Chapter 45

Chapter 45. Perennial Frost

But something was strange.

Why hadn't Death's Four Knights been converted to Nectar?

Everything that had composed the floor had been dismantled.

The Demonic Beasts purchased through the Crystal, every facility Cryos had erected—all of it had been exchanged for Nectar.

And yet those four knights alone retained their form intact.

There was only one explanation.

'Named monsters.'

Meaning they weren't mass-produced stock from the Crystal.

Beings brought in directly from outside the Tower of God—from the Asgard mainland or another dimension—and raised.

Or monsters too dangerous to leave outside, forcibly brought into the Tower.

Just as Seria had once been recruited.

When you thought about it, Death's Four Knights had outranked Seria.

One tier above the Middle Manager she'd been—Cryos's direct personal guard.

It had been the same in the past, when the Strike Force climbed the Tower alongside me.

The trickiest and most aggravating had been Seria with her stealth.

But the most powerful and destructive had been those Four Knights.

Hadn't this very war proved the same?

Luring the Four Knights toward Seria and splitting them from the main force had been the linchpin of victory.

But I didn't know their true origin.

They were in a different class from ordinary death knights or undead.

I walked toward them slowly.

Step. Step.

Approaching the four black knights who knelt before me.

"Master! It's dangerous!"

Seria called out urgently, trying to hold me back.

Masterless undead could go berserk at any moment.

But I raised a hand to stop her.

"It's fine."

I closed the distance.

I stood face-to-face with Death's Four Knights.

Blue light flickered behind their black helms.

There was no killing intent.

Who were they, really?

That was when.

Hummm.

My left hand reacted.

The blue rune that had glowed when I'd gathered souls at the Secret Auction pulsed faintly.

The hand of Dominion, governing Soul Bestowal.

Through it, the voices of souls began to reach me.

Heavy thoughts flowing directly into my mind.

Rage. Fighting spirit.

And a fierce sorrow that had endured across eons.

I read their origins.

I parted my lips.

And called their true names.

"Turan. Kalak. Barkan. Urk."

A flinch.

All four knights shuddered at once.

Heads that had been bowed snapped upward.

The blue light inside their helms shook violently.

Because their True Names—forgotten across millennia—had been spoken.

I looked down at them and spoke.

"Guardians of winter."

They were ancient beings.

The era known as 'the Last Season'—an age of bitter cold.

Four barbarian brothers who had stood against the tyranny of gods.

Cryos had coveted their unbreakable spirits.

But he could never make them submit.

So he killed their bodies by force, froze their souls, and put them to work as undead.

Memories erased, reduced to machines that knew only slaughter.

But the blue rune on my left hand was thawing their frozen memories.

"Your chains are severed."

I extended my left hand.

Blue light wrapped warmly around their black armor.

"Will you follow me?"

I didn't force them.

I didn't try to lord over them as a god.

I simply answered the resonance of their souls and offered my hand.

Silence passed.

Even the wind seemed to stop.

And then.

Clatter. Clang!

All four knights set down their weapons at the same time.

They prostrated themselves deeply at my feet.

Ancient warriors who had despised the gods.

In that moment, they entrusted their souls to the mage who had killed one.

Ding!

[The ancient souls answer your call.]
[Death's Four Knights become your vassals.]

Perfect.

I was savoring a satisfied smile when—

RUMBLE!

The sky split open.

The airspace above my territory, now expanded to Floor 55.

Massive thunderclouds began to swirl.

WHOOOOSH!

A savage typhoon that could tear space apart.

The elves gasped and held their breath at the overwhelming divine might.

Even Death's Four Knights tensed instinctively, reaching for the weapons they'd just laid down.

But I smirked.

Because I knew who it was.

The arrogant, immense master of that wind.

The thunderclouds parted.

Through the gap, a man descended slowly.

The God of Typhoons.

The Ruler of All Things.

Heimdal.

He burst into hearty laughter and stood before me.

Clap.

Heimdal's large hand struck my shoulder.

"Bwahahaha! Magnificent, Rag!"

Wind surged and clouds danced.

"I never doubted your victory for a moment."

He meant it.

He looked genuinely delighted.

"You should have seen their faces. Especially Skadi—that wench's twisted expression!"

A laugh like a decade of indigestion lifting at once.

The elation of crushing the pride of gods who'd been certain of victory radiated from him in waves.

Heimdal's laughter subsided, and he looked at me squarely.

"As promised."

Then he declared it.

"From this day forward, I appoint you as my one and only 'Apostle God.'"

An extraordinary honor.

He didn't ask.

How I'd won.

By what means I'd built up a floor in such a short time and killed Cryos.

There had to be more than a few suspicious details.

But he let them all go.

The process didn't matter.

Only the result.

He'd seen my overwhelming capability and acknowledged it in full.

A magnanimity beyond measure.

Heimdal's gaze shifted to the side.

The prostrated Frost Tribe elves.

And Seria, standing near the Divine Throne.

He raised an eyebrow, sensing the sacred chill emanating from her body.

"Oh? You bestowed a Sacred Relic?"

