Chapter 44

Chapter 44. The Winter Flame

It was over.

The howling blizzard had ceased.

Seria drew ragged breaths.

Her entire body was caked in blood.

Frozen wounds had torn open, and her muscles screamed.

The result of holding off Death's Four Knights alone.

She looked like she could collapse at any moment.

But she stood firm on both legs.

She had survived.

She had carried out her lord's command to perfection.

"YAAAAAAAAH!"

A roar shattered the silence.

The surviving Frost Tribe elves, erupting in triumph.

Some fell to the ground and wept. Others clutched each other tight.

They had won.

Their victory.

The cruel god who had oppressed them and tried to burn them as kindling.

They had destroyed the ruler of frost with their own hands.

Before long, every cheering elf's gaze converged on a single point.

The melting remnants of ice.

And the man in black armor, standing tall at their center.

Rag.

Seria, too, gazed at him.

Her blue eyes trembled faintly.

'I can't believe we actually won......'

She hadn't dared imagine it.

That the victory would be this decisive and this absolute.

Right up until the war began, Seria had been bracing herself for defeat.

Cryos had been terror incarnate to the Frost Tribe.

She'd believed the odds of losing were far greater.

But the result?

They'd won.

And not by the skin of their teeth.

Completely. Overwhelmingly.

Under Rag's direct command, Cryos's army of tens of thousands had melted like scarecrows.

Meticulous traps, an unstinting supply of Nectar, and perfectly timed strikes at the enemy's throat.

Every last calculation had come from inside Rag's mind.

THUD.

Seria dropped to her knees.

She laid her bow on the ground, clasped both hands, and placed them over her heart.

Taking their cue from her, every cheering Frost Tribe elf prostrated themselves before Rag.

Reverence. Joy.

No—those shallow words couldn't fully capture what they felt.

Something scalding boiled up inside Seria's chest.

Her loyalty had broken through its limit.

It was a feeling that transcended a simple bond of master and servant.

An absolute faith. Veneration.

To her, Rag was no longer merely the benefactor who had taken them in, or a lord.

"My god......"

A reverent prayer slipped from Seria's lips.

She—and the Frost Tribe—had become Rag's unconditional zealots.

***

At the center of it all.

I extended my right hand.

Toward the spot where Cryos's body had crumbled.

I opened the golden rune toward the remnants of his Divinity.

HUMMMM!

Predation.

The vast master of frost was sucked into my palm.

Ding!

[You have devoured the Disaster, 'Cryos, the God of Frost.']
[Absorbing Divinity.]
[Authority acquired: 'Extreme Frost.']
[Achievement for annihilating an army of tens of thousands is being tallied.]
[Level increased!]

The corner of my mouth rose on its own.

The expected outcome.

I'd poured everything into this single victory.

Invested a fortune in Nectar, laid traps with meticulous care.

Targeted the enemy's weaknesses and controlled every variable.

And every calculation had aligned perfectly.

A mage winning on a mage's battlefield—what could be more natural?

I turned my head slowly.

The Frost Tribe elves were prostrated across the battlefield.

Kneeling before me, hands clasped in prayer.

Their eyes were blind with faith.

A veneration that went beyond mere loyalty.

That was when.

Ding!

A new type of message appeared.

Not golden, not crimson—a sacred white notification.

[You have earned the Frost Tribe elves' true faith.]
[The devotees' prayers gather, and your Divinity rises.]
[Preparations to erect a 'Divine Throne' are complete.]

Divine Throne.

A god's seat.

I grasped the meaning instinctively.

This was a concept that went beyond mere territory or floor ownership.

A throne for reigning as a true god.

An explanation followed.

[Offer an 'Authority' to the Divine Throne, and a 'Sacred Relic' will be forged through it as a medium.]
[The completed Sacred Relic bestows powerful effects upon the race bound to the Throne.]

Race.

The ones who now believed in me unconditionally.

The Frost Tribe elves.

I surveyed my Inventory and the Authorities dwelling within me.

Living Primordial Fire. Gale of Annihilation. Calamity from All Sides.

And the piping-hot Authority I'd just obtained.

'Extreme Frost.'

There was nothing to deliberate.

What combination could be more perfect than bestowing the Authority of frost upon the Frost Tribe?

Cryos had used this power to oppress them.

I would use it to bless them.

'I offer it.'

Without hesitation, I drew out the frost Authority.

A dense mass of cold rising from my fingertips.

It was drawn toward the spectral throne hovering in the air—the Divine Throne.

WHOOOOSH!

The Divine Throne devoured the Authority.

A blinding blue light blanketed the entire golden city.

Cold poured forth—but it wasn't chilling.

Ding!

[The Divine Throne tempers the frost Authority.]
[A new Sacred Relic has been born.]
[Name: Perennial Frost]
[A masterwork!]
[The synergy with the Frost Tribe elves is phenomenal!]
[A blessing descends.]

