As a rule of thumb, Gemini was no stranger to pain. Ever since he turned away from the Constellation Heroes, he had walked down a thorny path, with pain at as a constant companion. There was something to be said about being able to tolerate a drum solo by blazing hammers bashing down on his soft, unprotected brain, but evidently, there were worse agonies out there.

Like the feeling of being vertically bisected four or so times.

“Feeling better?” Thasvia asked, her emerald eyes trying to project some concern.

Gemini shelved his pain, locking it into a very unfortunate thought strand, before sitting up slowly. Taking a few deep breaths, he watched as the darkness in his vision ebbed away slowly, restoring his ability to look around.

His eyes narrowed. “Where are we?”

“We’re currently hiding in a bunch of caves,” said Thasvia. “Along with the remnants of the expedition force.”

“Remnants?” A small chill ran down Gemini’s spine. “What happened?”

“The Abyss Sovereign executed a masterful move, one that transcended the Demon God’s parting blow,” Thasvia replied. “He…well, it would be easier if you just sensed it for yourself. The Abyss Sovereign modified natural law, making it such that—”

“A particular sigil doesn’t work,” Gemini completed, having sensed for himself the modification that had occurred. “Huh. What sigil are we talking about here, though? You make it sound really important.”

“It’s the sigil that transforms energy into bullets,” Thasvia replied.

“Let’s just assume that I know what you mean, and get on with it,” said Gemini. “So? What did this restriction do?”

“It rendered every single Shot artefact inoperable, along with the main guns of the North’s Locomotives,” Thasvia replied.

Gemini took a deep breath. “That’s…was the Abyss Sovereign someone skilled in artificing and sigils?”

“Probably. Or he had advice. Either way, he has struck another decisive blow to the expedition. The Squire-ranked fliers and most of the Knights are now completely useless. The North’s Locomotives, though useful as a transport, now no longer have any offensive capability.” Thasvia shrugged.

“In that case—”

“You’ve guessed correctly. The North’s Locomotives have already picked up the Squires and the Knights, taking them and departing from this continent. With the abrupt crippling of all Shot artefacts, the War Council has already guessed that Camp Starfall has been overrun, so there’s no way they could use the teleportation formation there. Therefore, they decided to end the participation of the low-level cannon fodder here,” said Thasvia.

“Cannon fodder?” Gemini stared at the Breath-maker, who shrugged in response. “Not my words. I’m just quoting directly from Queen Hyperion in that decision. It’s not my fault if she sounds more stuck-up than Anren, who at least valued life without looking at their true value.”

“You don’t like her?” Gemini asked.

Thasvia snorted. “If there was any one mistake of us gods I want to erase, it would be her. Old fogie a few thousand years old, but doesn’t want to learn or pick up new things, freezing her nation in some perpetual backwardness.”

“Harsh.” Gemini, however, knew better than to point out that Thasvia herself was an ultra-old fogey whose age was more than ten times of Queen Hyperion’s. Mentioning that out loud would just be asking for it, and in this weakened state of his, there were many ways Thasvia could take revenge on him.

“If you hear the cries the wind carries, you won’t think that way, but I suppose that’s true for other nations too,” Thasvia replied.

“I see.” Gemini nodded. “But why didn’t you take action?”

“We didn’t exactly have the leeway to,” Thasvia replied. “Maintaining our existence, the Great Divide and the world was more than enough to occupy us. Saving people? That’s something mortals must do on their own. At most, we can support outstanding people, and that’s all. But enough about this. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, but why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask?” Thasvia repeated. “We obviously need to finalise our last plan of attack. Remember what I told you about. The Paragons and Demigods are going to launch a last-ditch attack on the Cradle of Creation.”

Gemini thought through her words, and took in a deep breath. “Why are we in a rush?”

“Remember that thing you said about no killing?” Thasvia asked.

“The Abyss Sovereign’s own limitations. What of it?” Gemini asked.

“What if I told you that this limitation might not last forever?” Thasvia folded her arms. “That our days of being protected by the Abyss Sovereign’s own limits are decreasing?”

“…Go on.”

“When Celestia first made itself known to the world, do you remember seeing a faint grey border of sorts? The one that swept across the Wildlands, and is currently closing in on the Cradle of Creation?” Thasvia asked.

“I do, but what of it? As I recall, it links the lives of all they touch to Celestia, no?” Gemini asked.

“Correct. Within the next few decades, fertility rates will drop and whatnot, but that’s not just the only aspect to it,” Thasvia replied. “However, what if the Abyss Sovereign perceived lives that have been linked to Celestia differently? What if, in that warped mind of his, he saw these people as those who needed help, needed salvation? Ending their lives here would simply enable them to be reborn in Celestia, right? What if those limits against killing don’t apply to these people?”

Gemini breathed in sharply. “No way. That’s too—”

“It’s a risk that I don’t want to take. What happens if he goes mad one day? With that stupendous might of his, honed by limits that no longer apply, what can’t he do?” The Breath-maker shook her head. “The War Council is debating this possibility as we speak. Maybe you won’t be convinced by me, but their words…”

The Demon Sovereign closed his left eye for a few seconds, and then forced himself up. “Maybe. You’re right. This is no time to be recovering in peace. Let’s go.”