Chapter 71

Chapter 71. Engraved

Twenty-three times.

A single lesser god, shackled, had fought and beaten twenty-three mid-tier and high-ranking Apostle Gods in succession.

There was no rest.

He never stepped back.

He simply staggered through a pool of blood and nominated the next opponent.

Silence.

Even after the bouts had ended, the gods in the garden couldn't muster a single reaction.

All they could do was stare, dumbstruck, at Rag standing on the dais.

"Haa, haa......"

Rag heaved out ragged breaths.

Every lungful of air tasted of iron.

His chest felt as if it were being torn apart.

His condition was even more dire.

His entire body was a wreck -- quite literally.

From wounds where flesh was gouged and bone was exposed, dark red blood streamed without end.

God's body or not, it was miraculous that he was still alive.

His legs shook violently.

He was barely holding his weight upright using Abriel as a crutch.

It was a sight far too wretched for a god.

Closer to the haggard, pathetic, unsightly appearance of a defeated man.

But.

"Next."

Rag spat out a clot of blood-tinged phlegm and raised his head.

"Next one. Crawl out here."

His eyes alone remained unbroken.

Even though he looked like breathing itself was beyond him, Rag's eyes were lit with a cold, murderous blue as they glared at the Apostle Gods.

"......"

"......"

No one stepped forward.

Even the high-ranking Apostle Gods who'd been snarling moments ago about tearing him apart.

They were overwhelmed.

Fear was taking root in their hearts.

The tenacity of that thing -- still refusing to release the sword even as his body was reduced to rags, one step from death -- was awe-inspiring.

Why?

What on earth drives that creature?

'Is he after the divine maidens?'

Hardly.

The gods shook their heads.

He wasn't raving over some high-purity Nectar.

That thing was simply.

'A monster addicted to battle.'

A lunatic whose sanity had collapsed.

A vengeful wraith that craves struggle itself above pride, above life.

With his entire body, from within that wretched pool of blood, he was speaking to them.

-If you intend to come at me, come prepared for the end.

-If you want my head, be ready to stake your own life.

It was on an entirely different level from the boastful warnings Heimdal had been spouting.

Rag's ghastly appearance was driving the emotion called fear directly under their skin.

The high-ranking gods swallowed.

They could win.

He was weakened to the point where a flick would topple him.

But what if.

What if that wraith-like creature, in its dying moment, clawed for mutual annihilation?

Not a single god wanted to dip a toe into that filthy swamp.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

A slow but clear sound of applause cut through the air.

"Enough."

All eyes turned upward.

The twelve thrones.

From within the pitch-black darkness of one, Hod, the Dark God, clapped and spoke.

"Is there more to see?"

Hod's voice bore down on the Banquet hall.

"That's enough."

"......!"

The gods flinched and bowed their heads.

Hod tilted his body at an angle and looked down at Rag.

"If this continues, you will certainly lose, Rag."

A cold assessment.

Looking at Rag's state, it was an undeniable fact.

"However."

The corners of Hod's mouth rose strangely.

"With that spirit alone, you have already overwhelmed every Apostle God present."

His gaze swept across the Apostle Gods.

"That alone makes Rag the victor of this Banquet, for all intents and purposes."

Acknowledged by the Twelve Sovereign Gods.

No one could object.

That was when it happened.

The man seated in the adjacent throne nodded.

"The Dark God speaks true."

The God of War, Ares.

His eyes gleamed with fighting spirit.

"It's been a while since a god with real mettle appeared."

As though his body was itching for action.

He clenched his fist and said.

"I, the God of War, acknowledge it. Today's battle belongs to Rag."

Consecutive praise from two of the Twelve Sovereign Gods -- the pair who embodied martial supremacy.

With that, any room for dispute was conclusively closed.

"......Understood."

Aigis on the dais had no choice but to nod.

With the Twelve Sovereign Gods openly taking a side, what power did the emcee have to argue?

"If the Sovereign Gods' will is so."

Aigis surveyed the assembly.

"The bouts are hereby concluded."

The conclusion of the bouts.

And what did that mean?

"The victor is Heimdal's Apostle God, Rag!"

There was still no cheering.

But the proceedings continued.

"And as promised."

Aigis raised his hand and pointed to the divine maidens shackled and trembling on the marble table.

"All divine maidens there shall become the sole property of the victor, Rag."

Spoils of war.

The offerings of pure souls.

Every last one fell to Rag's share.

At the same time.

The taut wire of tension snapped.

Wobble.

Rag's legs gave out.

No strength left to stand.

Abriel slipped from his grip, and his body began to crumple onto the marble dais.

In that instant.

WHOOOOSH--!

A fierce gale swept through.

Someone caught Rag's collapsing body and held it firm.

A massive frame.

Steady hands.

Heimdal.

He braced Rag's shoulders, silently looking down at the blood-soaked figure.

"......"

Heimdal's expression was complicated.

A look woven from pride, astonishment, and some deep, unreadable sentiment.

He whispered low.

"Well fought, Rag. My...... Apostle God."

Heimdal quietly placed his hands on the cold metal clamped around Rag's wrists and ankles.

The heavy shackles that had sealed 99% of his Divine Power.

CRACK!

One squeeze of his grip, and the shackles shattered to pieces, clattering to the floor.

FLASH--!

Rag's suppressed Divine Power was unleashed.

Like a dam bursting, a vast torrent of Divine Power erupted and enveloped his blood-drenched body.

Wounds began to close.

Torn muscle knit together. Broken bones found their way back.

The immortal body, its divinity restored.

Not a perfect recovery, but rapidly healing to a level where his life was no longer in danger.

Heimdal watched the process in silence.

The complicated emotion and compassion he'd shown while catching Rag had already been wiped clean.

Hsssh.