As the light scattered, a massive ice crystal embedded itself in the throne's backrest.

Perennial Frost.

The pulse it emitted washed over the prostrated elves.

[All stats of the Frost Tribe elves are enhanced by 30%.]
[The race's potential rises significantly.]
[Frost Tribe grade upgraded from B to A!]

"Ah......!"

"My body—it feels so light......"

The elves gasped.

Their wounds vanished like melting snow.

Skin regained its luster, and they trembled as immense mana surged through their bodies.

An evolution of the entire race.

But the rewards didn't end there.

[The owner of the Sacred Relic may exercise the right of designation.]
[A single designated Frost Tribe elf may directly wield the 'Frost Authority' imbued within the Relic.]
[They will obtain Divinity equivalent to a demigod as a God of Frost.]

A proxy of Authority.

One who borrowed and wielded a god's power.

That was tantamount to an apostle—an ascension to demigod.

I looked ahead.

The woman kneeling at the very front.

My sniper, who had endured Death's Four Knights drenched in blood until the very end.

If not her, then who?

I reached out.

"Seria."

"......Yes, Master."

"Raise your head."

Seria lifted her head slowly.

Deep loyalty still burned in her blue eyes.

"Take the Throne, Seria."

"......What?"

Ding!

[Designating Frost Tribe 'Seria' as Proxy of the Authority.]
[The 'Frost Authority' takes root in Seria.]

FLASH!

From the Perennial Frost embedded in the Divine Throne, a thick beam of light lanced outward.

It pierced straight through Seria's chest.

"Aah......!"

Seria's body floated into the air.

Her silver hair scattered like a snowstorm.

Her presence transformed.

She shed the shell of a mortal.

Divinity.

Though not a full god, she had been reborn as a transcendent being who wielded a god's Authority.

"S-Seria......!"

"She's gained Divinity!"

The elder watching broke down in tears.

He beat his forehead against the ground and wailed.

The other elves were the same.

Thick tears streamed as they clung to one another.

The Frost Tribe's long-held wish.

They had wanted a true god to protect them.

Even as Cryos deceived them into becoming Offerings, they had prayed that one day Seria would become a god and save them.

That desperate hope had finally come true.

Fat teardrops fell from Seria's eyes.

Hot tears of gratitude that refused to freeze.

She prostrated herself before me once more.

Forehead to the ground, she cried out in a choked voice.

"Until the day this life ends...... no, until the day my very soul crumbles."

Seria swore through her sobs.

"I will serve only the great Lord Rag!"

"We will serve Lord Rag!"

The elves' oaths struck my ears.

Ding!

A crisp notification.

A golden system window materialized in the air.

[Settling the legacy of the defeated 'Cryos.']
[Cryos's territory and annexed facilities are being dismantled.]
[All resources and monsters in his possession are converted to Nectar.]
[War victory rewards are being distributed.]
[Title acquired: 'Meteoric Rise']
[Title acquired: 'Super Rookie']

The victor claims everything from the vanquished.

The same held true in wars between gods.

The numbers climbed at a frantic pace.

And the sum was sweet indeed.

[Total: 5,880,000 Nectar distributed.]

5.88 million.

I stroked my chin.

A considerable figure.

One Fragment of the Broken Golden Rule converted to one million Nectar.

This was roughly equivalent to six fragments.

The Nectar spent upgrading Floor 7 to S-grade in preparation for war.

Plus the costs of digging all those traps.

Running the numbers, I'd at least broken even, and then some.

But the accounting didn't stop there.

Higher floors came with better pay.

[Base maintenance for Floor 55 promotion has been updated.]
[5,400 Nectar distributed every 30 days.]
[S-grade floor effects applied.]
[Base distribution amplified by 500% multiplicatively.]
[Final distribution: 27,000 Nectar every 30 days.]

Twenty-seven thousand Nectar a month.

Passive income that rolled in just for breathing.

A staggering pension that Lesser gods couldn't dream of.

Free money was never a bad thing.

HUMMMM!

The surroundings shifted as well.

The earth trembled as the territory began to expand.

Incomparably larger than what Floor 7 had been.

At least twice the size, from the looks of it.

The horizon receded into the far distance.

Ample land to expand the golden city even further.

A perfect victory.

And perfect rewards.

I nodded in satisfaction.

But.

Even this wasn't the end.

The real prize among the spoils remained.

My gaze drifted to a corner of the battlefield.

Where the blizzard had ceased.

Four black figures, masterless, kneeling.

Skeletal horses and black armor.

Undying monstrosities born from the depths of abyssal cold.

'Death's Four Knights......!'

The prized personal guard Cryos had boasted of.

They hadn't been annihilated—they'd been left behind intact as spoils of war.