Chapter 28

Chapter 28. Declaration of War

The Garden of the Gods.

Frost descended upon the once-peaceful paradise.

The flowing fountain froze solid.

Flowers in full bloom withered and crumbled in an instant.

Heimdal set down the glass he was holding.

He furrowed his brow.

"How rude."

He waved his hand.

A warm breeze blew in and pushed the cold away.

But the intruder paid it no mind.

Click. Click.

A woman walked across the frozen marble floor.

Hair as white as snow.

Blue eyes cold enough to freeze the heart itself.

Skadi, the Goddess of Winter.

Even Heimdal, the Ruler of All Things, could not treat her lightly.

Heimdal asked with feigned composure.

"To what do I owe the visit from the Queen of Winter? You have made quite a mess of someone's garden."

Skadi did not answer.

She walked right up to Heimdal's face.

Killing intent radiated from her.

The air around them cracked and splintered.

"Heimdal."

Her lips parted.

"Your dog bit my child."

Heimdal raised an eyebrow.

"Dog? I don't keep dogs."

"Don't play coy."

Skadi's eyes flashed.

"A herald you sent trespassed on my apostle's territory. Killed my child Cryos's subordinate and ran amok."

Inwardly, Heimdal froze.

A herald?

He had sent no such thing.

"A misunderstanding. I never sent a herald."

"Ha."

Skadi scoffed.

"The evidence is clear. That herald of yours was carrying it."

She enunciated each word with force.

"Your Divine Armament. The Staff of the Typhoon That Rends Flesh from Bone."

"......"

Heimdal's expression hardened.

The staff.

There was only one.

A prized possession of his.

The very Divine Armament he had given as a gift to the master of Floor 2.

'Rag?'

Could it have been him?

Heimdal's mind raced.

He'd told the boy to sit tight and furnish his floor, and instead he'd stormed into the north?

Why?

The God of Frost, Cryos, was a Lesser god.

A tough opponent for Rag, who had only just risen to Floor 2.

And he'd gone there of his own volition and caused havoc?

But he couldn't let it show.

If he claimed ignorance here, he'd lose face.

Above all, Rag was the Apostle God candidate he had his eye on.

Heimdal folded his arms with brazen composure.

"Ah, that one."

"So you do remember?"

"Yes. I sent him on an errand. And? What of it?"

Heimdal snorted.

"My herald wouldn't have attacked without reason. Your people must have started it."

"What?"

"It's obvious. They were rude—just like you, barging into my garden without warning."

Turning the tables.

Implying she and her subordinates were one and the same.

"......Rude?"

Skadi's brow creased.

"You call smashing through gates and plundering Offerings 'rude'?"

"What Offerings are you talking about?"

"Your man stole every last one of the Frost Tribe my child had gathered for Nectar production. And you claim that was an 'errand' you sent him on?"

Stolen—that was the accusation.

But inwardly, Heimdal was impressed.

'The Frost Tribe?'

Rag, this kid.

No ordinary character, as expected.

The boy said he needed Followers, then marched into someone else's territory and seized them.

It was nothing so petty as theft.

It was conquest.

'I like him more and more.'

If someone was going to be his Apostle God candidate, they'd better know how to raise this kind of hell.

But Skadi's fury was crossing the threshold.

"Heimdal. This is a declaration of war against me."

A blizzard howled around Skadi.

"And it was no mere herald, was it? I hear he is your 'Apostle.'"

"......Apostle?"

"Don't bother hiding it. I received a full report."

Skadi glared at Heimdal.

"That creature used Authorities."

Heimdal tilted his head internally.

Rag had used Authorities?

"Your typhoon. And......"

Skadi continued.

"Hellfire."

"......"

"An atrocious Authority that melts and incinerates the earth, I am told. Typhoon and flame. A being that wields two opposing forces simultaneously cannot be a mere herald."

Skadi spoke with absolute certainty.

"It is impossible unless he is an Apostle God you have been deliberately cultivating."

Heimdal closed his mouth.

His mind was in turmoil.

Rag's aptitude had been 'Null.'

He had scored zero on the Disaster Aptitude evaluation.

And yet he had used a typhoon and Hellfire?

