A Certain Multiverse's Holy Right

A boy who appeared no older than fifteen or sixteen stepped into the room. His complex yet elegant cardinal robes had been modified for ease of movement, adding an air of practicality to their splendor. His androgynous features made it momentarily difficult to discern his gender, and his double pupiled eyes glinted with a cold, unsettling light that starkly contrasted with the gentle smile on his lips.

Neither entirely male nor female, neither entirely child nor adult—his visage alone was enough to confuse those who saw him. This otherworldly presence wasn't a result of his divine authority as a Campione but a natural aura unique to the individual known as Roy Crowley.

Even at first sight, everyone in the room recognized him.

He was the seventh Godslayer, a being who had slain the Archangel Michael—a feat that placed him at the pinnacle of the world.

"Your Majesty…"

The Purple Knight, leader of the Capital of Lilies, went pale. Sweat began to trickle down his forehead as his lips parted in a dry gasp. His body trembled, his former arrogance utterly obliterated. The haughty demeanor he had displayed when addressing Erica Blandelli moments ago had vanished, replaced by unrestrained fear.

Though Roy hadn't unleashed any of his powers, the sheer presence of his divine aura—the immense, almost alien divine power that he commanded as a result of slaying a god—was enough to terrify every knight and magician in the room.

This vast, unfathomable power negated almost all magic ordinary humans could muster simply by existing.

The younger magicians and knights felt an uncontrollable fear creeping through them, while the veteran leaders of associations such as Olden Dame, Bronze-Black Cross, and She-Wolf managed to maintain some composure. Yet even Paolo Blandelli, the ever-graceful and calm leader of Copper-Black Cross and Italy's strongest knight, grew visibly serious as he observed Roy.

Though not all present had encountered Heretic Gods firsthand, the leaders of these magical associations had at least interacted with other Godslayers before. Unlike the incomprehensible Heretic Gods, Godslayers were still human, albeit with godlike powers. As such, one could theoretically communicate with them, provided their temperament was respected.

Understanding a Campione's personality and avoiding offense was a fundamental survival strategy.

Among the Campione of the world, the most fearsome were the Eastern Cult Leader, known for her supreme arrogance, and the Marquis Voban from Eastern Europe, infamous for his cruelty and ruthlessness.

While the Seven Sisters Alliance had never interacted with Roy Crowley directly, reports indicated that his disposition was similar to Voban's—self-centered and utterly unpredictable. For subordinates, such traits made him a particularly difficult ruler to serve.

"Why is no one speaking?" Roy's voice broke the oppressive silence.

He strode through the narrow path leading to the round table, his movements calm and deliberate. Without hesitation, he pulled out the chair at the head of the table and seated himself as though it were his rightful place.

Resting his left elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand, his gaze swept over the leaders of the magical associations, lingering momentarily on Erica Blandelli and Liliana Kranjcar. Both fourteen, the two girls represented striking contrasts—Erica with her bold and vibrant beauty, and Liliana with her composed and knightly elegance.

Roy, though his memory of the original story was faint, recognized their importance. These girls, perhaps favored by fate and the world itself, were undeniably exceptional in both talent and beauty.

Letting the silence linger just long enough to build tension, Roy finally spoke, his tone casual but cutting:

"I understand why you are wavering between me and Salvatore Doni. After all, Doni is not only your ally but also my fellow Godslayer and senior—though only by less than two years.

"As the leader of the Italian magical alliance, Doni isn't someone you are directly sworn to, but he is your nominal superior. It's natural for you to hesitate, wondering which of us is stronger and fearing retaliation from whoever you do not choose to support. This is human nature—a display of wisdom, even. Evaluating strength before choosing an ally is only prudent."

Roy's words, marked by rationality and even a degree of empathy, eased some of the tension in the room. Many of the magicians felt a glimmer of hope, believing that this King, contrary to reports, might actually be reasonable and open to discussion.

Seeing this shift, Diana Milito, the leader of Bronze-Black Cross, straightened in her seat and began to speak respectfully:

"Your Majesty, we deeply appreciate your understanding. We—"

"Silence!"

Roy's sudden bark cut Diana off mid-sentence, his voice sharp enough to send shivers down the spines of everyone present. Diana's words faltered, and she swallowed the rest of her thoughts.

"I haven't finished speaking. It's not your place to interrupt me, woman," Roy continued coldly, his once-gentle smile now replaced by a chilling glare. "I recall commanding you all to come to the Vatican to meet me, yet here you are, holding a meeting in Rome instead. Does this mean you intend to defy my orders? Or is it that you do not care about my existence at all?"

A cruel smirk played on his lips as he continued, his tone laced with derision. Roy, despite his hazy recollection of the original story, vividly remembered one thing: the Campione protagonist, Kusanagi Godou, had been used and manipulated by others, treated more like a pawn than the sovereign he was meant to be.

Roy vowed never to let that happen to him.

A Campione was the Devil King of Earth. They needed no validation, no trials to prove their might. Those who doubted his strength would learn it firsthand.

"Perhaps you question my power?" Roy's voice grew colder, slicing through the air like a blade. "Or perhaps you doubt my status as a Campione? Do you expect me to perform like some circus animal to convince you? No. If you need proof, then feel free to test my power—on your own bodies."

His piercing gaze locked onto Diana Milito, leader of Bronze-Black Cross. With a flicker of intent, Roy activated one of his divine authorities.

This was a blatant display of dominance, a calculated show of power to crush any lingering defiance.

The room fell deathly silent, the air heavy with dread. Everyone understood now: this was no mere king. This was a Devil King, one who demanded submission through fear and power.