Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

A faint ripple disturbed the garden of the gods.

RUMMMMBLE.

Nectar sloshed in their goblets.

Gods set down the fruit they'd been raising to their lips.

The muses who'd been playing their instruments stilled their hands.

Silence.

Hundreds of gazes turned downward in unison.

To be precise, they were peering through the floor — all the way to the unfathomable depths of the first basement level.

"......What was that just now?"

Someone broke the silence.

An energy of an entirely different caliber had surged upward from below.

"The Chamber of Selection?"

"The summoning ritual should be underway."

"A fluctuation of this magnitude. Don't tell me a jackpot hit?"

Jackpot.

The gods murmured among themselves.

On the system's die, the scale ran from 1 to 100.

But that was merely the face value.

The probability of rolling a 100.

It was precisely 1 in 1,373,248.

Less than one in a million.

In the entire history of the tower, only five beings had ever hit the jackpot at the seed stage.

And three of those five.

Were supreme gods now seated as presiding lords on this very top floor.

"That would mean a being born with the quality of a king."

"Who is it? Was there such a prospect among the latest batch of seeds?"

Their curiosity didn't linger long.

A herald spirit sliced through the air and arrived.

An urgent voice rang through the garden.

[Urgent report! A 'Named' has been summoned in the Floor 1 Chamber of Selection!]

Named.

A familiar bearing a name.

It referred to a mythological entity bestowed with a unique true name.

[The summoner is 'Rag'! The summoned entity is...... the Dragon of Catastrophe, 'Angragon'!]

In that instant.

The gods' expressions hardened.

"......The Dragon of Catastrophe?"

"The Dragon of Catastrophe I'm thinking of?"

"Isn't it one of the Primordial Dragons?"

The Dragon of Catastrophe.

A monster renowned as the most ferocious and powerful among the Primordial Dragons.

Above all, one fact was paramount.

'It doesn't exist in this tower.'

The Dragon of Catastrophe was absent from the tower's monster database.

Meaning it had been forcibly pulled from outside, piercing through the dimensional barrier.

Luck alone wasn't enough.

It was only possible if the summoner's talent could handle the caliber of the monster.

Subtly.

Every god's gaze converged on a single point.

A man sitting in the corner of the garden, legs crossed at an angle.

The God of Typhoons — Heimdal.

"Heimdal."

"'Rag' — isn't that the one you brought in?"

Instead of answering, Heimdal tilted his goblet.

The smile on his lips was dripping with arrogance.

"Luck is a skill too, wouldn't you say?"

The gods clicked their tongues at his attitude.

Eyes tinged with jealousy and envy.

Even after waiting centuries, they hadn't found such an outstanding seed — and Heimdal had simply plucked one from outside.

One that was hitting jackpots from the very start, no less.

"Hmph. We'll see."

One god crossed his arms and scoffed.

"Hitting the jackpot doesn't mean they all make it up here."

That was true.

Of the five historical jackpot winners, three had become gods.

The remaining two had met miserable ends.

They'd grown overconfident in their luck and talent, and were devoured in vain.

"The Dragon of Catastrophe. It's certainly a powerful card, but......"

"A dragon that isn't mastered will bite its owner."

"He won't be recognized as its master anyway."

"We might just watch him self-destruct in the Chamber of Selection."

The gods did their best to diminish his achievement.

But deep interest lingered alongside their dismissals.

An undeniable sense of anticipation.

The one who'd beaten odds of one in a million.

The one who'd claimed a primordial catastrophe.

Just how far would that seed grow?

Or would he be snapped before he even sprouted?

The latter was more probable.

All the more so because.

The current generation of 'seeds' was hungrier than any that had come before.

The quality of the seeds was equally exceptional.

There was no way they'd stand by and let 'Rag' pull ahead on his own.

A nail that sticks out gets hammered down.

***

The dust settled.

Everyone held their breath.

So did I.

When the altar shattered and the black pillar erupted, I'd had expectations.

A colossal dragon blotting out the sky.

A beast that could level this entire temple with a single breath.

But.

— ......Yaaawn.

Atop the pile of rubble.

A creature the size of a fist cracked open its mouth and yawned.

Black scales.

Cute little wings on its back.

