Chapter 20

Chapter 20.

The sky above the golden city warped.

KABAAAAM!

Clouds tore apart.

A colossal whirlwind surged upward, swallowing even the artificial sun's light.

A force that shredded space itself — the very embodiment of destructive authority.

The Typhoon That Rends Flesh from Bone.

A roar of elation from the staff, having met its true master.

"......!"

Heimdal's shoulders trembled.

He was in awe.

Even he had needed ten years to fully wield this staff.

Countless trials and errors, endless communion.

And this boy?

A single gesture.

In that fleeting instant, he'd brought the staff to perfect submission.

'Overwhelming talent.'

That phrase alone wasn't enough.

This was a difference in caliber.

Heimdal was certain now.

Zero disaster aptitude?

What a joke.

It wasn't that the boy's vessel was empty.

It was that no measuring device could possibly contain it — its scale was that vast.

'Force Majeure.'

The Absolute God's name, the one the boy had spoken, surfaced unbidden.

Perhaps he truly was a prospect worthy of that name.

An irresistible force.

An absolute talent that overwhelms all things.

'More than qualified to be my first Apostle God.'

Heimdal's eyes glistened with desire.

This was the one.

This one — more than worthy of being groomed as his successor.

A seat he'd never granted anyone.

Rag was more than qualified.

He looked at Rag.

The boy was frozen stiff.

Tendons stood out on the hand gripping the staff, and his expression was rigid, not a single twitch.

'Is he moved?'

Heimdal smirked.

Understandable.

A mere lesser god had just received a treasured weapon from a supreme god.

The overwhelming emotion must have been too much to contain.

Or perhaps the recoil from summoning the typhoon had momentarily seized his body.

TAP.

Heimdal placed a hand on Rag's shoulder.

An intimate gesture he'd normally never permit himself.

"Congratulations."

He meant it.

No pretense, no hypocrisy — genuine praise from a senior god.

"You've surpassed my expectations."

Had any other god seen this, they'd have fainted on the spot.

That arrogant, eccentric Heimdal, showering this tender praise on a fledgling from Floor 2.

But Heimdal didn't care.

He was that fond of Rag.

'This one could shake the tower.'

Stagnant water rots.

The current Asgard was far too static, far too dull.

The gods were complacent. They rejected change.

But this boy was different.

He would be a true typhoon.

A storm that sweeps through this tedious tower, grabs the sleeping gods by the collar, and jolts them awake.

Rag didn't answer.

He continued to stare into the void, expression frozen.

Heimdal found even that silence endearing.

A weighty man.

The restraint of someone who didn't run his mouth carelessly — he liked that too.

"Using it is simple."

Heimdal kindly elaborated.

"This staff is capable of 'remote projection.' Meaning you don't need to be on-site."

He pointed at the crystal at the center of the floor.

"Bring up the map on the crystal and mark the coordinates you want. Then swing the staff. A typhoon will strike that location. Anywhere within your territory."

Strategic bombardment.

The power to rain catastrophe on an enemy's head from the comfort of your seat.

This was the authority of a ruler.

"You must be drained. Get some rest."

Heimdal patted Rag's shoulder.

He turned away with a satisfied smile.

"Ah, and."

As if he'd just remembered, he turned back and continued.

"It seems there's an unidentified being inside the tower that's been hunting lesser gods lately. The investigators are looking into it but hitting dead ends, so you should take at least basic precautions."

A final word of advice.

Nothing more to say.

Rag had already shown more than enough.

FWIIIIING!

Heimdal vanished with the wind.

The overwhelming divine presence lifted, and peace returned to the golden city.

Bluebirds sang again, steam rose from the hot spring.

But.

"......"

Rag didn't move.

Even after Heimdal disappeared, he remained frozen like a statue.

***

Heimdal was gone.

But I couldn't move.

The staff in my hand.

'The Staff of the Typhoon That Rends Flesh from Bone' — this divine armament with a name as savage as its power — was vibrating as though boring into my palm.

The wager had been easy.

Anticlimactically so.

'Fragment of the Broken Golden Rule.'

I'd sold exactly one.

One million nectar materialized, and I'd dumped every last drop into Floor 2.

[Your floor's grade has been elevated to A!]

[Nectar distributed every 30 days increases by 300%.]

[Quality of items available for purchase from the crystal is elevated.]

The result: A-grade achieved.

Thanks to that, the nectar distributed every thirty days jumped by 300%.

From 100 to 300 — still pocket change, but the increase would compound exponentially as I climbed higher.

More importantly, the shop had unlocked.

High-tier monsters, special terrain, rare resources — all exclusive to A-grade floors and above — were now available.

An ordinary god would have built a fortress with these.

Laid traps, unleashed monsters, barred the way against intruders.

But I was different.

I'd turned this place into a resort.

Defenses? Offense?

None of that was necessary.

Right now, I was under the protection of Heimdal, the God of Typhoons.

