Chapter 43

Chapter 43. Divine Punishment

I am a mage.

A seeker of truth.

One who builds formulas and manifests miracles.

But my ultimate purpose had only ever been one thing.

'Kill the gods.'

If it meant snuffing out those arrogant immortals who had treated us as toys and destroyed the world.

I'd have offered my soul to a devil.

I'd have accepted an eternity of torment in hellfire.

I delved into every scrap of knowledge.

I researched with manic intensity, then researched more.

I tore apart countless branches of magic and reassembled them.

And at last, I completed the ultimate schematic.

'The Divine Punishment magic circle.'

A forbidden magic created for the sole purpose of killing a god.

If Cryos completed his Phase 3 transformation, things would get complicated.

Twelve cores.

All twelve had to be struck simultaneously to kill him.

Not even 0.1 seconds of deviation was tolerable.

In the past, humanity's Final Strike Force had done it.

Because hundreds of humanity's strongest had coordinated flawlessly.

A wretched miracle forged through blood and sacrifice.

But it was beyond me now.

Because right now, I was alone.

Even possessing the Origin-grade Authority, Living Primordial Fire.

Hitting twelve wildly moving cores all at once was next to impossible.

I couldn't stake everything on a gamble.

If I failed, I died.

Seria would die, and the Frost Tribe who had trusted and followed me would be massacred.

So I changed my approach.

What if I could prevent the final transformation from completing?

What if I could strip away the absolute 'invincibility' the System had granted him?

An incomplete transformation.

Cryos, trapped inside the ice cocoon, would be utterly defenseless.

Nothing but a slab of meat with its hands and feet bound.

Before the core split into twelve—while it was still gathered in one place.

This was actually his most vulnerable moment.

Slosh.

I poured the last of the Nectar onto the ground.

The lines connected.

The formation was complete.

One minute remained.

Just before Cryos's transformation would finish.

HUMMMMMM!

The golden magic circle began to spin with ferocious intensity.

The forests and earth of Floor 7 that I had so carefully cultivated.

Their immense energy poured into the formation like a waterfall.

The objective was singular.

To forcibly tear apart the absolute barrier bestowed upon a god.

FLASH!

Light surging from the magic circle lashed around the ice cocoon.

CRACK-CRACK!

The sound of glass shattering.

The transparent, invincible membrane encasing the ice cocoon shattered to pieces.

The barrier was destroyed.

Invincibility was broken.

I allowed myself a smirk.

"......!"

Cryos, inside the cocoon, was horror-struck.

His eyes stretched so wide they looked ready to tear.

In a panic, he opened his mouth.

"Impossible! How—how can a 'Punisher of Gods' become a god?!"

He was lost in confusion.

A god-killer had climbed the Tower of God.

Had used Nectar—the gods' own elixir—to construct a formation that killed gods.

A contradiction that must have been utterly incomprehensible to his worldview.

"S-spare me!"

In the end, Cryos screamed in groveling desperation.

The once-arrogant ruler of frost fell to his knees.

"I concede! I lost! I will surrender my territory, my vassals, everything! Just please, my life......!"

Pathetic.

I didn't answer.

It wasn't worth the breath.

Mercy?

I'd burned that along with Earth a long time ago.

I raised my left hand.

Living Primordial Fire.

A transparent shimmer rose from my palm.

A color of annihilation, pure beyond measure.

The Great Sage's Staff amplified the flame's power beyond its limits.

An overwhelming heat that warped the very space around it.

Just as expected.

Cryos currently had one core.

It hadn't split into twelve.

The transformation was incomplete.

Then.

"Farewell."

WHOOOOSH!

***

The Garden of the Gods.

On any other day, it would have been a paradise filled with the languid sound of harps and the fragrant aroma of Nectar.

But today was different.

A deathly silence pressed down on the garden.

The Supreme Tier gods had gathered in one place, yet not a single one spoke freely.

All their gazes were fixed on the empty air.

More precisely, they were staring holes into a blank screen that showed nothing.

It was maddening.

The gods couldn't watch the war unfolding on Floor 7.

Because of the Tower's absolute rules.

A war between floors could only be broadcast through the System if both sides consented.

Cryos, the challenger, had naturally wanted it public.

He'd wanted all of Asgard to witness exactly how he trampled the impudent brat on Floor 7.

But Rag, the defender, had refused.

He'd flatly denied all spectators.

And so the gods were reduced to waiting outside a firmly shut door, able only to await the result.

Even so, no one doubted.

The outcome was as good as decided.

Skadi's Apostle God, Cryos, the God of Frost.

There was no way he'd lose to some greenhorn who'd only just arrived on Floor 7.

'Taking longer than I expected.'

'The little rat must be putting up a fight.'

'Not that the result will change.'

The gods scoffed inwardly.

The defender had the advantage of fighting on home turf.

But the price of defeat was merciless.

Win or die.

One or the other.

And Rag's ending was surely the latter.

'Crush him thoroughly, Cryos.'

Skadi rested her chin elegantly on one hand.

Her cold blue eyes were fixed on Heimdal, seated across from her.

Heimdal looked relaxed.

Eyes closed, casually tipping back a glass of Nectar.

As though he couldn't care less about the outcome of this war.

But Skadi sneered.

'Pretending to be calm.'

Her keen eyes could see it.

The fingertips gripping the glass were ever so slightly rigid.

No matter how nonchalant the act, he was anxious on the inside. That much was clear.