I nodded.

Heimdal scanned them with interest.

"So these are your hands and feet, Rag."

He stroked his chin.

"Good. I will remember each of your faces."

At those words, Seria, the elder, and the elves jolted in alarm.

Recognition from a Supreme Tier god.

They hurriedly pressed their foreheads to the ground.

"W-we are honored, O great Ruler of All Things!"

Trembling voices.

Heimdal clicked his tongue.

"Raise your heads."

A commanding utterance.

"The only one you should bow to is Rag. Remember that."

It sounded like a rebuke.

But a faint smile lingered at the corner of his mouth.

The loyalty of my vassals clearly pleased him.

And then.

Heimdal's gaze finally settled on one spot.

The four black knights kneeling behind me.

Death's Four Knights.

"......Well, well."

Heimdal paused.

A peculiar light entered his eyes.

"You have tamed even these?"

His surprise was plain.

I asked.

"Do you know them?"

Heimdal nodded.

"Know them? Of course."

He shook his head at the black knights.

"Originally Skadi's property. She must have entrusted them to Cryos as part of his fighting force."

Skadi's property.

Ancient warriors that the Queen of Winter herself had commanded.

"This works out perfectly."

Heimdal reached into the air.

Space warped, and something emerged.

WHOOSH!

A flame so blue it stung the eyes.

An object radiating a paradoxical energy—cold yet burning.

"This is the 'Winter Flame.'"

Heimdal held it before my eyes.

"What those four barbarians originally guarded was this very thing."

The absolute artifact that Death's Four Knights had been tasked with protecting.

A Sacred Relic akin to Skadi's own heart.

"I won it from Skadi in our wager."

Heimdal smirked and pushed it toward me.

"Strictly speaking, this too is your spoils, Rag."

"......You're giving this to me?"

"Is that not obvious?"

His hand gripped my shoulder again, firmly.

"Take it. Enjoy it. It is the victor's right."

Clear in reward and punishment.

That was the kind of god Heimdal was.

But this hadn't been given for free.

He'd said there was a wager.

A gamble with Skadi, each staking the other's leash.

He'd won, so he'd gained.

But if I'd lost?

Heimdal, too, would have forfeited something of equal weight.

He'd have surrendered a weakness as vital as his own heart.

He'd bet his neck on me.

That weight was anything but light.

I shook my head.

"Please keep it."

A polite refusal.

"This is not my share. I merely fought my own battle."

But Heimdal smirked.

He didn't withdraw the blue flame.

Instead, he pushed it into my chest.

"Take it."

An order.

"It is the first gift I give to my Apostle God."

Apostle God.

The weight of that word pressed down on the air of Floor 55.

Heimdal continued.

"To become an Apostle God means that you become my face."

His gaze drifted to the ancient warriors prostrated behind me.

Death's Four Knights.

No—the four barbarian brothers.

"If you fully tame those barbarians and master this Sacred Relic as well."

The corner of Heimdal's mouth twisted upward.

"Even that wench Skadi will not dare act rashly."

A political play.

Claim those who had been Skadi's fighting force as my vassals.

Absorb Skadi's Sacred Relic.

That would be tantamount to slapping the Queen of Winter across the face.

"Well."

Heimdal shrugged lightly.

"The moment that happens, an all-out war with me will begin."

There was no fear.

If anything, his eyes burned with the bloodlust of a predator who relished the fight.

Heimdal met my gaze once more.

"Allow me to explain what it means to be an Apostle God."

The wind died.

Only Heimdal's voice commanded the space.

"Your glory is my glory."

An absolute bond.

"And my glory shall be yours."

A sharing of transcendent status that no Lesser god could dare aspire to.

"One of my absolute Authorities—you will be able to wield it."

A condition followed.

"Within the limits your vessel allows, of course."

It clicked.

Cryos.

The 'invincibility' he'd possessed during his Phase 3 transformation.

That had been the absolute Authority Skadi had bestowed upon her Apostle God.

A power far beyond what any Lesser god could possess on their own.

"Furthermore."

Heimdal spread his arms wide.

"You will share in everything I hold dominion over."

Deep conviction colored his voice.

"Both outside this Tower of God, and within it."

An extraordinary offer.

No—even 'offer' was an insufficient word.

This was salvation.

A Supreme Tier god of Asgard.

The Ruler of All Things.

To share in all his infrastructure, authority, and power.

The moment I became his Apostle God, Investigation Chief Abdulla wouldn't be able to look at my feet, let alone question me.

He wouldn't dare so much as utter the words 'god hunter.'

The perfect shield.

The most formidable backing imaginable.

Heimdal extended his hand.

"And so I ask."

His eyes bore into me.

"Will you become my Apostle God?"

Silence fell.

Seria, the elves, the ancient warriors—all held their breath.

Every eye fixed on my lips.

The obvious answer was to accept.

A flawless deal with not a single reason to refuse.

I deliberated for a long while.

Through that long, long silence, I slowly raised my head.

I met Heimdal's eyes without flinching.

And opened my mouth to answer.

"No."