The staff was a Divine Armament, so fine—that could be explained.

But Hellfire?

"Why so silent?"

Skadi pressed.

"Do you admit it? That he is your Apostle?"

Heimdal composed his expression.

The corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Who knows."

A deliberately vague answer.

Then he added:

"It is children squabbling."

Heimdal said with a smirk.

"What good does it do for us to get involved? It would be beneath us."

"......"

"Why not let the two of them sort it out on their own? Until a winner emerges, we both keep our hands off."

A glint of interest appeared in Skadi's eyes.

The calculation was straightforward.

Rag was a greenhorn who had only just risen to Floor 2.

Cryos, on the other hand, was an experienced god ruling Floor 50 of the Tower.

In accumulated Divinity and the scale of their forces, there was no comparison.

It was a firefly versus the sun.

"......Not bad."

Skadi twisted the corner of her lips.

Naturally, it was a fight her child would win.

There was no need for her to step in personally and make an enemy of Heimdal.

"Very well. I accept."

"However."

Heimdal held up three fingers.

"Let us set a deadline. Thirty days, shall we say?"

"Thirty days?"

"Even war requires preparation. One month from now, whether Cryos strikes Rag or not, I will not interfere. Until then, no one touches him."

Skadi scoffed.

A mere month.

No matter how Rag flailed in that time, the outcome would not change.

"Fine. I will grant thirty days' reprieve."

Skadi turned to leave.

A blizzard swirled around her.

"But if the promise is not kept, you will have a real war on your hands with me. Remember that."

WHOOOOSH!

Skadi vanished.

Warmth returned to the frozen garden.

But Heimdal's expression had, if anything, grown colder.

"......"

He toyed with his empty glass.

His mind churned.

'He used the Hellfire Authority.'

Skadi was not one to lie.

That Rag had simultaneously wielded both the typhoon and Hellfire—that had to be true.

'That's impossible.'

The typhoon was wind.

Hellfire was flame and earth.

They were of different natures entirely.

Polar opposites, in fact.

No matter that he had given the boy a Divine Armament—if the user's aptitude didn't match, it was nearly impossible to control.

And yet Rag had freely wielded two opposing forces?

'So the claim of having no talent was a lie.'

Heimdal's eyes narrowed.

The boy didn't lack Disaster Aptitude.

If anything, there was a strong possibility he possessed a vessel capable of handling multiple Disasters.

'And then there is the Nectar.'

A vast fortune of unknown origin.

Hidden talents.

And knowing the Absolute God's name, on top of it all.

The boy was hiding far too much from him.

"......Insolent brat."

Heimdal murmured.

Normally, he would have summoned the boy on the spot and demanded a full confession.

He would have thundered: how dare you try to deceive me?

But.

'How interesting.'

Heimdal refilled his glass.

A man of many secrets.

Someone who never showed all his cards.

But then, showing everything was a death sentence in the Tower of God.

That only made him look forward to it more.

How a god who had barely reached Floor 2 would survive against a god entrenched on Floor 50.

He was curious what miracle—no, what scheme the boy would pull off in that month.

"Go on then, struggle. Show me what you have got, Rag."

Heimdal leaned back in his chair.

"If you survive, I will turn a blind eye to all those lies."

***

"Is this...... heaven?"

The Frost Tribe elder asked in a trembling voice.

And who could blame him?

A temple built of gold.

An Artificial Sun that kept the air warm through all four seasons.

Land brimming with mana and crystal-clear hot spring water.

For those who had endured bitter cold and starvation, my Floor 2 must have been paradise in the truest sense.

"Heaven, right."

I replied offhandedly.

"It's just my home."

I waved my hand.

Dozens of bottles filled with Nectar floated up into the air.

"Drink."

"Th-this is......!"

The elves' eyes went wide.

The golden liquid.

They had spent their entire lives producing it and surrendering it, but they had never once tasted it themselves.

"I don't need Offerings. In fact, you need to drink this and recover."

I spoke firmly.

"Eat well, sleep well, and get healthy. That's your job."

"Aah......"

Sobs broke out from every direction.

They accepted the Nectar with shaking hands.

