Huh? Her goddess wants me dead? Why does she have to disrupt my reunion?
“Ronin, I’m done with them! Let’s run! A god’s possession is incredibly dangerous and nearly omnipotent, even if it’s only for a short time,” Warzheil urges, the skeletal remains of Drax slung over his back.
His intervention snaps me out of my emotional turmoil. He’s right; we must escape. But if it’s a god, can’t she just catch us? I need to buy him time to get away.
“You go ahead; I’ll stall her,” I declare, determination hardening my resolve.
Warzheil nods, understanding the gravity of the situation, and takes off into the underbrush.
“It’s useless; you will die in vain,” Ava states, her voice chilling as she begins to levitate.
“Divine Art: Divine Possession!” she intones softly.
Suddenly, energies around me surge toward her, launching a shockwave that clears the area. The boulder supporting Drax’s skeleton is obliterated, debris flying in all directions.
Ava descends gracefully to the ground, her presence radiating an enormous aura. I can see it clearly with my left eye. She raises her hand, and everything around me is enveloped in a blinding white veil, leaving only a two-meter radius of grass untouched.
“Grave of Light,” she intones, her voice distorted, echoing as if a multitude of voices spoke from the void.
I’m surrounded by millions of spikes of light, and panic surges within me. I can’t dodge them all. As she waves her hand downward, I close my eyes, bracing for the end. Maybe it’s not so bad to die by my sister’s hand. She’s happy in this world. I’m happy for her. So what if I couldn’t live a good life? This is enough; I can finally rest.
Moments pass, but nothing happens. Slowly, I open my eyes, and to my surprise, the spikes surround me, yet I remain unharmed in my small patch of grass.
Ava’s expression doesn’t change, but I can sense her confusion. The white veil dissipates, revealing the clearing we were in before. Her eyes, now devoid of pupils, emit a fierce white light.
“So, you have mana resistance. I’ll use my divine powers then,” she declares, her voice still unsettling.
“I thought gods didn’t speak to us,” I reply, stalling for time.
She raises her hand to unleash an attack, but I refuse to wait passively. I charge toward her. She clenches her fist, as if to crush something, and I can see the concern flicker across her face. I’m finally close enough to strike, swinging my staff at her, but she blocks my attack with her sword.
“Interesting; I cannot detect you using the world laws. Mana and divine powers don’t work on you. But how about physical attacks?” she muses, swinging her sword with brutal force.
I barely manage to dodge, rolling under her sword and sliding along its edge with my spear. The sheer strength of her swing cleaves through the forest, cutting down trees for kilometers. If I’m hit, I’ll be sliced in half for sure.
I use the momentum of my roll to transition smoothly, planting one hand firmly on the ground. With a swift twist of my body, I push off and swing my leg in a wide arc, delivering a powerful spinning kick aimed at her head. The fluidity of the movement—rolling into a strike—catches her off guard for a split second, but she blocks it effortlessly with her forearm.
I don’t stop. Using the rebound from her block, I twist my hips and bring my other leg up in a follow-through kick, slamming my foot into her knee. The impact forces her to stumble, her balance momentarily disrupted.
Before I can press the advantage, she vanishes in a blur of motion, reappearing mid-air, hovering just above me like a specter of divine power. Her glowing eyes bore into me, her astonishment evident despite her otherworldly composure.
“Even among gods, not many have managed to land an attack like that,” she says, her voice tinged with intrigue, as if she’s trying to decipher the enigma before her.
“How is this possible? He should have been dead. Is this the power of a No. 2?” Ava contemplates, her mind racing.
“Calm down, child. I searched the records of Earth and found no instance of a being called Shar. Your brother never existed, yet I can find traces of him spoken of in that world. He is a being that defies space-time, only the All-Mighty being that Drax called Legend God and worshipped could do that.”
“What does my brother have to do with this?” Ava questions, her confusion palpable.
“You are such a dull child, Ava. But since he intends not to tell you, you will have to find the answer to that question yourself. I may not understand his existence, but it’s easy to read human emotions.”
As she floats there, I seize the opportunity to escape. I toss compact smoke bombs—small spheres that explode into a thick cloud. Even if she’s a goddess, this should blind her for a moment.
I run through the forest, branches clawing at my face, the ground uneven beneath my feet. My lungs burn, but I push forward. After what feels like an eternity, I finally spot Warzheil standing in the distance, scanning the area anxiously.