Round eyes.

Anyone could see it was a hatchling that had just broken out of its shell — a baby lizard. No, a baby dragon.

"......"

Silence.

The seeds' eyes went wide.

I narrowed mine as well.

'This is the Dragon of Catastrophe?'

Quite the grandiose name.

But I couldn't let my guard down.

The breath the little thing had exhaled with its yawn.

That single wisp of smoke was corroding the stone floor to a charred black.

'No doubt about it.'

I lowered my stance to meet its eye level.

My knowledge as a mage was blaring alarm bells.

Magic and dragons were inseparable.

That's why I knew quite a lot about dragons.

My knowledge of the Primordial Dragons was admittedly shallow, but.

One thing was certain.

The most ill-tempered and powerful of dragons.

A living catastrophe said to reduce an entire continent to ashes upon a single emergence.

An existence that defied all standards — that was the Dragon of Catastrophe.

Gugu shrieked as if screaming.

"Th-the Dragon of Catastrophe?!"

The penguin's eyes bulged to the point of popping out.

"A first! The first entity ever summoned since the tower was built! I-I don't even know what score to give......!"

The Abyssal Dragon had scored 95.

But the Dragon of Catastrophe was unprecedented.

There wasn't even data to assign a score.

Literally immeasurable.

"......The summoning succeeded, but the real question is."

"......Right. Being recognized as its master is a different matter entirely."

Someone muttered.

The seeds nodded at those words.

Exactly.

Summoning wasn't the end.

True summoning meant making the summoned entity 'submit.'

And the opponent was a 'Named.'

Named monsters had pride that pierced the heavens.

There was no chance one would accept a mere seed — not even a god — as its master.

"He's going to get eaten."

"There's no way he can control a monster like that."

Pessimistic forecasts poured in.

And indeed, Angragon was staring up at me with unblinking eyes.

Red irises.

Was the emotion within them curiosity? Or appetite?

I smiled faintly.

Fear?

Toss that to the dogs.

Show even the slightest hint of fear, and it would sense it instinctively.

It wouldn't even consider following me.

I reached out my hand immediately.

Right in front of its nose.

"He's insane! He stuck his hand out!"

"His wrist is going to fly off!"

Whether or not the onlookers were panicking.

I extended my index finger and lightly tapped its forehead.

"Angragon."

It tilted its head.

I grinned and spoke.

"You've been kidnapped."

"......?"

Its eyes went perfectly round.

Kidnapped.

Probably the first time it had ever heard such a thing in its life.

But I was brazen about it.

"I kidnapped you. So sit tight and behave."

A brief silence passed.

Sniff, sniff.

Before long, Angragon started sniffing my finger.

And then.

Nuzzle.

It began rubbing its head against my palm.

Prrrrrr.......

Like a contented cat.

It rumbled and purred.

"......Wha?!"

"Th-that's impossible!"

Shock.

The impossible had just happened.

It was a Named.

A being of a different caliber, a different dimension.

And such a monster was showing affection to a mere seed?

'......That's a relief.'

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief and stroked its head.

I had a rough idea of why.

Maximum affinity with all attributes.

Above all, the class 'He Who Devours Disasters.'

For a Dragon of Catastrophe like Angragon, there was no existence more kindred than me.

"That's right, good boy."

When I scratched under its chin, it flipped onto its back.

A perfect display of submission.

Gugu, who had been gaping at the sight, snapped back to attention and thrust a wing skyward.

"200 points!"

A booming declaration shook the temple.

"200 points! Limit broken! The highest score in history!"

***

The commotion died down.

But the eyes on me were still blazing.

Awe, jealousy, and fear.

Naturally.

The other seeds had scored 80 or 90 at best.

Not a single one had broken 100.

And here I was, alone at 200.

An overwhelming first place.

The gap was absurdly wide from the very start.

"Now, now, settle down!"

Gugu flapped his wings to redirect attention.

"It's not over yet. Summoning is merely a supplementary measure! A god's true power lies elsewhere."

Gugu pointed at the air.

SWOOSH.

A translucent crystal orb floated upward.

"The second trial is the 'Disaster Aptitude' evaluation."

Disaster aptitude.