He'd come down personally and bestowed a divine armament upon me.

The moment that rumor spread, no god would dare set foot on my floor.

For the foreseeable future, this was an absolute safe zone.

So I'd focused this place on 'growth.'

A sanctuary for me and my vassals to recover.

And a training ground dedicated solely to forging an elite force.

Clumsy wars of attrition weren't my style.

Quality over quantity. Always.

Pierce the tower with a small, handpicked force.

That was my plan.

"......"

But my thoughts ended there.

I lowered my gaze to the staff.

Heimdal had kept his promise.

He'd casually handed over an item he'd said took him ten years to tame.

The moment I'd gripped the staff, I'd understood.

How to use it.

Inject mana and swing. The gemstone at the tip calculates the coordinates, and a typhoon is projected to that location.

I'd given it a test swing.

The sky tore open and a typhoon roared.

Heimdal had been impressed.

He hadn't held back his praise.

But I couldn't smile.

Even Heimdal's parting advice hadn't registered.

My gaze was fixed on one thing alone — the typhoon swirling overhead.

'This wind.'

It looked familiar.

Far too familiar.

Nothing like an ordinary natural typhoon.

That distinctive rotation.

A razor-edged wind that seemed to shred space itself.

I had seen this before.

In the breaking news on TV.

On the front page of internet articles.

And in the nightmare that had replayed more than a thousand times in my sleep!

— RING RING.

A phone's ring echoed in my ears like a phantom sound.

That day.

My parents' wedding anniversary trip.

Their final image — smiling happily as they left.

— Hello? Is this Mister Kim Jeong-seok?

The voice on the other end was dry.

Businesslike.

Which made it all the crueler.

— I regret to inform you...... the plane has crashed.

— What?

— It encountered unexpected turbulence over the Pacific. No — to be precise, it was a typhoon.

A typhoon.

A sudden, monstrous typhoon that hadn't appeared on any weather forecast.

A phantom wind that hadn't even shown on radar.

— Survivors are...... still being confirmed, but you should prepare yourself.

There was no preparing.

The news covered the crash for days.

It was horrific.

The airliner hadn't crashed.

It had been 'disassembled' in midair.

As if it had been thrown into a giant blender.

Body recovery?

Impossible.

All the rescue teams found were unrecognizable fragments of flesh and shredded clothing.

They couldn't tell who was who.

The DNA damage was so severe that even testing was meaningless.

An empty casket sat at the funeral.

I stood before the memorial portraits, staring blankly.

I couldn't even cry.

I just looked at the empty coffins and thought.

What kind of wind had blown to rip people — and a steel aircraft — apart like this?

The sole survivor, Park Hayan.

Her survival was a miracle.

No — the word 'miracle' fell short.

That she'd come through that hellish blade-wind with only a shattered spine was something only divine intervention could explain.

But.

'It was definitely before the Great Cataclysm.'

I bit my lip.

I tasted blood.

The crash occurred before March 14, 2026. Long before the tower appeared in the world.

Before the gods invaded Earth.

Before the gods of disaster created their avatars.

So I'd believed it was a natural disaster.

Bad luck.

I could curse the heavens, but it was an unavoidable accident.

That's how I'd convinced myself.

And yet.

"......"

I tightened my grip on the staff.

Heimdal's words echoed in my mind.

— This staff is capable of 'remote projection.'

— Bring up the map on the crystal and mark the coordinates you want.

— A typhoon will strike that location.

Coordinates.

Remote projection.

And 'The Typhoon That Rends Flesh from Bone.'

The puzzle clicked.

So perfectly it made my skin crawl.

What if.

The gods hadn't appeared out of nowhere on the day of the Great Cataclysm?

What if they'd been watching Earth long before that?

Sitting on their thrones in Asgard, atop the tower, looking down on us.

For amusement, or perhaps as a performance test.

They might have dropped an authority on a specific set of coordinates on Earth.

Casually, the way you'd spam skills in a game.

'Was it you?'

The one who launched this vicious typhoon at the plane my parents were on.

Heimdal.

God of Typhoons.

Ruler of All Things.

......Was he the one responsible?

A divine armament not easily wielded.

The thought that someone else had used it didn't come readily.

"......Ha."

I laughed.

It was far from hollow.

The killing intent was so thick that it leaked out as laughter instead.

I raised my head.

I glared at the empty sky where Heimdal had vanished.

He'd taken a liking to me.

'......Now isn't the time to bare my claws.'

I wiped all expression from my face.

I stored the staff in my inventory.

He was strong.

Attacking him now would be a pointless death.

I needed to build my strength.

So that he wouldn't suspect me.

So that he'd trust me — even draw me into his inner circle.

I had to act the part flawlessly.

The loyal junior god.

The ambitious rising star.

And at the decisive moment.

I would push him from the highest peak.

'Nothing changes.'

I'd intended to annihilate every god in this tower anyway.

Every last one of them, without exception.