Chapter 49

Chapter 49. The Adversaries of the Last Season

"Ah......"

Thump. Thump.

The sound of a beating heart.

Not an illusion.

Where the dark miasma had lifted.

A living body stood there, flushed with blood.

Turan looked down at his own hands.

Rough, calloused skin.

Incomparable to pallid shards of bone.

Warm blood coursed through his veins.

This vitality could not possibly be a lie.

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

Turan's voice trembled.

A full, resonant human voice from a living throat.

He whipped around.

Kalak, Barkan, Urk.

His three brothers were pawing at their own bodies.

Meeting each other's eyes, all four stared in disbelief.

Of course they did.

They had returned from death.

Broken free of the undead shackle that had imprisoned them across eons.

It was a miracle.

Those who watched were frozen in place.

Seria's eyes shook.

The Frost Tribe elves were the same.

No one dared speak.

All were struck silent with awe.

Magic that bound the dead as undead servants was common enough.

But full resurrection?

Grafting flesh onto rotted bones and restoring the soul?

This was the domain of a creator god—an act that should have belonged to the divine alone.

Once more, they were made to feel in their very bones the greatness of the lord they served.

But my attention was elsewhere.

There was no time for sentiment.

I studied the system window hovering in the air.

Information visible only to me.

The status screens of the barbarian brothers appeared.

Ding.

[Vassal: Turan (Ancient Barbarian)]
[Status: Incomplete Resurrection]
[Special Effects: Glacial Fury, Unyielding Body]
[Title: Adversary of the Last Season]
[Strength: 800 Health: 600 Agility: 500
Intelligence: 300 Mana: 400]
—※ The Divine Throne is not yet complete.
—※ Original power will be restored with each rescued clan member.

I stroked my chin.

'Incomplete Resurrection.'

As expected.

The Divine Throne itself was still half-formed.

The quest had to be cleared.

One hundred barbarians sealed somewhere in Asgard.

Trapped in Skadi's territory—all of them had to be rescued for the brothers' true strength to awaken.

But I wasn't disappointed.

If anything, my lips curled upward.

'Even now, these numbers are insane.'

Incomplete, and his Strength was already 800.

Health at 600.

These were monsters.

Kusan, the Lion King, had been called a calamity among Lesser gods.

And now I had four warriors overwhelmingly stronger than him.

There was no one among Asgard's current Lesser gods who possessed a fighting force greater than mine.

'Reassuring.'

My Floor 55 had become an impregnable fortress.

No one would dare touch it lightly.

That was when.

Thud.

The sound of a knee hitting the ground.

Turan had prostrated himself again.

This time, head buried, his shoulders heaving.

"Hkgh, hrrgh......"

"Bwaaaaaah!"

Massive men were weeping like children.

Turan, Kalak, Barkan, Urk.

All four brothers pounded the ground and wailed.

The grief of millennia was pouring out.

Years spent under Cryos's yoke, stripped of self, used as instruments of slaughter.

An eternity of hell that seemed as though it would never end—and someone had pulled them free.

And that wasn't all.

He'd returned their lives. Restored their pride.

He'd even raised a Divine Throne to give them the chance to reclaim their remaining kin.

How could they not worship him?

How could they not follow?

When someone gives everything, giving all of yourself in return is only natural.

All the more so when that gift was unconditional kindness—the barbarians were ready to offer everything they had.

Turan raised eyes streaked with bloody tears and gazed up at me.

The emotion in those eyes was something beyond even blind faith.

He had already sworn, of course.

For the eternal span until his soul wore to nothing, he would follow none but his lord.

But.

Even so.

Right now, even that was not enough.

"My lord!"

Turan roared until his voice cracked.

"This flesh and blood exist only through your miracle!"

THUD! THUD!

All four warriors beat their chests in unison.

An absolute oath ritual, unique to the ancient barbarians.

"We brothers shall be your spear and your shield!"

Turan's bellow shook the skies of Floor 55.

"Command us! Wherever you point, we will leap into hellfire without hesitation!"

"Command us! If they are our lord's enemies, we will tear out the leash of a god itself!"

"We will grind our bones to fortify our lord's throne!"

"Say the word and we will storm the frozen north this instant and bring you Skadi's head!"

The vein-popping shouts didn't stop.

Oaths drenched in bloody tears.

An intensity that was almost overwhelming.

I smirked.

"Whoa, whoa. Settle down."

I waved them off.

"Leaping into hellfire, grinding your bones. I'm not going to order anything that stupid, so relax."

A light joke to ease the mood.

But the four barbarians remained solemn.

If anything, they looked ready to weep again at their lord's mercy.

I shrugged as if to say there was no helping it.

In any case.

One great act had been concluded.

A breathless sprint of a war.

I had successfully devoured the God of Frost, Cryos.

Absorbed his territory and resources to claim the towering height of Floor 55.

The greatest harvest was the spoils.

I'd secured Heimdal's patronage and become his Apostle God.

In the process, I'd also claimed Creeping Chaos—the Authority Heimdal had kept dormant in his abyss.

'I can't use it yet.'

I didn't know exactly what it was.

But it was certainly the most secretive and powerful Authority Heimdal possessed.

On top of that, the four barbarian brothers who'd fallen into my lap as a bonus.

Former members of Skadi's personal guard—these monsters were now mine.

Their fighting power alone made Floor 55's defenses more than sufficient.

