Not understanding didn't matter. The Empress's command was absolute.
Setting the parchment aside, Count Hahn transformed back into a hawk and sped toward the Old District. Before long, he arrived at the breach. In full view of the others, he shifted smoothly back into human form and stepped inside without hesitation.
"Let's go," he said over his shoulder. "Time to clean up this mess."
The others followed at once, their morale lifted.
A Sequence Three demigod was more than enough to steady their nerves.
At the center of the underground hall, before the throne set among massive interlocking gears, Mozo stood frozen, staring at his surroundings.
The place felt familiar.
But not from the Sun King's memories. Not from any of the dreamlike fragments he'd pieced together over time.
This memory was older—something from before he ever came to this world.
A movie.
Hellboy II: The Golden Army.
That final chamber where the protagonists faced the elven prince—it looked almost identical to this place. The throne perched atop giant gears, the vast hall, even the countless metallic pods outside glowing with a deep crimson light.
For a moment, Mozo wondered if he'd somehow transmigrated again.
But the pillars surrounding him were etched with unmistakable elven script from this world.
That snapped him back.
He crouched down, pressing a hand to his head, trying to force the memory into focus. It felt so close—just out of reach. The kind of thing you know you remember, but can't quite grasp.
Frustrating.
After a few seconds, he gave up trying to force it. Instead, he stood and pulled out the potion.
If the memory existed, then it wasn't gone—just buried. And this… might help.
Taking a steady breath, he drank it.
A faint silver-white light flickered across his eyes.
Nothing flashy. No dramatic reaction.
But the change had already happened.
He had successfully advanced to Sequence Ten.
At last, Mozo was a true transcendent.
And with that came clarity.
His pathway's initial ability manifested immediately:
The Nameless Book.
A book only he could see, only he could read.
Within it—every memory he had ever retained, perfectly recorded. And from this point forward, nothing written in it would ever fade.
Among all Sequence Ten abilities, this was almost laughably "useless."
But for Mozo?
It was perfect.
His greatest advantage had always been those fragmented dream-memories. Now, they were no longer fragments.
They were whole.
Complete.
And thanks to that, he finally understood everything about this place.
Rubbing his forehead, Mozo let out a long sigh.
The resemblance to Hellboy II wasn't coincidence.
He had done it on purpose.
Back when he was the Sun King—within those dreamlike "performances"—he had personally designed this place. Even the number matched: four thousand nine hundred golden warriors.
To recreate the film's "undying army," he had gone even further.
He had spent years hunting a Sequence Two dragon—
The Undying Dragon.
Using the remnants of its essence, combined with the craftsmanship of elven master artisans, he forged this army.
A fusion of elven engineering and high-level mysticism.
A testament to the peak of elven civilization.
By modern standards, this entire legion could be classified as a Sealed Artifact.
Designation: 1-047.
Though the major churches had no idea the army even existed, they had deduced that the missing Sequence Two dragon's essence must have formed some kind of artifact.
They just didn't know what.
As for why Mozo had built it?
Partly… personal amusement.
Partly… a contingency.
A trump card for his real-world self.
All it lacked was either a crown—or a command phrase.
The crown should still be in the elven capital, Rivendell.
As for the command phrase—
Only Mozo knew it.
The artisans who built the army were aware that such a phrase existed, but none of them knew what it was.
Which meant—
He now possessed an undying, absolutely loyal private army.
For a brief moment, a smile crept onto his face.
Then it faded.
Because knowing it… didn't mean he could use it.
He wasn't an elf.
He lacked the blessing of the Twin Sacred Trees. He didn't have royal blood.
Yet he knew a secret that should've belonged only to the Sun King.
And above him?
The Special District.
Still full of unknowns.
If he brought this army out now, he'd probably be surrounded by high-sequence powerhouses within minutes.
At best, this was a last-resort trump card.
At worst… a disaster waiting to happen.
If he wanted to control it safely, without drawing attention back to the Sun King—
There was only one option.
Steal the crown from Rivendell.
He paused.
Then shook his head.
That was even worse.
Provoking an ancient elven race just to unlock the full potential of a Sequence Two-level asset?
Ridiculous.
After thinking it through, he let it go.
Honestly, today's gains were already more than enough.
As for the Golden Legion—
It could stay buried here.
For now.
With a hint of regret, Mozo turned to leave.
And then—
Something caught his eye.
The intricate magical circuits carved into the hall by elven master craftsmen had begun to flicker.
A warning.
Someone had entered.
Not the core chamber yet—but they were close.
Focusing, Mozo tapped into the ancient surveillance magic embedded in the throne.
A moment later, he saw them.
Count Hahn.
And the others.
Mozo stared at the familiar figure of the city's mayor.
Then, slowly—
A smile returned.
He might've just found a solution.