Chapter 39

Chapter 39. War of the Gods

[Name: The Great Sage's Staff, Wrought from Divine Wood]
[Grade: Divine Armament]
[Durability: Infinite (Indestructible)]
[Equip Condition: Rag (Kim Jeong-seok)]
[Base Effect (1): Mana +300]
[Base Effect (2): Intelligence +300]
[Special Effect (1): All Authority effects increased by 20%.]
[Special Effect (2): All proficiency gains increased by 200%.]
[Description: A staff wrought from the divine wood of Asgard. Originally used as a vessel for Divinity, the bestowed Great Sage's soul has induced a transformation. It possesses a Will and responds to its user's intent.]

Originally, this staff had been nothing more than a 'vessel.'

Back when it had been Heimdal's Divine Armament.

It had been designed to store a powerful typhoon and unleash it at its master's command.

Formidable on its own, certainly, but at its core, it was just a reservoir and amplifier.

But now it was different.

'Completely transformed.'

With Great Sage Flunum's soul dwelling within, the staff's very nature had been rewritten.

It boosted mana and Intelligence by a staggering 300 each.

Those were not numbers achievable through ordinary equipment.

And that wasn't all.

It was a 'dedicated' piece of equipment made solely for me.

No one else could equip it.

Above all, what captivated me were the special effects listed below.

'Twenty percent increase to all Authority effects.'

It wasn't talking about magic—it meant 'Authorities.'

Even the Origin-grade Living Primordial Fire would be strengthened by twenty percent.

An insane option that pushed already overflowing firepower past its limits.

And then.

'Two hundred percent increase to proficiency gains.'

My jaw dropped.

Triple speed.

What others would take ten years to master, I could finish in three.

I already possessed the Hidden Trait 'The One Who Surpasses.'

Proficiency gains were already boosted by one hundred percent.

Stack the staff's effect on top of that?

'Light speed.'

My growth rate would be beyond reason.

Proficiency in magic, martial arts, and Authorities would accumulate at a staggering pace.

'It's earned the name Divine Armament.'

A booster that would transform me into a perfected monster.

As time passed, the gap would widen beyond all measure.

An incomparable, embarrassingly vast growth ceiling compared to the past.

It didn't come with a built-in Authority, but what did that matter?

This staff elevated all of my power—my very existence—to a higher plane. The ultimate partner.

I ran my hand along the staff.

A smooth texture.

A gentle warmth.

Hummm.

The staff vibrated faintly.

It didn't speak to me the way Abriel did.

Unlike the Holy Sword, who had a pronounced ego and was vocal about it.

It simply resonated with a steady weight.

But I could tell.

'It's reading me.'

My intent.

The flow of my mana.

And even my emotions.

Through the pulse transmitted by my hand alone, it understood what I wanted and what I intended to do.

Like a seasoned butler who had served alongside me for years.

Or like an old friend who understood without words.

'It won't have the memories.'

A pang of bitterness.

This soul had been salvaged from a destroyed world different from mine.

It wouldn't have the memories of climbing the Tower with me, of fighting to save Earth.

If even that had been nothing more than a god's puppetry, then this was effectively a 'stranger' I was meeting for the first time.

But.

'Doesn't matter.'

I smiled.

This was not a fake.

Not a shell sculpted by the gods—not an Avatar.

What dwelled within was real.

I believed the essence of the Great Sage—noble, wise, and defiant to the last—remained intact.

That was enough.

I raised the staff to eye level.

The white orb met my gaze.

"Good to meet you, Flunum."

A greeting offered with sincerity.

And then.

HUMMMM!

The staff responded powerfully.

A vibration strong enough to make my palm tingle.

As though trembling with joy at being reunited.

Or like extending a handshake in answer to my greeting.

That resonance struck something deep in my chest.

I allowed myself a quiet smile.

***

The situation room's monitors blinked without rest.

A flood of data.

Abdulla rubbed his bleary eyes and stared at the screen.

Thousands upon thousands of names.

The roster of Lesser gods playing at godhood on a small planet called Earth was right there.

—Gangnam, Park Taesu — Lesser Fire God affiliate
—New York, James — Lesser God of Disease affiliate
—Tokyo, Tanaka.......

Stripped bare.

The Avatar identities they'd so desperately hidden, their operating ranges, even the human relationships they'd formed on Earth.

Every piece of information was now in the Investigation Team's hands.

"It's complete."

A deputy reported.

"No one is missing. Surveillance systems are in place for every Lesser god currently participating in the Game."

Abdulla nodded.

It was dual-layered surveillance.

In Asgard, investigators were stationed beside each true body.

On Earth, watchers were embedded in each Avatar's shadow.

An airtight net.

Whoever the culprit was, however they approached, the moment they moved, they'd be caught.

"With one single exception."

Rag.

The sole outlier.

The Scales of Truth had confirmed he had no Avatar.

And Heimdal's razor-edged protection shielded him.

Untouchable.

Suspicion lingered, but there was no physical evidence, and acting on suspicion alone carried too much risk.

"......We'll see."

Abdulla ground his teeth.

The culprit was a rat in a jar.

The god hunter had to hunt.

To hunt, they had to move. And movement meant exposure.

But then.

"It's quiet."

The deputy said, puzzled.

"Not a single incident since we began surveillance."

Stillness.

A calm like the night before a storm.

The string of Grave Tidings had stopped dead.

Had the god hunter backed off?

Or were they laughing at the surveillance net, biding their time?

"Don't let your guard down."

Abdulla tapped the desk.

"There's a strong chance the culprit is a Mad God. A second-stage one at that—a monster capable of rational thought."