He raised his head.

Wearing that brazenly, insufferably arrogant face of his.

The Ruler of All Things had returned -- the man who placed everything in the world beneath his feet and sneered.

Heimdal scooped the unconscious, limp Rag into one arm with ease.

And then.

He turned his head and began to scan the hundreds of gods filling the garden. Slowly. Very leisurely.

"Did you see?"

His gaze pinned them one by one.

It even reached, without a shred of deference, up to the Twelve Sovereign Gods' thrones floating above.

As if to say:

-This is my Apostle God.

Boasting, as plainly as that.

And in particular.

His eyes paused at one spot.

The woman at the heart of her faction, lips bitten shut.

The Queen of Winter, Skadi.

Behind her, Apostle God Akan knelt on the ground in a miserable heap, trembling.

The corner of Heimdal's mouth split wide.

He aimed a mocking sneer squarely at Skadi.

Her Winter Flame had been stolen, and now her Apostle God had been utterly humiliated as well.

Unable to endure his gaze, Skadi whipped her head away.

"Hahahahaha!"

Heimdal laughed uproariously.

And as though he had no further business here, he turned -- Rag cradled in his arm -- and walked away.

WHOOOOSH--!

A massive gale swept through the garden.

When the wind subsided, Heimdal and Rag were gone.

***

The Banquet ended.

Hundreds of lesser, mid-tier, and high-ranking gods filed out of the garden, buzzing with murmurs.

Only one name passed their lips.

Rag.

Heimdal's Apostle God.

The monster who, as of today, had rewritten the history of Asgard.

But.

Even after the garden emptied, the twelve thrones hovering in the air did not disappear.

On the contrary, the silence grew heavier now that only the Twelve Sovereign Gods remained.

The Council of the Sovereign Gods.

A clandestine hour in which Asgard's absolute rulers gathered to decide the fate of worlds.

"......"

Hod, the Dark God, broke the silence first.

His crimson eyes swept across the other Sovereign Gods on their thrones.

"Did anyone among them seem like 'NONAME'?"

"No."

"Not in the slightest."

The other Sovereign Gods shook their heads.

"Then we're in the clear."

Hod chuckled low.

Rag's performance had been fairly impressive, but that was all.

There was absolutely no chance his Avatar was 'NONAME.'

NONAME's trajectory indicated intimate foreknowledge of the Episodes, as if threading them on a string.

That was only possible for an established god with vast Game experience.

For Rag, a freshly minted lesser god, such a trajectory was out of the question.

Of course, the Principality Holy Sword had been quite intriguing.

Having advanced an Archangel meant, in other words.

'He has the potential to become a Sovereign God.'

It suggested the possibility of climbing past the Supreme Tier to the very seat of a Sovereign God.

Every one of the Twelve Sovereign Gods had advanced their Archangel -- the Eighth Order -- all the way to a Seraph of the First Order.

For a mere lesser god to show such potential -- how could they not be curious?

But that was all.

Rag was not 'NONAME.'

Neither was any other god.

No god suspected to be NONAME's true body had been present.

Confirming that one fact was the sole reason all of them had personally descended upon the Banquet.

Hod leaned forward on his throne.

"Then, as agreed."

He declared, sweeping his gaze across all Twelve Sovereign Gods.

"We shall consider it settled that all Twelve Sovereign Gods consent to creating 'Avatars' on Earth."

Consent.

No one objected.

'No need to volunteer that I've already made one.'

Even Ares, the God of War -- already thriving on Earth as the Avatar 'Yamamoto' -- kept his mouth firmly shut.

Revealing an Avatar's identity was taboo.

There was nothing to gain from stepping forward and blurting out that he was Yamamoto.

Especially with this particular Game on World No. 400, Earth.

"If all of us participate, the volume of Nectar invested will be beyond imagination."

"Episode difficulty will spike dramatically."

"Human combat potential will rise as well."

"Ah, and the scale of rewards will grow too."

If all Twelve Sovereign Gods poured Nectar into their Avatars, the side effects could spawn monsters and calamities that Earth couldn't possibly withstand.

But.

"No matter."

Hod waved it off.

"That's precisely what we want."

The reason they'd made this insane decision was simple.

A casual Game?

Boredom?

No.

This Earth was special.

To be precise, it was about the identity of 'NONAME' -- the figure at the center of all this chaos.

"An Avatar producing scores like those, in a world estimated at a mere B-level."

Hod stroked his chin and murmured.

"In the time it took for the previous 399 worlds to perish, an Irregular of this caliber appeared only once."

Only once.

Long, long ago, in the distant past.

Which meant.

This was no ordinary god's prank.

The Twelve Sovereign Gods' heads all turned upward as one, as if by agreement.

Higher than even the thrones they sat upon.

The unreachable summit of Asgard, where neither light nor darkness could touch.

"'NONAME'......"

The forbidden name they'd all been harboring in their minds yet dared not speak aloud.

"......may be the Avatar of Force Majeure."

Silence lingered.

The Irregular that had appeared only once.

Force Majeure had created an Avatar exactly once, in the 100th world.

Through that Avatar, Force Majeure had amassed immense Sacred Energy and Divine Might in the 100th world, shot straight to the top of the Tower in a single leap, and.

......Massacred every god to seize the throne of the Absolute God.

Thereafter, from the Tower's very apex, it revealed itself only at the moment of a world's destruction.

But.

If their hypothesis proved true.

It would mean that something 'special' enough even for Force Majeure to covet lay hidden within this 400th world, 'Earth.'

A secret or treasure so vast that the Absolute God would personally don a shell and descend for it.

Greed stirred.

Avarice boiled.

And so.

'I can't afford to sit still.'

'Whatever it is, it's mine.'

The Twelve Sovereign Gods began to move in earnest.