I Was Summoned to Die, so I’m Climbing the Pantheon for Revenge!

Location: Sunderland Nation – Port Triton – Morning

The morning sun hung bright and heavy over Port Triton, illuminating a city that felt centuries ahead of the rest of the world. While kingdoms like Vaeloria and Frontierra relied on massive stone walls and knights in plated armor, Sunderland was a roaring, hissing testament to the early industrial revolution. The air smelled sharply of ocean brine, burning coal, and the ozone tang of refined mana.

Along the massive concrete docks, military preparations were in full swing. This was not a militia of swordsmen; these were the Sunderland Marine Sentinels. Hundreds of guards stood in rigid formation behind reinforced steel barricades. They were armed with sleek, lever-action magi-rifles—weapons capable of firing highly compressed, armor-piercing magical bolts. Along the harbor walls, massive anti-ship mana cannons hummed with a dangerous, glowing blue lethality, their barrels tracking the open ocean.

Standing on an elevated observation deck above the barricades were the Summoned Heroes of the Eastern Vanguard: Hiroto, Reiji, Kento, Kenji, Yuuto, and Taiyo.

"Their discipline is terrifying," Kento muttered, watching the sentinels lock their rifles into synchronized firing positions. "A volley from those magi-rifles would shred a standard A-Rank monster in seconds."

"It's necessary," Hiroto replied, his tactical eyes fixed on the horizon. He adjusted his collar against the sea breeze. "An unregistered steamship arriving from the direction of the Outland is an unprecedented anomaly. If it's a demonic vanguard, Port Triton is the only thing standing between the Abyss and the capital."

"You really think demons built a steamship?" Taiyo asked, skeptical.

"Demons don't build anything," Reiji said quietly. "They corrupt and destroy. If that ship carries something, it's either a trap or survivors."

"Survivors from the Outland?" Yuuto scoffed. "No one survives the Outland."

"Then let's hope it's a trap," Hiroto said grimly. "Traps we can sink."

Down on the command deck, Commander Vance of the Port Authority raised a brass, rune-inscribed farsight spyglass to his eye. The magical lenses clicked and whirred, zooming in across miles of ocean.

Cutting through the waves with a steady, mechanical thrum was the Iron Leviathan.

"No mounted artillery," Commander Vance muttered to his lieutenant, keeping his eye on the glass. "Hull is heavily plated with wrought iron. Wait... they are hoisting a signal flag on the mainmast. Solid yellow."

Hiroto, who had memorized the maritime codes of the continent during their voyage to Sunderland, narrowed his eyes. "The Quebec Flag. International maritime signal. It means 'My vessel is healthy, and I request free pratique to enter the port.'"

"A demonic invasion wouldn't politely ask for customs clearance," Reiji noted, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt.

"Scan the deck!" Vance ordered. "Living signatures only!"

The spyglass runes flared green as a junior mage completed the detection ritual. "I have visual on the deck," the mage reported, his voice losing some of its tension. "Three humanoid figures. No horns, no abyssal corruption, no monster signatures. The mana density reads as... ordinary civilians."

A murmur rippled through the ranks. Civilians? From the Outland?

"Signal them back," Vance decided. "Green flares. Allow them to berth at Dock Four, but keep all weapons hot. If they so much as twitch wrong, we open fire."

Two bright green flares shot into the clear sky.

Slowly, the Iron Leviathan reduced its engine pressure. The massive steamship glided into the harbor with surprising grace, its thick iron hull bumping gently against the heavily padded concrete of Dock Four. Heavy mooring lines were thrown and secured.

Immediately, two hundred magi-rifles snapped up, aiming directly at the ship's gangplank. The unified click of safety catches disengaging echoed across the dock like a single, metallic heartbeat.

"Attention, crew of the unregistered vessel!" Commander Vance's magically amplified voice boomed across the harbor. "By international maritime law and the safety edicts of the Sunderland Nation, you are ordered to disembark for immediate inspection and identification! Step out with your hands visible, and make no sudden movements!"

Silence hung over the harbor. Even the gulls seemed to hold their breath.

Then, the heavy wooden door of the ship's cabin creaked open.

Flashback: Two Hours Ago – Aboard the Iron Leviathan

In the cramped, wood-paneled captain's quarters, the scent of old paper and sea salt thick in the air, Cain sat across from Sofia and Sebastian. A massive pile of historical ship manifests, naval registries, and survivor reports—all absorbed from the Floor 100 library—was scattered across the table.

"We cannot simply walk into a highly militarized port and say we built a steamship on a deserted island," Cain stated, tapping a ledger with his finger. "They will lock us up in a laboratory and dissect us for the engine blueprints. We need an airtight cover story."

