Chapter 19

Chapter 19.

Heimdal sank into his plush chair.

A faint smile hung on his lips.

'He's in for a rough time.'

He could picture it vividly.

The boy, stranded alone on that vast white plain like an endless sea.

100 nectar.

Trying to furnish a floor with that pittance — he'd be at his wit's end.

"Heh."

A laugh slipped out.

Not out of schadenfreude.

It was a kind of anticipation.

A-grade.

Easy to say, but practically an impossible mission.

Raising a floor's grade demanded enormous resources.

Buildings to erect, ecosystems to cultivate, mana concentration to elevate.

Every step of the process consumed 'nectar.'

'Fifty years, minimum.'

Heimdal raised his glass.

No matter how talented, no one could leap the wall of nectar.

Gathering followers, clearing dungeons, climbing floors — saving up nectar one coin at a time.

Those years of perseverance would temper the boy into a true god.

'Well, if he's really struggling, I'm willing to help.'

Heimdal assumed a magnanimous expression.

If Rag swallowed his pride and came grasping at his coattails, begging.

He'd play the reluctant benefactor and slip him some nectar.

He was a bit peeved, honestly.

The boy had boasted he'd seek him out first, then went silent even after reaching Floor 2.

But strangely, even that insolence wasn't grating.

Above all, he'd appreciated how the boy had read the room and gone flat on his face in deference.

'Quick on the uptake.'

A stark contrast to that impossibly arrogant first impression.

He must have realized Heimdal's greatness once he'd actually started climbing the tower.

If he'd been as brazen as before, Heimdal would have annihilated him on the spot.

And besides.

......Look at the cards the boy held.

The Dragon of Catastrophe, Angragon.

Archangel Abriel.

And a promising elf to boot.

More useful than he'd expected.

That was probably why he wasn't annoyed.

'Quite an extravagant roster for a mere lesser god.'

A lineup most mid-tier gods couldn't dream of.

Proof the boy's caliber was extraordinary.

The zero disaster aptitude was a blemish, but that could be addressed in time.

After all, the boy had stopped his typhoon cold.

There had to be hidden talent.

Heimdal took a sip of nectar.

The sweet aroma slid down his throat.

Then a curious thought drifted through his mind.

'Apostle God.'

If the boy truly achieved A-grade.

It might not be a bad idea to take him as his own apostle.

Apostle God.

A successor who serves and inherits the power of a higher god.

A sort of 'chief disciple.'

Every supreme-tier god kept distinguished apostles.

But Heimdal had never appointed a single one.

His standards were too high.

He'd never found a vessel worthy of bearing his typhoon.

'Rag might be capable.'

Raise the boy well, make him his right hand.

Not a bad picture.

It would solidify the Natural faction's power and serve as a stepping stone to even greater heights.

Heimdal lost himself in pleasant fantasies.

Fifty years from now.

A fully grown Rag, presenting an A-grade floor and kneeling before him.

He leaned back in his chair, at ease.

There was plenty of time.

To a god, fifty years was a blink.

He was about to close his eyes for a nap.

DING!

A clear chime rang through the air.

A system message.

Heimdal cracked open his eyes with annoyance.

'Did another lesser god die somewhere?'

Death notices had been frequent lately.

Kartal, then Caligo.

Who was it this time?

He casually checked the message window.

But.

"......PFFT!"

He sprayed the nectar in his mouth.

He choked and coughed violently.

He rubbed his reddened eyes with the back of his hand.

The text was unchanged.

If anything, it flashed gold and struck his optic nerves harder.

[Congratulations!]

[The crystal grade of Tower Floor 2 has been elevated!]

[Grade: F → A]

[Time elapsed: 23 hours, 3 minutes, 42 seconds]

[A miraculous speed!]

"......!"

Heimdal's brain stalled.

F to A?

23 hours, 3 minutes, 42 seconds?

'What is this?'

It didn't make sense.

It was simply impossible.

To take a wasteland at F-grade and raise it to A required at minimum 500,000 nectar.

Buildings, temples, a complete ecosystem — all built with the finest materials.

And yet — what?

23 hours, 3 minutes, 42 seconds?

But the system, as if mocking his disbelief, fired off another message.

DING!

[A new record has been registered in the Hall of the Gods.]

[Fastest floor A-grade achievement.]

[Record holder: Rag]

[Contribution: 100%]

"......Good lord."

Heimdal stared blankly into the void.

Everything he'd been thinking just moments ago.

The fifty years, the apostle plan, the offer to help.

All of it became laughable in an instant.

The boy didn't need help.

'Where in the world did he get the nectar?'

Wasn't 100 nectar his entire fortune?

Even if he'd sold every holy item in the exchange, scraping together that much nectar would have been near-impossible.

He couldn't fathom it.

'Could someone else be sponsoring him?'

The thought crossed his mind.

But he quickly dismissed it.

Contribution: 100%.

Meaning he'd done it entirely on his own.

Unbelievable — but at the same time, thrilling.

A man who shattered common sense.

A man who defied expectations.

The insolent seed who'd stopped his typhoon and spoken the Absolute God's name.

Now it was confirmed.

The boy was the real deal.

Perhaps far more than Heimdal had ever imagined.

Heimdal straightened his attire.

A promise was a promise.

A god couldn't go back on his word.

"All right, let's see it."

He headed for the spatial transfer gate again.

His steps were faster than before.

The boy's Floor 2, supposedly transformed to A-grade.

He needed to see with his own eyes what it had become.

HUMMM!

The gate opened.

Heimdal threw himself through without hesitation.

And when he arrived at Floor 2.

He was forced into shock once again.

"......This is Floor 2?"

The wasteland was gone.