With every sip, vitality returned to their wounded bodies.

Skin regained its luster; dying eyes came back to life.

It was a miracle.

Slaves who had been exploited were now seated at their master's table, sharing in the feast.

THUD.

Seria dropped to her knees before me.

The rims of her eyes were stained red.

"Master......"

She pressed her forehead to the ground and swore an oath.

"My life, and everything our tribe is, belongs to you. I will never betray you."

I could feel the sincerity.

I didn't need a system message to know.

Their loyalty had already broken through the ceiling.

But.

The peace was short-lived.

WHOOOOSH!

A sudden gust of wind blew through.

Different in nature from my typhoon—a pure and immense wind aura.

A transparent form materialized in the air.

A wind spirit. A sylph.

Heimdal's real herald.

[I have come with a message.]

The spirit's voice was dry.

[My lord says: thirty days.]

"Thirty days?"

[He has secured a thirty-day reprieve from war with Cryos. You will be safe until then.]

Just as relief began to settle, the spirit added:

[However, after that, we withdraw as well. Whether you win or lose, my lord will not intervene.]

"......"

[Good luck.]

POP.

The spirit said its piece and vanished.

The wind died.

But a storm was raging inside my heart.

'Damn it.'

I bit my lip.

I'd thought I could bluff my way through by trading on Heimdal's name.

But the enemy was the master of Floor 50.

'Was I too careless?'

Regret washed over me.

But I quickly shook my head.

No.

Without Heimdal, Cryos would have come knocking as early as tomorrow.

If that had happened, I'd have died without lifting a finger.

Thirty days.

Heimdal's last chance—and last courtesy—to me.

'Am I supposed to be grateful for this?'

The situation was dire.

A rookie who had barely reached Floor 2 was now set to fight a war against a Floor 50 veteran in one month.

Odds of winning?

Even by the most generous calculation: zero percent.

The gap in forces, in Divinity, in resources.

Outmatched in every conceivable way.

"Master."

Seria approached.

Her face was pale.

She must have heard the herald's message.

"I'm sorry. Because of me......"

Her lips trembled.

"We'll leave. We'll leave the Tower. If we do, the war......"

"Stop."

I cut her off.

"Leaving won't solve anything."

I looked up at the empty sky.

"I've already killed his gatekeeper. You think he'll stop just because you're gone?"

The pretext had been established.

Cryos would come to devour me.

He'd need to make an example so no other Lesser gods got ideas.

Seria hung her head.

Her fists clenched until her nails dug into flesh.

Helplessness.

The self-blame of believing her existence was a burden to her master.

I gave her shoulder a light tap.

"So instead of whining, pick up your bow."

"......Pardon?"

"Thirty days. If we get strong enough to take their heads in that time, problem solved."

The words came out easy, but inside, I was burning.

How?

How on earth was I supposed to close a fifty-floor gap in a single month?

There was only one way.

'Binge.'

Devouring like a madman was the only option.

I checked my Inventory.

Two pieces of the Heavenly Demon set.

And the Holy Sword, Abriel.

'The Heavenly Demon Divine Art.'

If I used Abriel as a medium to forge the Heavenly Demon's martial arts, my combat power would skyrocket.

But even that wasn't enough.

I needed more Authorities.

Hellfire and the typhoon alone couldn't hold off Cryos's army.

More Disasters.

More overwhelming power.

'Episode 3.'

Earth's time was approaching.

A large-scale Disaster.

A period of chaos where countless Avatars would stir simultaneously.

Hell—but also a field of opportunity.

'I devour everything.'

My eyes lit up.

I'd hunt down every last Avatar and absorb their Authorities.

Then combine them, and combine them again.

Until I became a monster that even Cryos couldn't handle.

I looked at Seria and gave the order.

"Don't think you get to slack off either. I'll be pouring Nectar into you, so train like your lives depend on it."

Seria's gaze changed.

Venom.

A desperate will to survive—to protect her master—blazed to life.

"Understood."

She gripped her bow.

Preparations for war had begun.

***

Ding!

[Episode 3, 'The First Calamity,' begins.]

[Catastrophic entities are emerging across the globe.]

[Best of luck.]