"Then we become ghosts," Sofia said gracefully, sipping her tea as if discussing the weather. "A missing ship. One presumed lost to the Abyss."

"Exactly," Cain nodded. "The Sunderland Sea is treacherous. Dozens of luxury steam-yachts go missing in the storms every decade. If we claim to be a lost vessel blown severely off course, surviving on uncharted islands, they will pity us rather than interrogate us." He pulled a specific manifest from the pile. "I found a perfect match: The Lady Seraphina, a private vessel owned by a minor noble family, lost three years ago during the Great Equinox Storm. All hands were presumed dead. No bodies were ever recovered."

Sebastian leaned over the ledger, his demonic eyes scanning the fine print. "There is a discrepancy, Captain. The manifest of the Lady Seraphina lists only three survivors of note who match our physical profiles. A young noblewoman, a male butler, and a female attendant."

"We have a woman and two men," Sofia pointed out. "Unless Sebastian possesses shape-shifting capabilities?"

"My illusions cover abyssal traits, My Lady," Sebastian apologized smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. "Changing my fundamental gender structure is beyond my current skill set. I am a butler, not a polymorph."

Both the Demon Lord and the Demon Butler slowly turned their heads to look at Cain.

Cain froze. "Absolutely not."

<Host,> Nova's voice chimed in his mind, far too cheerfully for the occasion. <I must remind you that during your initial survival adaptation on Floor 100, you unlocked the [Morphological Template: Female] to bypass a gender-specific labyrinth trap. The template is saved in your physical registry. It remains fully functional.>

"Nova, I will permanently delete your voice module and donate your code to a lesser AI," Cain threatened internally, his mental voice dripping with venom.

<You have made that threat forty-seven times, Host. It has yet to materialize.>

"It makes the most logical sense, Cain," Sofia said, a deeply amused, wicked gleam lighting up her violet eyes. She set down her teacup with a soft clink. "Furthermore, the ledger states the female attendant was eccentric and preferred wearing classic butler suits. You wouldn't even need to wear a dress. Just... change."

"You're enjoying this far too much," Cain accused.

"I have been trapped in a damp basement for centuries," Sofia replied, her smile widening. "Let me have this small joy."

Cain stared at the wall for a long, agonizing minute. He could feel Sebastian's patient, professionally neutral gaze and Sofia's barely contained glee pressing against him from both sides.

He let out a profound sigh that carried the weight of the world. "Fine. But we never, ever speak of this once we hit the mainland. If either of you brings it up in mixed company, I will use [End of Absolute Level Error] on your memories."

"A fair compromise," Sofia nodded serenely.

Sebastian simply bowed. "I shall prepare the docking documents, Captain... or should I say, Miss Ashford."

Cain's eye twitched.

Present Time – Port Triton Docks

The cabin door swung fully open.

First to emerge was Sebastian. He walked down the gangplank with the absolute, flawless poise of a high-society servant who had survived shipwreck and wilderness without wrinkling his tailcoat. His posture was perfect, his expression calm and professional. He carried no visible weapons, though his hands rested at his sides in a position that could draw a hidden blade in under a second. The sentinels tracked him but did not fire.

Following him was a woman whose presence made the entire dockyard hold its collective breath.

Sofia Vileblood descended the gangplank as if she owned the harbor, the city, and everyone in it. She wore an elegant, dark traveling gown of crushed velvet and silver embroidery, a garment that looked expensive enough to feed a village for a year. Her crimson cape—a shade too dark to be anything but tasteful—flowed behind her like spilled wine.

She did not release an ounce of her Demon Lord aura. She didn't need to. Her beauty was transcendent: porcelain skin, striking violet eyes, high cheekbones, and an aristocratic grace that made her look like the living embodiment of every nobleman's ideal fantasy. The guards didn't stare with vulgar lust; they stared with sheer, paralyzing awe, as if a goddess had just stepped onto the dirty concrete.

Even Commander Vance, a hardened veteran of two demon wars, felt his breath catch. He forced himself to look at her eyes, not her face, and maintain his military composure.

Finally, a third figure emerged.

This one wore a sharply tailored, classic black butler's suit—pristine white shirt, dark vest, polished leather shoes. The figure was shorter than Sebastian, with a lean, athletic build. The suit fit perfectly, accentuating narrow shoulders and a slender waist.

The face was striking. Sharp jawline, full lips, and eyes that gleamed with a ring of gold around deep violet irises. Long, midnight-black hair was tucked up under a formal butler's cap, with only a few stray strands framing the face.

The figure moved with fluid, economical grace, stepping off the gangplank and taking a position slightly behind Sofia's left shoulder. The hand resting on the white glove was steady, the posture alert but not aggressive.