A stage to determine the type of authority a god wields.

I listened to the explanation with my arms crossed.

"The authorities of the gods are broadly divided into three lineages."

Gugu explained, extending one wing at a time.

"First, the 'Natural lineage.' Authorities that harness the forces of nature — typhoons, earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions. The strongest in destructive power and widest in range, making it the premier lineage."

Gods like Heimdal and Kartal belonged here.

The most common and powerful — the orthodox disasters.

"Second, the 'Biological lineage.' Insidious forces that gnaw at life — plagues, curses, poisoning."

Gods like the Black Death God or the Plague Lord from the past.

Low in direct destructive power, but experts at bleeding an entire civilization dry.

"Third, the 'Material lineage.' Forces that manipulate physical phenomena — explosions, collapse, asphyxiation."

The trickiest type in a one-on-one fight.

Gugu tapped the crystal orb.

"Place your hand on this orb, and your latent aptitude will manifest as a color. The deeper the color, the greater the talent. Shall we begin?"

The seeds lined up with tense expressions.

The first was the ogre man who'd summoned the Hellfire Wolf earlier.

"HRAAAH!"

He slapped the orb with a battle cry.

FWOOSH!

The orb blazed red.

A fairly deep crimson.

"Ooh! Aptitude for 'Volcano' and 'Explosion'! Excellent. 85 points!"

At Gugu's announcement, the ogre pumped his fist.

The emboldened seeds stepped forward in turn.

"What about me?"

FLAAAAASH.

This time, a blue tint swirled.

"Aptitude for downpour and flood! Natural lineage. 88 points!"

"Please......"

CRACKLE.

A sickly green light oozed upward.

"Hm, rot and poison. Biological lineage. Not bad. 75 points."

The evaluations continued.

Most produced faint or unremarkable colors.

Whenever a deep hue appeared, cheers erupted.

But no one managed to break the 90-point barrier.

And then, at last.

"Next — Mister Rag."

My turn.

The hall fell silent in an instant.

Every eye fixed on my fingertips.

'What kind of aptitude does that monster have?'

'He scored 200 in summoning, so his aptitude must be insane too, right?'

Anticipation weighed down the air.

I smirked and walked to the podium.

'Aptitude, huh.'

I was curious, in truth.

I'd used 100 million SP to max every attribute and talent.

In theory, every color should appear.

Or maybe a rainbow?

"I'm excited to see this."

Gugu's eyes sparkled.

Without hesitation, I placed my hand on the crystal orb.

TAP.

A cold sensation.

There was no need to channel mana.

The orb reacted the moment my hand touched it.

But then.

"......Huh?"

Someone voiced their confusion.

There was no light.

Not red, not blue, not green.

SWIRL.......

Black mist rose within the orb.

It wasn't emitting light — it was swallowing the light around it.

In an instant, the entire orb turned pitch-black.

No — beyond black, it was as hollow as if space itself had been punctured.

"......"

Silence.

A different kind from when Angragon was summoned.

If that had been shock, this was bewilderment and confusion.

"What is that?"

"Black? Was that even a possible color?"

"Is it broken?"

The murmuring swelled.

Natural, biological, material.

None of the three lineages had any explanation for 'black.'

It was too alien to be a darkness attribute.

It looked like a black hole that swallowed everything.

"Hmmm......"

Gugu scratched his head with a wing, looking perplexed.

Even he, the administrator, seemed to be seeing this for the first time.

"Normally, if you have no talent, it turns transparent or white......"

Gugu tilted his head.

Then, cautiously, he spoke.

"This is...... close to 'Null.'"

"Null?"

"Yes. It doesn't exhibit the properties of any disaster. No destruction, no contamination, no physical interference. It's just...... empty."

Empty.

The moment those words landed, the seeds' expressions shifted in a peculiar way.

"What, is it a dud?"

"Guess he dumped all his talent into summoning."

"Well, a god can't be good at everything."

"Knew it — he just got lucky with the jackpot."

Sighs of relief.

And mockery.

The gazes that had regarded me as a monster were instantly downgraded to 'lucky bastard.'

Gugu, too, reached his conclusion with an ambiguous expression.

"Per regulations, an aptitude that can't be classified receives no score. And since I sense no capacity to trigger disasters......"