“Ronin! You’re alive!” he exclaims as I approach, relief flooding his features. “I was about to turn back. Don’t tell me you actually beat her?”
“No,” I pant, bending over to catch my breath. “I just bought us enough time to get out of there. Where’s Drax’s body?”
Warzheil smirks and pats something hanging from his belt—a small, ornate pouch that glimmers faintly in the moonlight. “Relax. He’s safe. I’ve got him right here.”
I straighten up, frowning. “What do you mean, right here? That pouch wouldn’t hold a loaf of bread, let alone a dragon skeleton.”
“It’s a dimensional pocket,” he explains, the pride evident in his voice. “A nifty little relic I got from a wanderer ages ago. I adjusted it to fit Drax’s remains. No weight, no bulk, no chance of losing him unless someone takes it from me.”
I stare at the pouch, skeptical. “A dimensional pocket? You could’ve mentioned that earlier when we were running for our lives.”
He shrugs, grinning. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I had it handled. You were the one dealing with the goddess.”
I shake my head, still incredulous. “So, all that running with a dragon skeleton on your back was just for show?”
Warzheil chuckles. “Not entirely. I didn’t want to risk opening the pocket in a chaotic fight. It’s tricky to manage in the middle of battle, and the last thing we need is for Drax’s remains to spill out into the forest.”
“Fair enough,” I mutter, still catching my breath. The idea of Drax’s massive skeleton tucked neatly into that tiny pouch is surreal, but I’m too drained to question it further.
Warzheil pats my shoulder. “You did good back there. Surviving against divine possession? That’s no small feat, Ronin. You might not realize it, but you’re tougher than most.”
I glance at him, my chest still heavy with doubt. “She doesn’t need me, Warzheil. Ava has her own life now. She’s happy. And me? I’m just a relic of a past she’s already left behind.” I say removing my mask feeling oily.
Warzheil’s expression softens, his usual smirk replaced with something more genuine. “Hey, come on. Your sister’s alive, and she’s strong. That’s something to be proud of.”
I nod, though his words do little to ease the ache in my chest. I glance at the pouch on his belt, the faint glow from its seams casting a soft light in the dark forest.
“At least Drax is safe,” I say quietly.
“Damn right he is,” Warzheil replies with a grin. “Now let’s get moving before anything else comes sniffing around for him.”
But seeing me still sad, Warzheil praises me.
“Hey, come on, lad! Your sister is fine. And now you can live a fine life too. But I hope you do fulfill Drax’s task too. He may be someone who only dragged you into this world, but for him, you are supposed to be his god.”
“A god, huh? And I couldn’t defeat a goddess weaker than my worshipper at her lowest form?” I reply, a hint of self-doubt creeping in.
“Hahaha, I’m sure you will get there soon enough,” Warzheil reassures me with a chuckle.
As night falls, we set up camp near the Kobe River, which resembles an ocean more than a river. Warzheil prepares a simple vegetable dish for me, and I realize I need to learn how to cook again in this new world.
“So, this is the Kobe River, huh? But does the sun rise from the East or the North?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Yes, we call them Ocean rivers as they are massive. We are headed east, and the sun rises from the North. Also, small streams or rivers are extremely rare; most went extinct ages ago. The Kobe Forest behind us is the Western Kobe Forest, while the one we will reach after crossing the Dratnir Bridge will be the Eastern Kobe Forest.”
The faint sound of the Kobe River ahead urges us forward as we resume our journey into the night. As night falls, we set up camp near a massive river that looks more like an ocean. Warzheil begins unpacking his supplies and starts preparing a simple vegetable dish while I sit by the fire, staring into the flames.
“So, Ronin,” Warzheil says casually, glancing over his shoulder as he chops some vegetables. “Can you cook? Or is your skillset limited to fighting goddesses and surviving impossible situations?”
The question catches me off guard, and I chuckle softly despite myself. “I can cook,” I reply, leaning back against a nearby log. “I had to learn. Back on Earth, I grew up in a Brahmanic household. Cooking was a part of our culture, but it wasn’t just that. After my parents were gone, I had to take care of my siblings, and that included cooking for them. Later, when I became... what I became, I cooked for myself. It was one of the few things that grounded me.”
Warzheil pauses, turning to look at me with raised eyebrows. “Wait, wait, hold on. Brahmanic? What’s that?”