A second-stage Mad God.

A lunatic who could reason.

It knew how to suppress its instincts.

It knew how to endure hunger for a bigger meal.

"The next episode will be the turning point."

Time was passing on Earth.

When new Disasters and new rewards appeared, the culprit would move again.

That would be the chance.

Abdulla was anxious.

Pressure from above was mounting.

—Produce results.
—Prove the Investigation Team's worth.

The Supreme Tier gods' impatience.

Their tolerance was running dry.

If the culprit wasn't caught, his own head would roll.

"I will catch them."

Abdulla's eyes blazed.

His obsession burned as though it could melt through the monitor.

***

Time flowed.

The Tower's atmosphere shifted subtly.

Fear had a short shelf life.

The dread of the god hunter gradually faded.

In its place settled the gods' perennial affliction: boredom—and a new source of amusement.

"A war, you say?"

"That's right. It's finally happening."

The Garden of the Gods.

Gods gathered in small clusters, tipping glasses and chattering.

The topic was singular.

The ruler of the north, the God of Frost, Cryos.

And the rising star of Floor 7, Rag.

A declaration of war between two gods.

"Sheer madness. A god in the mid-fifties against a Floor 7 god?"

"Throwing an egg at a boulder."

Most were derisive.

The gap was simply too wide.

Cryos was a veteran entrenched for millennia.

In troop numbers, resource stockpiles, depth of Divinity—there was no comparison.

A firefly versus the sun.

But the counterarguments were no less spirited.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Is Rag ordinary?"

"Exactly. He's been breaking molds since he was a Seed."

"Rumor has it Heimdal backed him with everything he had."

"Just look at the floor that shot to S-grade overnight—that's no mere rumor."

A wild card.

Rag's very existence was an enormous wild card.

A growth rate that defied all common sense.

An immense supply of Nectar from unknown origins.

Of course, everyone had 'Heimdal' in mind.

They assumed he'd supplied a massive quantity of Nectar.

"A war between Rag, whom Heimdal adores, and Cryos, Skadi's Apostle God."

"Should be entertaining."

"Best spectacle in a long while."

The gods' eyes sparkled.

They placed bets.

Nine out of ten wagered on Cryos's overwhelming victory.

One in ten bet on an upset by Rag.

Calling it a 'bet' was generous.

That lone fraction consisted of either desperate gamblers hoping for a miracle, or the tiny minority of die-hard believers in Heimdal's judgment.

The vast majority were coldly rational.

"There's no contest."

"No matter how much Nectar Heimdal poured in, 'time'—that absolute gap—can't be bridged."

On top of that, Cryos was renowned as one of the most ruthless among the Lesser gods.

He never fought a battle he couldn't win, and once his jaws closed around prey, he gnawed to the bone.

Thus, the gods' true interest lay not in the outcome itself.

Their gaze was aimed higher.

'Heimdal and Skadi.'

The patriarch of the Natural Lineage and the Queen of Winter.

This war was, for all intents and purposes, a proxy war between two Supreme Tier gods.

"If Cryos wins, Heimdal's face will be a sight to behold."

"I'd love to see that arrogant nose brought low."

The gods secretly hoped for Heimdal's defeat.

He was too strong. Too haughty.

What expression would he wear, gazing upon Rag's trampled corpse?

That, above all, would be the finest entertainment this dreary Tower life had to offer.

Above all else.

The tension between Skadi and Heimdal was an open secret.

Heimdal held the higher floor, but Skadi was far from powerless.

A rival who could threaten his position at any moment.

If her Apostle God Cryos crushed Heimdal's Apostle Rag?

The symbolism would be akin to Skadi seizing Heimdal by the collar.

"The Nectar tastes especially good today."

"Here we go."

The gallery was packed to capacity.

Every eye turned toward Floor 7's battlefield.

***

The northern lands.

A continent of eternal snow that never melted.

Dawn was breaking across it.

But not even sunlight could thaw its cold.

An ice castle, towering into the sky.

Atop its peak stood the God of Frost, Cryos.

"......The time has come."

He spoke.

His breath misted white.

Thirty days.

A tedious, humiliating span of time.

The insolent creature who had trespassed on his territory, killed his subordinate, and plundered his property.

The torturous patience of keeping that thing alive was finally over.

"The agreed time has passed."

Cryos's eyes flashed.

He looked down.

A white plain stretching to the horizon.

Blanketed in black—an army.

Frost Giants.

Monsters the size of houses, wielding clubs of ice, numbering in the thousands.

The Glacial Knight Order.

Elite soldiers armored head to toe in mana-forged ice, numbering in the tens of thousands.

And a Wyvern corps darkening the skies above.

The full fortune he had scraped together across millennia—the core fighting force that had turned Floor 50 into an impenetrable fortress.

"Overkill."

Cryos smirked.

Excessive force for a single Floor 7 rat.

But he was a god who knew nothing of mercy.

"Crush them."

This was to be an example.

A lesson etched to the bone about what happened to those who dared reach above their station.

Above all, the most important thing.

'Lady Skadi is watching.'

His lord.

The Queen of Winter had her eyes on this war.

The victory report he offered her had to be flawless.

A crushing win without a single blemish.

Severing Rag's head and laying it at her feet was the only path to restoring his lost honor.

"Sound the horn!"

BWOOOOOOO—!

The colossal war horn tore through the northern sky.

The trembling began.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The footsteps of tens of thousands shook the earth like an earthquake.

The ice walls opened.

A dimensional gate yawned wide.

Coordinates: Floor 7.

Rag's golden city.

"Advance!"