Commander Vance stepped forward, keeping his hand on his saber. He stopped ten feet from the trio, his shadow falling across the concrete.

"Halt," he commanded, his voice carrying authority but not hostility—yet. "State your names and the origin of this vessel."

Sofia offered a perfectly practiced, weary smile—the expression of a noblewoman who had endured unimaginable hardship and was simply grateful to see civilization again.

"I am Lady Sofia Vileblood," she said, her voice melodic and calm. "This is my head butler, Sebastian. We are the survivors of the Lady Seraphina, lost at sea three years ago during the Great Equinox Storm. We have been surviving on an uncharted island chain, subsisting on what we could salvage, until we managed to repair the engine and sail here."

Commander Vance's eyes widened slightly in shock. The Lady Seraphina was a famous cold case in the naval registries—a luxury yacht that had vanished with all hands, sparking rumors of sea monsters, Abyssal portals, and even demonic abduction. The noble family had offered a substantial reward for any information, but after two years, the search had been called off.

But Vance's military training kicked in. He scanned the trio, looking for inconsistencies.

"The manifest of the Seraphina listed a female attendant, Lady Vileblood," Vance said sternly, nodding toward Cain. "The records clearly state the Lady's personal maid was a woman named Elara—no relation—who traveled with her everywhere. Why do you have two male butlers?"

The third figure let out a quiet, distinctly feminine sigh.

Reaching up to the collar of the suit, the figure unpinned a hidden clasp. The formal butler's cap was lifted away, and a cascade of incredibly long, perfectly straight, midnight-black hair fell down past the figure's shoulders, framing a delicate, piercingly beautiful face.

The golden-ringed violet eyes met Vance's gaze without flinching.

"I am Ashford, Commander," Cain said, pitching 'her' voice into a smooth, slightly husky feminine alto—lower than Sofia's, but unmistakably female. "The Lady's attendant. I simply find trousers more practical for surviving on deserted islands than corsets and skirts. My preference for attire was well-documented in the ship's log, if you care to verify."

A murmur rippled through the ranks of the guards. Some of the younger sentinels shifted uncomfortably, their rifles dipping slightly before their sergeants hissed them back into position.

Even Commander Vance blinked, his cheeks flushing slightly as he looked at the stunning, suit-wearing attendant. He had heard of noble ladies with unconventional tastes, but seeing it in person was something else entirely.

Up on the elevated observation deck, the Summoned Heroes watched the scene unfold.

"Well," Kento whistled softly, leaning on the railing. "I was expecting demons. Not... that."

"Focus," Hiroto said, though his eyes lingered on the group below. He didn't trust anything that came from the Outland, no matter how beautiful.

Reiji, however, had gone very still. His grey eyes were completely locked on the two women—specifically on the one in the butler suit. He leaned forward, his hand gripping the railing.

"Are all the nobles from the isolated provinces that... striking?" he whispered, genuinely captivated by both the regal Lady Sofia and the sharp, striking attendant Ashford.

"Reiji, you're drooling," Taiyo teased, elbowing him.

"I am not," Reiji snapped, quickly composing himself. But his eyes kept drifting back to the dark-haired attendant.

Hiroto rolled his eyes at his companions' antics but kept his mind focused on the mission. He subtly activated his Vanguard appraisal skill, swiping his hand through the air to bring up the system overlay for the three newcomers.

The blue translucent screens materialized before his eyes, data scrolling rapidly.

[System Appraisal – Eastern Vanguard Protocol]

Name: Sofia Vileblood

Race: Human

Class: Noble (Civilian)

Estimated Threat Rank: B-

Mana Density: Moderate

Combat Skills: None detected

Notes: High social charisma. Possible diplomatic immunity.

Name: Sebastian

Race: Human

Class: Retainer (Melee combatant)

Estimated Threat Rank: B

Mana Density: Moderate-High

Combat Skills: Close-quarters combat, unknown style

Notes: Military or mercenary background recommended.

Name: Ashford

Race: Human

Class: Attendant (Mage)

Estimated Threat Rank: B+

Mana Density: High (civilian average)

Combat Skills: Unknown magical affinity

Notes: Unusually high mana reserves for an attendant. Recommend observation.

Rank B, Hiroto thought, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Slightly above average for surviving the wilds, but completely negligible as a military threat. No demonic signatures, no abyssal corruption, no hidden weapons. They're just civilians who got incredibly lucky.

He closed the interface and turned back to the harbor, satisfied.

What Hiroto did not see—what his appraisal skill, calibrated to detect standard threats, could never see—was the truth lurking beneath the surface.

