NOVEL NEXT Chapter 17: The Hand of Jacob
A Campione is a king, for they have slain the gods of heaven and seized their divine powers.
A Campione is a tyrant, for they wield the Authorities plundered from the gods to command the earth and its people.
A Campione is a devil king, for among mortals, none can oppose their might!
…
In the vast expanse of the desert, a lone figure trudged forward. From a distance, he appeared as a bedraggled traveler lost to the sands—a desperate man battling nature's cruelty, teetering on the edge of survival.
But a closer look revealed a stark contrast. The young man, though dressed in rags barely clinging to his form, strode with unwavering resolve. Even under the merciless sun, his skin bore little sweat, and his posture remained proud, his pace unrelenting.
This was Roy, freshly ascended to the rank of Campione.
"Metatron… who knows where that angel fled to," Roy muttered. He had been wandering the desert, hoping to catch the faint trace of the wounded angel's presence. Campione shared a peculiar bond with Heretic Gods—an unexplainable connection that allowed them to instantly recognize one another upon meeting. Roy was relying on this to track Metatron's essence.
In their battle, Metatron had suffered severe injuries. If the angel lacked regenerative or restorative abilities, full recovery would take a long time. This was the ideal time to strike. Roy didn't want to squander such an opportunity.
However, the time spent in Pandora's magic ritual had cost him dearly. Metatron had likely fled far beyond his reach. Searching for a single Heretic God hiding somewhere on Earth's 510 million square kilometers was an endeavor well beyond even a Campione's capabilities.
"Trying to find him on my own is futile. I'll need manpower," Roy concluded, stroking his chin.
As the Devil King of the earth, summoning followers was a trivial matter for him. The moment he declared his desire for subordinates, countless mage associations would clamor to serve him, eager to bask in the shadow of his power.
But Roy wasn't one to accept just anyone. He sought allies of substantial influence—individuals or organizations that commanded respect both in the mystical and mundane realms.
"If I'm going to build my own faction, it has to be worth my while," Roy mused. "But starting from scratch is a waste of time. With my power as a Campione, loyalty won't be an issue."
Roy's eyes lit up as a plan formed. "The Vatican. That's where I'll start."
Having slain Michael, the One Like God, Roy saw himself as Michael's earthly incarnation. His Authority resonated with the archangel's divine nature, making him a figure the Church should revere.
"With Michael's name, I'll purge heretical gods and annihilate blasphemous foes. That aligns perfectly with their doctrine. Let them kneel before me as my devoted servants!"
Roy's mind was made up. His destination was Rome—the heart of Catholicism.
Whether the Church would submit to him was irrelevant. Roy was the Devil King, and the world would bend to his will.
"To live as a king means to act like one," Roy muttered to himself. He believed in embodying his role. As Laura's brother in the world of Index, he had strived to be the best sibling he could be. Now, as a Campione, he would act with the authority and ruthlessness befitting a devil king.
"If they submit, good. If they resist… I'll use Holy Right to crush two thousand years of their history."
A wry smile crossed his face. "And when Michael's power judges them, people will blame the Church for failing their God—not the angel. After all, Michael's righteousness is absolute."
Roy quickened his pace, his steps light and confident. Though his Authority, Holy Right, included a power suited for travel, it had usage limits. Wasting it on mundane tasks seemed imprudent. Instead, he continued on foot, searching for signs of civilization.
His right hand was wrapped in a crimson cloth—a piece of the Shroud of Turin he had taken from the magical workshop beneath the desert. The reason for this peculiar binding lay in one of his seven Authorities, a power tied to the "Lord of Hosts" and the "King of Kings"—the true God of Christianity, Yahweh.
This particular Authority was immensely powerful but equally volatile. Without restraint, it manifested abnormal phenomena around his right hand, forcing Roy to wrap it with the holy relic to suppress its effects.
…
After hours of walking, Roy finally spotted a hill in the distance. The base of the hill bustled with activity. Cars were parked nearby, and people were scattered across the site, digging and exploring.
"Archaeologists?" Roy surmised, narrowing his eyes.
A blond-haired man in his late twenties, noticing Roy's disheveled appearance, hurried toward him.
"Hey there, friend! You look like you could use some help!" the man called out in English, his tone warm and welcoming.
As he approached, the man added, "Do you need a doctor? Or maybe a phone to call the Jerusalem embassy?"
Upon closer inspection, the man froze momentarily, surprised by Roy's youthful appearance. The boy seemed no older than fifteen or sixteen. His silver hair and peculiar double pupils gave him an otherworldly aura—simultaneously childlike, ageless, and intimidating.
"Uh… do you need me to contact your parents?" the man asked hesitantly.
Roy smiled faintly. "Just water will do."
"Of course! One moment!"
The man scurried off, fetching a bottle of water. Despite Roy's youthful demeanor, the archaeologist couldn't shake the primal fear that gnawed at him—a feeling akin to standing before a predator.
Taking the water, Roy confirmed his suspicions: he was in Israel.
"So, what are you working on here? Archaeology?" he asked, feigning polite curiosity.
The man perked up, eager to explain. "Yes, exactly! I'm a doctoral student, assisting my professor on a dig. We're searching for the legendary First Temple—Solomon's Temple. While the Bible describes King Solomon and his temple, archaeological evidence is scarce, leading some to question his existence entirely."
He gestured toward the hill. "This area, Mount Moriah, is believed to be the heart of ancient Jerusalem. Many traditionalists think Solomon's Temple stood here. We're hoping to uncover its remains."
Roy nodded thoughtfully. "Solomon's Temple, huh? The temple of the wise King Solomon. Now that's interesting."
His gaze shifted to the archaeologists carefully excavating the hill. Their meticulous efforts amused him; their reverence for the site seemed almost excessive.
Roy, however, had no patience for subtlety.
Raising his foot, he channeled divine power into the ground and stomped hard.
"BOOM!"
The earth trembled violently. The blond man yelped, falling to the ground as Mount Moriah began to collapse. Sand cascaded, rocks shattered, and deep fissures split the terrain. The hill cracked and crumbled, revealing hidden structures beneath its surface.
"An earthquake?! What's happening?!"
"Careful! Get back!"
"Mount Moriah is collapsing!"
The archaeologists shouted in panic, scrambling for safety as the ground tore itself apart.
Roy stood calmly amidst the chaos, his expression unreadable. He was waiting—waiting for the buried remnants of the ancient temple to reveal themselves.
This was the power of one of his seven Authorities, the only one without usage limits. As long as he had divine power to sustain it, he could invoke this Authority endlessly.
It was the ancient grappling technique described in the Bible—the one used to wrestle with angels.
The Hand of Jacob.