Skadi had given Cryos his orders.

Achieve an absolute victory.

Tear apart the soul of that arrogant Rag whom Heimdal sheltered.

Her child would never disappoint her.

For Skadi's honor, he would seize victory in its entirety.

Breaking the silence, Skadi spoke.

"How dull."

A voice as cold as ice.

Every god in the garden turned their attention to the two Supreme Tier deities.

"Heimdal. Why don't we make a wager?"

A provocation.

For Skadi, it was a perfect hand.

Whether he accepted or not, she won.

If Heimdal took the bet, her victory was all but guaranteed—she'd simply collect the spoils.

If he dodged it?

Rumors that the God of Typhoons had tucked tail would spread across the entire Tower.

Heimdal opened his eyes slowly.

His gaze met Skadi's.

'You dare try to collect spoils from me?'

He'd expected something like this.

With a board rigged to win, she'd naturally throw the dagger.

If he didn't catch that attack in front of everyone, he'd be a laughingstock.

Not that he particularly cared what the rest of them thought.

......The corner of Heimdal's mouth twisted upward.

"A wager."

He set his glass down with a sharp clink.

"Very well. I will bet on Rag's victory."

The surrounding gods held their breath.

Heimdal hadn't flinched.

If anything, he'd met her head-on.

Skadi's eyes narrowed.

"The terms?"

"The Winter Flame."

"......!"

A ripple of shock ran through the garden.

The Winter Flame.

A sacred relic of absolute power, condensed from Skadi's Authority—directly linked to her heart.

Skadi's expression turned glacial.

"Can you afford the price?"

"As long as you put it up."

Skadi smiled coldly.

"Fine. I accept. But if Cryos wins, you will surrender the 'Typhoon of Ruan.'"

This time, it was the gods of Heimdal's faction who recoiled in shock.

The Typhoon of Ruan.

The sole weakness capable of eroding Heimdal's life force—and a sacred relic of his own.

A deranged gamble, each staking the other's leash.

The moment a simple proxy war escalated into a real war between Supreme Tier gods.

Heimdal didn't hesitate.

"The wager is made, Skadi."

Skadi smiled, certain of victory.

That insufferably arrogant man had accepted the bet.

It was over.

All she needed now was the message announcing Cryos had taken Rag's head.

She'd claim the Typhoon of Ruan and completely overturn the balance of the Natural Lineage.

With it, she could mount an offensive against Heimdal.

And he'd never hold his nose as high again.

If he had any shame, he wouldn't show his face in the Garden of the Gods for a long while.

That was when it happened.

In the moment when everyone was holding their breath, watching the empty air.

A notification chime rang across the entire garden.

Ding!

Every gaze snapped toward it.

The result screen they'd been waiting for.

But.

The color of the message was wrong.

It wasn't the brilliant gold of a victory announcement.

Crimson.

Vivid, unmistakably red. An ominous color.

[Grave Tidings.]

Skadi's smile froze.

Every god's mind went blank for an instant.

Grave Tidings?

[The God of Frost, 'Cryos,' has been slain by 'Rag.']
[His existence has been completely erased from Asgard.]

"......?"

"......??"

"......Wh-what is this??"

Silence.

No one could find words.

Everyone doubted their eyes.

Cryos was dead?

Slain?

The messages didn't stop.

Facts etched into the air with merciless clarity.

[Victor of the war: Rag]
[The invader was annihilated by overwhelming force.]
[All possessions of the defeated are claimed as spoils.]

Skadi's lips trembled.

"That's...... impossible."

Cryos had lost.

She had been certain defeat was out of the question.

The one who had marched in with tens of thousands had been devoured by a Floor 7 greenhorn.

And with that horrifying word—'slain.'

How?

A cascade of messages erupted like dominoes.

The Tower's rules for the victor were activating.

[The Hierarchy shifts dramatically.]
[Victor 'Rag's' Floor Tier surges explosively.]
[Rag is promoted to master of Tower Floor 55!]
['Rag' is recorded in the Hall of the Gods.]

Floor 55.

Forty-eight floors leaped in a single bound.

He had swallowed Cryos's position whole, and the momentum had propelled him all the way to Floor 55.

"Bwahahahahaha!"

Heimdal doubled over, laughing as though he'd lost his mind.

Rag. The boy had done it.

Exceeded every expectation, right before their eyes!

No—he'd surpassed even expectations.

Honestly, Heimdal had estimated the chances of victory as slim.

"Did you see that, Skadi? Would you not call that an overwhelming victory by Rag! Hahahahahaha!"

It hadn't even been close, apparently.

Cryos had been crushed.

He hadn't even been a match for Rag.

At last, Rag had become the undeniable eye of the storm within the Tower of God.

The laughter wouldn't stop.

Had he ever felt this good before?

The expression on Skadi's face—who had placed her bet on Cryos's assured victory—was a sight to behold.

The same went for every other god who had been certain of Cryos's triumph.

This thrill was beyond words.

And so, Heimdal proclaimed before all.

"But of course, someone who loses to the likes of Cryos could never be called my 'Apostle God.'"

He drove the nail in.

Rag was Heimdal's Apostle God!

A unique and absolute bond.

A declaration that his affection for Rag had risen enormously.

"Now then."

The man who'd been shaking the garden with laughter sprang to his feet and extended his hand toward Skadi.

"Hand it over, Skadi."

A grin.

"The 'Winter Flame.'"

"......"

It was time to collect the spoils.