My position in the Tower of God had fundamentally changed.

The name 'Rag' would now be an object of fear and awe among the gods.

No half-baked Lesser or mid-tier god would dare set foot near my territory.

With the title of Heimdal's Apostle God and my proven martial might, I'd entered a realm no one could casually challenge.

My foothold in Asgard was secure for the time being.

Which meant only one thing remained.

'Earth.'

The next episode was approaching.

An even greater Calamity would descend upon the planet.

And more of the gods' Avatars would emerge as prey.

It was time to shore up my foundations in preparation for the next episode.

***

The Fortress of Eternal Winter.

Crack. Crack-crack.

The frozen earth screamed.

Spider-web fractures spread across the beautifully sculpted ice pillars.

"......"

The Queen of Winter, Skadi.

She sat upon her throne, body shaking.

Not from the cold.

From rage—uncontainable, unstoppable, absolute fury.

CRUNCH!

The ice armrest she'd been gripping shattered to powder.

'Cryos, you worthless piece of garbage.'

It was beyond belief.

He had been her Apostle God.

A chess piece she'd spent millennia cultivating, the ruler of the north.

And he'd lost.

Miserably, effortlessly crushed.

By a Floor 7 nobody.

By an insect that had barely crawled into the Tower yesterday.

'Rag.'

That lowborn wretch had dared to chew up and swallow her child.

He'd hurled indelible filth at the face of a Supreme Tier god.

And then there was Heimdal, that wretched creature.

—Hand it over, Skadi. The Winter Flame.

That arrogant face still haunted her.

Under the pretext of a wager, he'd seized the Sacred Relic that was akin to her own heart.

Before the eyes of countless gods, he had methodically trampled and mocked her.

Treated her as the defeated, pointed fingers and laughed.

"......Rag. And Heimdal."

Killing intent seeped through Skadi's lips.

Her eyes were streaked with red.

"How dare you. How dare you humiliate me like this."

CRASH—!

A savage blizzard began tearing through the entire fortress.

The queen's fury was freezing the very skies of Asgard.

Her pride had been shredded to ribbons.

She couldn't let this stand.

If she sat still, the title of Queen of Winter would become a punchline.

She would never forgive them.

Not Rag. Not Heimdal.

She would tear them apart and cast them into an eternal prison of ice.

Skadi drew a harsh breath.

Gradually, reason returned.

Blind rage alone couldn't fuel revenge.

She had to prepare.

A meticulous, perfect plan to grind them into the dirt.

'The Banquet.'

Before long, the gods' grand banquet would be held.

An occasion where the Supreme Tier gods and every notable figure in Asgard gathered.

If Rag had become Heimdal's Apostle God, he would inevitably show his face there.

At that official venue, she would humiliate them utterly.

So thoroughly that they could never hold their heads high in Asgard again.

Confidence was plentiful.

Heimdal was a lone wolf.

No matter that he stood at the pinnacle of the Natural Lineage—he was isolated.

His faction was small.

Skadi's faction, by contrast, was enormous.

The gods who followed her far outnumbered his.

Manipulating public opinion and dominating the atmosphere would be child's play.

And beyond that.

'Cryos was never my true Apostle God.'

Cryos had merely been a chess piece hastily propped up to manage the north.

Her real Apostle God was another matter entirely.

A genuine monster on a wholly different level from Cryos.

The next banquet.

She would show them there.

The overwhelming gap between a true Apostle God and whatever Rag was.

She would make them see—sear it into their minds—exactly how the arrogance of the typhoon froze to death beneath winter's heel.

***

The Great Calamity had receded.

Considerable time had passed since.

The next episode hadn't started yet.

But the world had already been irrevocably changed.

Heroes had emerged.

Countless people Awakened.

Cities lay in ruins, but humanity did not stop.

Another Calamity could strike at any moment.

To prepare for it, people had to grow stronger.

They hunted monsters.

They raided dungeons that had sprouted across the globe.

They shed blood, raised their levels, and fought to survive.

Park Hayan was no exception.

Her transformation was nothing short of miraculous.

Her paralyzed legs had been fully healed.

Rehabilitation was over in the blink of an eye.

And she had Awakened as a spirit arts user.

The tiny clusters of light that had always protected her.

Now she could commune with even more spirit friends.

Wherever she went, a clear breeze and a warm glow trailed in her wake.

Talent could not be hidden.

The powerful came knocking, recognizing Park Hayan's overwhelming potential.

"Would you consider joining us, Miss Park Hayan?"

Hands extended, offering a party.

Park Hayan didn't refuse.

She couldn't afford to stand still.

She had vowed to live splendidly, for all to see.

She had to become someone worthy of him.

She joined the party and threw herself into dungeon raids with feverish intensity.

Her rate of growth was staggering.

A mere two weeks.

In that short span, Park Hayan reached Level 30.

The party she belonged to had catapulted to prominence as one of Korea's foremost alliances of the strong.

The seeds of the Spirit Monarch were sprouting.

And today.

Park Hayan headed somewhere other than a dungeon.

A shabby residential neighborhood.

A poorly lit alley.

A semi-basement apartment.

She stood before a firmly shut, rusted iron door.

"......"

Thump. Thump.

Her heart hammered as though it would burst.

The person who had saved her.

Her benefactor.

The man whose face she had never seen—Kim Jeong-seok.

She was standing at his front door.