Sofia's [Hidden Skill Level: ERROR] registered her demonic aura as mild civilian mana. Sebastian's true rank as a Floor 100 Abyssal Boss was compressed into a harmless "Retainer" profile. And Cain's [Absolute Gluttony] had absorbed and masked his entire existence, making him appear as nothing more than an unusually fit mage-attendant.

Thanks to the System's own rigid architecture, the absolute pinnacle of the world's power system—the Immortal Demon Lord, a Floor 100 Abyssal Boss, and an Anomaly that had broken the laws of reality—registered as nothing more than an exhausted aristocratic family to the Summoned Heroes.

The perfect deception.

Down on the dock, Commander Vance lowered his hand from his saber. He turned to his lieutenant and nodded.

"Stand down."

The deafening clatter of two hundred weapons being lowered echoed across the harbor. The tension that had gripped Port Triton for the past hour evaporated like morning mist.

Vance approached Sofia, removing his helmet and giving a deep, respectful bow—the kind reserved for nobility of significant standing.

"My Lady," Commander Vance said softly, his strict military demeanor melting into profound relief and genuine respect. "It is a miracle of the Goddess Kamiya that you survived. Your ship was presumed lost to the Abyss long ago. The noble families will want to hear of your return."

Sofia looked Vance dead in the eye, her eyes gleaming with a hidden, terrifying depth that the commander mistook for the light of faith.

"We survived the dark, Commander," Sofia smiled, her words warm, her tone grateful. But beneath them, a chill ran completely unnoticed by every human present. "It is incredibly good to finally be among the light of the Church."

Vance stepped aside, gesturing toward the open gates of the city. "Welcome to the Sunderland Nation, Lady Vileblood. Welcome home."

As Cain walked past the barricades, his long, dark hair blowing in the sea breeze, he felt a pair of eyes on him. He glanced up—just for a fraction of a second—and locked eyes with Hiroto on the observation deck.

The Summoned Hero and the Anomaly stared at one another across the concrete and steel.

Hiroto saw a beautiful, exhausted noble attendant who had survived hell and was grateful to be safe.

Cain saw a classmate who had no idea that the Devil had just walked through the front door.

Then Cain looked away, falling into step behind Sofia. The gates of the Capital swung wide open.

The wolves had successfully put on sheep's clothing, and the flock had just invited them directly into the pasture.

That Evening – Port Triton, The Salty Mermaid Inn

The inn was modest by capital standards—a three-story building of grey stone and dark wood, designed for traveling merchants and off-duty sentinels. But the rooms were clean, the beds were soft, and the owner asked no questions as long as the coin was gold.

Cain sat on the edge of a narrow bed, staring at his reflection in a small, tarnished mirror.

The face staring back was still the one he had worn on the dock—delicate features, long black hair, golden-ringed violet eyes. The butler suit hung open at the collar, revealing a white undershirt and the flat, lean torso of a young woman.

He still hadn't changed back.

<Host,> Nova's voice chimed softly. <You have been sitting in that exact position for twenty-seven minutes. Your morphological template is stable. There is no physiological reason to delay reversion.>

"I know," Cain said aloud, his voice still the husky feminine alto.

<Then why? You despise this form. You made that abundantly clear.>

Cain was silent for a long moment. Then he reached up and touched a strand of the long, black hair, letting it slip through his fingers.

"Because when I looked in Hiroto's eyes," Cain said quietly, "he didn't recognize me. Not even a flicker. I could have been anyone. I could have been a demon. I could have been a ghost. And he just... looked away."

<That was the objective, Host. Deception. Infiltration.>

"Yeah," Cain murmured, finally triggering the shift. Golden light washed over him, bones cracking and reforming, hair shortening, features hardening. Within seconds, the boy from the back row of Class 1-A sat on the bed, running a hand through his messy black hair, the violet streaks catching the lamplight.

"I just didn't expect it to feel so much like disappearing."

A soft knock came from the door.

"Cain?" Sofia's voice drifted through the wood. "Sebastian has prepared dinner. You should eat. We have a long journey to the capital cathedral tomorrow."

Cain stood up, straightened his suit, and opened the door.

Sofia stood in the hallway, still in her traveling gown, her expression unreadable. She looked at his face—the familiar male features, the tired eyes—and nodded once.

"Better," she said simply.

"I'm still me," Cain replied. "That's all that matters."

Sofia's lips curved into a faint, genuine smile—not mocking, not predatory. Just... warm.

"Yes," she agreed, turning to walk toward the stairs. "You are."

Cain followed her down, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders like a familiar blanket.

The first step of the revenge was complete. They were inside.

Now the real game began.

✦✦✦

✦ To Be Continued...