The gods of the heavens each have concepts they symbolize.
For example, Elon symbolizes benevolence, healing, and “love.”
A god who does not advocate revenge, betrayal, or power.
For that very reason, the believers of Elon in the Human Empire and its allied nations, and even in hostile countries or groups, only increased year by year, never decreasing.
In the race to gather followers on the ground, Elon could be said to be far ahead of the gods gathered at the Round Table.
Barhan, Vulcan, Machina, Nyx…. Even though they hadn’t ascended to the “heavens,” those called “gods” were not far off from being the personifications of the concepts they symbolized.
It was a fact that all those gathered at the Round Table knew.
Hokhma is a god.
And Paramir had torn into the god’s body while it was still alive and devoured it.
“Paramir tore into Hokhma’s body and swallowed it. I’m not sure if he fully digested it, but at least he has acquired the minimum qualifications to become a ‘god.'”
“…Your words are correct. So, what are you trying to say?”
Vulcan looked at the one who had spoken for the first time in this meeting, with a sullen expression (in truth, since he was enveloped in unquenchable flames, his expression wasn’t clearly visible).
He was not a god. He was a mortal being.
However, the elf seated at the Round Table was a being born before some of the gods.
Some called Yggdrasil’s Fairy Lord the greatest mortal blessed by the World Tree, born before the moon, with reverence.
…Could one truly call the Fairy Lord, whose lifespan is fixed, a “mortal” with an end? A being seated at the same Round Table as the heavenly gods?
Vulcan pondered how to resolve the events on the ground while looking at Yggdrasil’s Fairy Lord. But pondering was not an activity he enjoyed.
There wasn’t any particular reason he asked the Fairy Lord. Vulcan’s voice carried the hope that the Fairy Lord, as a fellow being of the ground, would handle this series of incidents.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Vulcan. I cannot fulfill your wish. This matter is of the ground and, at the same time, of the heavens. Yggdrasil will maintain neutrality as always.”
“Boring. How long do you plan to cower there, you of Yggdrasil?”
Crunchโ. Whether it was like biting into a potato chip, Barhan glared at the Fairy Lord while chewing on some jerky he had pulled out from who knows where. His expression was full of dissatisfaction.
Vulcan noticed why Barhan was acting that way.
After all, this Round Table was a very important place where the “heavenly gods” gathered.
In such a place, Barhan had long opposed the presence of the Fairy Lord, who, though born before some “gods” or even “the moon,” was ultimately nothing more than a “mortal” if you got technical.
Affairs of the ground to beings of the ground. Affairs of the heavens to beings of the heavens. Hadn’t that been the long-standing rule?
However, the Fairy Lord, belonging to neither side, straddled both Yggdrasil of the heavens and the ground with the word “neutrality.” This was a privilege not even gods could have.
“As always, Yggdrasil will only maintain neutrality. And Lord Barhan, you too cannot escape responsibility for this matter, can you?”
“…”
…Tch.
Barhan turned his head and clicked his tongue.
Though it was annoying, the Fairy Lord’s words were true.
Yggdrasil had maintained neutrality in the past, does so now, and will continue to do so in the future.
His participation in this Round Table was merely because he had the duty to mediate when necessary; nothing else mattered. At least, that’s what the Fairy Lord claimed.
“Little one. Do you have nothing to say?”
“…”
Vulcan sought out the god who looked like a young boy, seated opposite him, just as Elon and Barhan sat facing each other.
Machina.
The god of the halflings.
Shy and relatively young among these heavenly gods, Machina had never strongly expressed his will or opinions.
Though summoned to the Round Table a few timesโnot manyโhe would only fiddle with springs and intricate mechanical devices with his small hands, never asserting himself.
“…Fine, never mind. The halflings aren’t involved in this matter.”
“Boring.”
Puffโ. Watching Barhan puff up his cheeks and climb onto the Round Table, whining like a child, Vulcan sighed.
All “gods” were like this, but there was no one with whom he could calmly converse and exchange opinions normally.
Barhan’s moods fluctuated dozens (actually hundreds) of times a day, like bubbles that swelled and burst repeatedly, and Machina was too young and immature to be properly called a “god” yet.
That said, it wasn’t like the deer god Elon was any better.
The appearance he showed to his followers on the ground was nothing more than a well-crafted fake facade.
Honestly, the one Vulcan acknowledged as falling within the “normal” category was the Fairy Lord, but he was busy mediating the Round Table and maintaining neutrality as always.
“That’s disappointing. Why are you excluding me, Vulcan?”
“…Orem.”
Whooshโ. Flames surged, fully revealing Vulcan’s uneasy mood.
The god of fire and steel, and the racial god of all dwarves, Vulcan looked at Orem, who hid his true form in black shadows.
But as always, even with a god’s eyes, Orem’s essence was invisible. Not just Vulcan, but all gathered at the Round Table didn’t know if “Orem” was a god, a mortal, or even a demon.
Orem had one day awakened to find himself at the Round Table. The Fairy Lord had accepted him without any objection.
That was the end of it. The Fairy Lord’s silence was akin to permission, and even heavenly gods couldn’t expel a participant just because they felt ominous.