Gugu held up a placard.

"Zero points."

Zero.

And so, in the history of the Chamber of Selection, a madman who'd received both 200 points and 0 points was born.

"BWAHAHAHA!"

"Zero! He got a zero!"

The dark elf was the first to burst into laughter.

The others cackled along.

The terror Angragon had instilled just moments ago had vanished without a trace.

They chattered about how the tower was fair after all, how the balance was intact.

But I didn't bat an eye.

Because I had a pretty good idea why black had appeared.

'I don't create disasters — I eat them.'

Black.

Emptiness.

Of course.

My authority wasn't about 'creating' disasters.

It was about 'devouring' them.

Fire, water, poison, explosions.

A power that swallows every disaster and makes it my own.

Black was the color of 'predation.'

Just as mixing all colors produces black, my aptitude — one that consumes all disasters — could only be black.

'......Zero points.'

Strategically, not bad at all.

The perfect score to lower their guard.

A half-baked seed riding on his summoned beast alone.

That's the assessment they'd slap on me.

However.

'The wager with Heimdal is the issue.'

I had to take first place on Floor 1 by an overwhelming margin.

Otherwise, even if I made it to Floor 1, Heimdal would kill me.

***

"Hahahaha!"

Laughter erupted across the garden of the gods, loud enough to shake the walls.

The solemn air of Valhalla lightened in an instant.

"Zero points! He actually scored a zero?"

"Simultaneously recording the all-time high and all-time low — now that's historic in its own right!"

The gods rolled on the floor holding their sides.

The tension they'd felt moments ago at news of Angragon's summoning had evaporated.

To them, Rag was no longer a 'threatening prodigy.'

Just a lucky bastard.

A 'clown' with zero personal ability.

"The tower is fair after all."

"Must've spent all his luck on the summoning."

"He'll ride his familiar's coattails until he gets sacrificed. Tsk, tsk."

Mockery and ridicule.

The gods were fixated on the numbers.

They hadn't the slightest interest in what color had appeared.

The marvel of 200 points was diluted, overshadowed by the absurd report card of 0.

They saw only what they wanted to see.

Because they wanted the comfort of confirming Rag's 'incompetence.'

But.

Just one.

Heimdal, the God of Typhoons, alone did not laugh.

'......Zero?'

He set his goblet down.

His eyes narrowed as he sank into thought.

This was the one who knew the Absolute God Force Majeure's name. The one who'd taken a typhoon head-on.

And he had no disaster aptitude?

'Impossible.'

It didn't add up.

WHOOOOSH.

Just then, a thread of wind brushed past Heimdal's ear.

His vassal spirit brought an urgent report.

— My lord. I've confirmed Rag's aptitude color.

'Speak.'

— It was black.

'Black?'

Heimdal's brow twitched.

The spirit's report continued.

— Yes. Not the purple or deep indigo typical of a darkness attribute. A perfect darkness that swallowed even light. Literally 'black.'

— Administrator Gugu classified it as 'Null' and awarded zero points.

Null?

Whether there truly was no talent at all.

Or whether the talent ran so deep it was unreadable.

He couldn't tell.

'A promise is a promise, Rag.'

Heimdal drained his nectar in a single gulp.

One gate remained.

Whether or not Rag could keep his promise of an overwhelming first place — that remained to be seen.

***

And then.

Higher still than the floor where Heimdal sat.

A place ordinary gods wouldn't dare set foot — the 'Celestial Realm' at the tower's apex.

It was a space of eternal darkness, where even light could not linger.

Deep within that darkness, a being sat upon a throne.

Hod, the Dark God.

One of Asgard's Twelve Sovereign Gods, the absolute ruler who presided over darkness.

"......"

He opened his eyes.

In the pitch-black space, his gaze flashed.

"An immaculate black."

Hod's voice resonated with gravity.

He reached out and swept his hand through the air.

The darkness parted, and the scene of the Floor 1 Chamber of Selection appeared like a mirror.

Within that image stood a golden-haired man with a brazen expression.

Rag.

Hod stared at Rag, unblinking.

At length.

"At last, I've found him."

A faint smile spread across Hod's lips.

"My successor."