A city of gold, blinding enough to sear the eyes, welcomed him.

Heimdal squinted.

The glare was painful, not just bright.

Gleaming golden roof tiles.

Columns carved from the finest marble.

At the floor's center, a colossal golden temple stood in all its majesty.

It wasn't merely gilded.

The entire structure was composed of high-purity mana stone and gold.

'Ridiculous.'

Heimdal was a god.

But he'd never witnessed such grotesque extravagance.

He looked down.

A well-manicured promenade stretched on without end.

Along its edges, flowers of every color bloomed in profusion.

'Mana herbs' — each stem worth dozens of nectar — grew like common weeds.

"Insane......"

The profanity came unbidden.

He walked as if in a trance.

The air was different.

So refreshing it felt like it was washing out his lungs.

He looked up to find an artificial sun in the sky.

Warming the earth at the perfect temperature, providing flawless lighting.

SWOOOOSH!

The cool sound of water reached him from somewhere.

A waterfall.

A cascade of water pouring from midair formed a vast lake.

White steam curled above the surface.

'A hot spring?'

Heimdal sniffed.

A faint herbal fragrance mingled with condensed divine energy.

That was no ordinary hot spring.

It was a bath filled with top-grade 'sacred water' — the kind that restored divine power.

"Ha."

Absurd.

It was literally a resort.

But the real problem lay elsewhere.

'Defenses?'

Heimdal scanned the area.

A tower floor was fundamentally a fortress.

Traps to repel intruders.

Vicious monsters to tear challengers apart.

Labyrinths to disorient.

Those were supposed to be here.

But they weren't.

No matter how hard he looked, there was nothing remotely 'threatening.'

CHIRP CHIRP.

A bluebird flew overhead.

Crickets chirped in the grass.

Butterflies fluttered, squirrels cracked acorns.

Peaceful.

Excessively so.

"You call this an ecosystem?"

Heimdal's face twisted.

This wasn't an ecosystem — it was a zoo.

No, a botanical garden.

What would happen if an intruder showed up?

Offer them a soak in the hot spring to unwind?

Let them stroll the promenade for some healing?

"Rag!"

Heimdal bellowed.

The booming echo shook the golden city.

Startled bluebirds flapped skyward.

Far away, beneath a pavilion by the waterfall, someone was there.

It was Rag.

He wore a silk robe, a drink in one hand.

Angragon was belly-down in the hot spring, enjoying a leisurely swim.

"You've come."

Rag greeted him with a smile.

The very picture of a man of leisure without a care in the world.

Heimdal stalked over and nearly grabbed him by the collar — then restrained himself.

He jabbed a finger instead.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"What seems to be the problem?"

"You really don't know why I'm upset?"

"Is it the scenery? I admit my knowledge of other floors is limited...... but I did my best to reach A-grade in a short time."

"......"

Heimdal clicked his tongue.

He couldn't argue.

Fair enough — ignorance could lead to this.

Besides.

'It is technically A-grade.'

The gold-plated temple.

The hot spring flowing with premium sacred water.

Even the density of mana suspended in the air.

This space undeniably held A-grade value.

The problem was the direction.

It wasn't a tower of combat and trials — it was a resort for divine leisure.

Heimdal heaved a deep sigh.

"......Fine, I'll concede. The grade checks out."

He fixed Rag with a piercing stare.

His eyes sharpened.

"But I can't help asking. This astronomical amount of nectar — where did it come from?"

The scale easily required a million nectar.

Not an amount a fledgling who'd just arrived on Floor 2 could possibly access.

Heimdal's eyes narrowed.

Rag shrugged.

Completely unrattled.

"I exchanged for it."

"What?"

A brazen answer.

True, but unbelievable.

To exchange for this much nectar would require wealth beyond imagination.

'He's lying.'

Heimdal assumed Rag was hiding how he'd obtained the nectar.

When Heimdal frowned, Rag waved his hands and added.

"Ah, please don't misunderstand. I swear I haven't received help from any other god."

"......"

"You're the only one I follow, Lord Heimdal. I would never reach into another's pocket."

Rag grinned shamelessly.

Blatant flattery.

Obviously lip service to anyone watching, but it didn't sound bad.

Above all, there seemed to be no deceit in Rag's eyes.

What he'd exchanged still nagged, but this was the boy who'd summoned Angragon and tamed Abriel.

A man who routinely defied common sense — he'd have had his own method.

Heimdal decided to shelve his suspicions for now.

"...Very well. I'll let it slide."

What mattered was that Rag had kept his promise.

The condition Heimdal had set — the boy had met it spectacularly, in record time no less.

Proof that he'd given his absolute best.

This deserved praise, not doubt.

Rewards given, punishments delivered — that was the proper order.

"Take it."

Heimdal produced something from the air.

An elongated form.

A staff crafted from a material that was neither wood nor metal.

Whirlwind patterns were engraved across its surface, and a blue gemstone sat at its crown, spinning furiously.

HUMMMMM!

The instant the staff appeared, the surrounding air convulsed.

The hot spring's surface rippled, and leaves thrashed violently.

"'The Staff of the Typhoon That Rends Flesh from Bone.'"

A savage name if there ever was one.

Heimdal presented the staff and spoke with solemnity.

"One of my prized divine armaments."

Rag reached out and gripped the staff.

Heimdal cautioned him.

"I'll warn you now — it won't be easy to use right away."

"Why is that?"

"Divine armaments possess a will of their own. They choose their master. This one in particular is notoriously ferocious."

Heimdal laid down the warning.

"Even I needed ten years to tame it. No matter how talented you are, earning this staff's recognition will take bone-grinding effort and time......"

FWOOOOONG!

"......?"

KABAAAAM!