Vulcan openly displayed his unpleasant feelings. Fierce flames surged, spewing black ash like volcanic debris.
“Isn’t it obvious? You haven’t revealed to us who you are or what kind of being you are. We can’t seek help or wisdom from someone we know nothing about.”
“You speak as if I’m a demon or some cursed kin, Vulcan.”
“If not, is there a reason to hide your identity?”
“Puhu… Your words are right. Vulcan, as always, I will merely observe.”
Orem declared, with his usual unpleasant laugh, that he would only watch from the shadows.
Whether Orem would truly “only observe” was unknown, but so far, he had kept his word.
Having joined the Round Table much earlier than Machina, around the same time as Vulcan, Orem had never interfered or shown interest in either the ground or the heavens. One could only hope it remained so…….
“If we’d just done it as I suggested, things wouldn’t have gone this wrong.”
The deer god grumbled, pulling out an apple from who knows where and taking a bite.
Vulcan sighed inwardly as he looked at the events unfolding on the “ground” spread out on the Round Table, at “Paramir,” who was ascending to godhood.
“Damn it.”
The flames of the disaster, which had not yet ended, seemed to be dying down, but soon they swelled in size, threatening to engulf the entire Armenial Continent.
The experience in Elon’s grove helped Paramir execute the thought that arose in his mind.
The god Elon had shown a mere mortal a reality that had never existed, a “more ideal” world filled with fabricated dreams and hopes.
‘In that place, I was happy. It was the world I desired. Everything was for me, and the dangers and hardships were at a level I could fully endure…….’
From the beginning, Paramir knew that this was “fake.”
However.
He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to shatter it.
Jasmine was the first love of the “apprentice” mercenary in the Black Tail Mercenaries, an unattainable love.
In Elon’s false illusion, Paramir achieved the unattainable dream……
.
But in reality?
Jasmine already had Surabar, the leader. Paramir chose to step back.
This is how it should be. This is the only way we can all be happy. No, the only way she can be happy, Paramir consoled himself.
‘Liar.’
A distorted Jasmine, looking as if her flesh, skin, and hair had melted in high heat, a Jasmine who was already dead and whose body was occupied by a corpse god, spoke.
Maggots burrowed out of the dead Jasmine’s flesh and climbed onto Paramir. Infinite swarms of flies devoured him, terror swallowed Paramir.
Paramir didn’t argue as usual, saying no, that’s not true, the one calling it a lie is the liar.
Because it was the truth.
Holding the dead Jasmine’s baby in his arms, Paramir decided to stop deceiving himself.
Hokhma. The god wounded by a mortal and in decline. Now, looking at the wounded silver owl that had lost its “immortal” form, Paramir envisioned what he had to do.
He drooled. He chewed on its talons greedily.
Something unpleasant, an unfamiliar energy… now he felt like he knew what it was.
He finally understood why the King of Bers had dragged a heavenly god down to the ground.
Having already fused with Hokhma, the original “Red Stone” was gone, but he could finally empathize with the desires of the man who had once been human.
God. The absolute power that makes a god a god, capable of turning an already occurred, unchangeable reality into a “dream”…….
“Paramir… sir……?”
Annabella staggered back at Paramir’s eyes, flashing like a blazing sun, and the divinity emanating from his body.
“…It’s a dream.”
“Annabella, step back. This guy’s in a weird state.”
“Yeah, let’s change it. Like Elon did to me, I can do it. This is a terrible dream. A nightmare. When I wake up, it’ll be a meaningless lie different from reality…….”
“โRun, Annabella!”
“!!”
Redron urgently pushed Annabella’s back.
Annabella was enveloped in the goddess’s shadow and sank downward like falling into a swamp, deep into the unknowable bottom.
Intense light, invading even the goddess’s shadow, flickered as if to seize Annabella.
ใNo!ใ
Nyx cried out, and Annabella blacked out. Before her vision went dark, Annabella saw Paramir seizing Redron’s soul and consuming it as nourishment.
“Not enough.”
Paramir said. He noticed that some immense power had pulled Annabella to a distant place where he couldn’t reach her.
But it’s fine. No problem… People, souls of mortals to consume as nourishment, overflow across the entire continent…….
Paramir turned his gaze to the silver owl in his hand, barely maintaining immortality with its depleted power, reduced to mere skin.
Surabar was dead. Jasmine was dead. And even her baby, whom he had sworn to protect, was born dead.
He couldn’t accept it. This, this was just a bad dream. Nothing more than a horrific nightmare…….
Thus, the newly born “god” sought to turn reality into a dream and dreams into reality.
“This is a dream.”
The god said.
The god of nightmares. The god of death. The god of despair. And… the god of hope.
Redron’s empty body, its soul extracted, collapsed limply.
He closed his eyes, holding the dead baby in his arms. …Where should I go? Where can I find many souls to grow my divinity?
Soon, the new god discerned that people were spread to the north, east, and west. Among them, he chose the closest place teeming with excellent souls everywhere.
The west.
Wait for me. I’ll, I’ll change it. I’ll turn it back so that you were born normally, without any incident. Just a little…….
The newly born god craved countless blood and deaths.