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Keter’s gravestone was simple, which suited him well. He was someone who had disliked anything flashy in life and who had come empty-handed and left empty-handed. Even the brief funeral mass reflected his personality.
“...”
The mood was heavy, but no one was crying. Three whole years had already passed since Keter died, but it was not that time had dulled their grief. It was because the war was still ongoing.
The Demon King Rukan and Godfather Alkione, the true power behind the throne, were dead, but chimeras and monsters from the Demon Capital remained like scattered remnants. And even if the war was over, that did not mean the economy and public morale would recover overnight.
The fog of Liqueur was the same. It had thinned a great deal compared to before, but it had not vanished completely.
The world was still at war, desperately and brutally. Even Keter’s funeral today had only been possible because they had squeezed out what little time and resources they had left.
The mourners began leaving one by one. Their steps were hurried, proof of how busy they all were. The cemetery, which had been packed just moments ago, quickly became quiet. Now only five people remained: Hissop, the head of the house; Elder Besil, Chief Butler Jacques, Katherine, the commander of the Magic Archer Corps; and Daat, the leader of the secret organization Arcana.
Hissop’s face was full of bitterness as he looked at Daat.
“Seeing you here makes it feel real. Keter really is dead.”
“If he were still alive even after killing a god, then Big Brother would be the god.”
Only the kings of each...
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