray, an instinctual disgust welled up within her.

“Hellspawn filth...!”

But before she could unleash her fury, she froze.

Her face went pale.

She jolted up violently.

“Ah—Amayel!!”

The sight before her stole the breath from her lungs.

Saint Amayel lay collapsed on the ground.

A gaping wound had been torn through his chest, and his blood-drenched body was motionless.

It felt as though her heart had plummeted into an abyss.

“No... No!! Amayel!!”

She screamed his name, her voice breaking.

Dulaneor dispelled the vision and looked at her directly.

[“Go and protect him. Guard the people of this city. Defend the one you love. This is my command. Do not refuse it.”]

“I will!! I have been training for months for this very moment! Use me as you see fit!!”

At her declaration, Dulaneor lifted her.

[“Show my wrath to the wretched dominion of Hell, Chosen One.”]

A radiant light enveloped her.

And in the next instant—

Iomene realized she was no longer in the imperial palace where she had been resting.

The scent of iron.

The stench of oil.

The suffocating heat of steam.

And amidst it all—

The man she loved lay motionless on the ground, a hole in his chest.

“Amayel!!”

She sprinted toward him, desperate to hold him—

But the pillar of light surrounding his body repelled her with overwhelming force.

Staggering backward, she barely managed to regain her footing before someone pulled her further away.

Kal Lenaro had grabbed her, his grip firm.

“You mustn’t approach the light pillar! If you try to force your way in, you’ll be gravely injured!”

His warning finally brought her back to her senses.

Tearing her gaze away from Amayel, she scanned her surroundings.

A group of labor theorists, clad in ragged clothes and armed with machine guns, pistols, and explosives, stared at her in stunned silence.

After releasing her, Kal Lenaro cautiously bowed his head.

“...I greet Her Highness, the Imperial Princess.”

“Explain. Right now. Tell me exactly what happened.”

Kal Lenaro nodded and quickly summarized what he had witnessed.

“I was speaking with the Saint when suddenly, a mass of melting flesh appeared before me, shrieking in agony before vanishing. Then, the Saint collapsed. And five minutes later, Your Highness appeared.”

Even as he explained, his expression betrayed his own confusion.

But Iomene wasn’t surprised.

She turned her gaze toward the pool of melted flesh that had once been Mammon—then turned away and strode outside.

For sixteen years, she had suffered under the influence of the Evil God’s Fragment.

Her soul was more attuned to the presence of Hell and the Abyss than anyone else.

And now, with the pillar of light preventing any disguises, Hell’s minions had nowhere to hide.

She instinctively followed the stench of Hell’s corruption.

It didn’t take long for her to find them.

A horde of monstrous beings, screaming in agony.

[“To the mines! We must go underground!!”]

[“Anathema!! The flames!! The sun!!”]

[“It burns!! It hurts!! It hurts!!!”]

Massive, twisted abominations, their bodies riddled with dozens of blinking eyes, rampaged through the streets, smashing everything in their path.

Behind them, terrified civilians ran for their lives.

Some of the fleeing labor theorists spotted Kal Lenaro and rushed toward him.

“Comrade Lenaro!! There were demon worshippers and black magicians hidden among us!!”

“They suddenly transformed into monsters and started destroying everything in sight!!”

“Bullets don’t work!! Our pistols and machine guns can’t take them down, Comrade!!”

Hearing this, Iomene chuckled.

She nodded.

“Mundane weapons cannot kill such abominations.”

She stepped forward, walking through the crowd toward the approaching monsters.

“Your Highness!! It’s too dangerous!!”

The labor theorists tried to stop her—

But the divine radiance surging from her body made them instinctively recoil.

The sigil of Dulaneor engraved on her hand began to glow.

And the monsters charging toward her—

They noticed.

[“Dulaneor!!”]

[“The mad god!!”]

[“Why are the Pantheon’s dogs already here?!”]

[“She’s alone!!”]

[“If we want to reach the mines, this is the fastest route!”]

[“We don’t have time to go around!”]

[“Break through! Tear her apart!!”]

[“For Mammon!!”]

The demon worshippers let out simultaneous battle cries and lunged at her.

Iomene held no weapon.

She took no defensive stance.

Instead, she slowly raised her stigmatized hand to the heavens.

And spoke.

“Legiones Cæteratus.”

From the sky, dozens of streaks of light rained down.

“Assemble.”

The moment she clenched her fist, the light vanished—

And in its place stood warriors unlike anything the people of Scrap Yard had ever seen.

Towering figures, each standing over two meters tall.

In their hands were massive firearms that more closely resembled heavy machine guns than rifles.

And in their other hands—

Weapons of absurd proportions.

Gargantuan swords and hammers, far too large for any ordinary human to wield.

Their broad, plated pauldrons gleamed under the dim Scrap Yard sky.

Their armor, crafted from adamantium and mithril, radiated an unyielding presence.

Helmets painted in a chilling white.

Codex inscriptions engraved across their battle-worn armor.

The White Order’s most formidable Holy Knights.

And alongside them—

The most experienced battle priests, hardened by countless wars.

The summoned warriors turned to Iomene, their summoner.

One of them, standing at the front, bowed his head.

“The First Company has answered your call, Saintess. Command us.”

Iomene pointed toward the charging demon worshippers.

“Kill them.”

A simple, absolute command.

Their response did not come in words.

The First Company raised their guns.

“Cover your ears.”

A single warning was given.

Then—

The enormous handguns, each the size of an average man's torso, erupted with fire.

A cannon blast.

Not a gunshot—

A cannon blast tore through the air.

And with it—

The bodies of the demon worshippers exploded like paper before a storm.