“It’s... a way of life, part of my origins back on Earth,” I explain, choosing my words carefully. “We believed in spirituality, rituals, and living in harmony with the world around us. Cooking wasn’t just a chore; it was almost sacred. But when life got... darker, those beliefs were the only piece of my old self I could cling to. Even as a hitman, I kept cooking. It was one thing the darkness couldn’t take from me.”
Warzheil whistles, impressed. “A hitman who knows his way around the kitchen? Now that’s something. Care to show me what you’ve got?”
I smirk, rising from my spot by the fire. “Fine. Let me see what you’ve been working with.”
I step over to his makeshift cooking area, inspecting the assortment of vegetables and the pot of water simmering over the fire. Warzheil hands me a knife, and I start slicing the vegetables with practiced precision.
“Damn, you’re fast,” Warzheil remarks, watching me work.
“Years of practice,” I reply, adding the vegetables to the pot. “Cooking was like therapy for me. It was the one part of my life where I could create instead of destroy.”
Warzheil grins. “Well, lucky me. I get to eat food made by a Brahmanic hitman. That’s got to be a first in this world.”
I can’t help but smile as I stir the pot, seasoning the dish with a few spices he had packed. The aroma begins to fill the air, and for the first time since the battle with Ava, I feel a small sense of peace.
“So, this is the Kobe River, huh?” I ask, breaking the silence as I glance toward the massive waterway. “But does the sun rise from the East or the North here?”
Warzheil laughs. “Yes, we call them Ocean rivers because they’re so massive. We’re headed east, but here the sun rises from the North. Also, small streams or rivers are extremely rare; most went extinct ages ago. The Kobe Forest behind us is the Western Kobe Forest, while the one we’ll reach after crossing the Dratnir Bridge will be the Eastern Kobe Forest.”
As we talk, the dish finishes cooking. I scoop some into bowls, handing one to Warzheil before sitting down to eat my own.
103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnSQsrxwwC9
“Not bad,” Warzheil says between bites, his eyes widening in surprise. He nods approvingly. “Actually, scratch that—it’s damn good! A little spicy, but it suits me perfectly. I think I might keep you around just for the cooking.”
I chuckle softly, savoring the warmth of the food. “Glad you like it. Where I’m from, we don’t shy away from bold flavors. The spice is just as important as the dish itself.”
“And where exactly are you from?” Warzheil asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.
“I’m from a state called Marwar,” I reply, a hint of nostalgia creeping into my voice. “It’s a place where blood and valor were cheaper than water. The land was harsh, and so were its people. Life wasn’t easy, but it forged warriors like no other.”
Warzheil raises an eyebrow. “Cheaper than water? Sounds like a tough place. Got any stories about these warriors of yours?”
I take a bite, letting the memory of my homeland wash over me before I speak. “There’s one story that stands out. Back in Marwar, they used to tell tales of a warrior who kept fighting even after his head was severed from his body. He held his sword in one hand and his shield in the other, cutting through his enemies for what felt like an eternity before finally collapsing.”
Warzheil’s jaw drops slightly, and he lets out a low whistle. “That’s... insane. Fighting without a head? Are you serious?”
I smirk. “Dead serious. We called it sheesh katna aur vijay yudh—to die with your head severed but still achieve victory in battle. It was the ultimate testament to a warrior’s willpower and loyalty.”
Warzheil shakes his head in awe. “Your people sound like they were born for war. Makes me wonder how they’d fare against some of the beings in this world.”
“They’d have given them a run for their money,” I reply, the pride evident in my tone. “We weren’t just fighters; we were survivors. The land demanded it. But it wasn’t just about strength—it was about honor, about protecting what mattered most, even if it meant giving your life.”
Warzheil leans back, clearly impressed. “Damn, Ronin. I thought I’d seen and heard it all, but your stories keep surprising me. No wonder you’ve got that fire in you.”
I give him a small smile, though the lingering ache in my chest doesn’t let me fully enjoy the moment. “It’s the only way I know how to be.”
Warzheil tilts his head, studying me. “Let me guess—someone taught you that toughness, didn’t they? No one’s born with it.”
“You’re right,” I reply, my voice softening. “It was my grandfather. He was the one who taught me how to be as tough as those warriors I told you about. After my parents were gone, he took it upon himself to raise me, my little brother, and my sister. He wasn’t just a guardian—he was a force of nature. Disciplined, fearless, and relentless. He taught me how to fight, how to endure, and how to carry the weight of responsibility on my shoulders.”
Warzheil leans closer, intrigued. “Sounds like a hell of a man. Was he a warrior too?”
“Not in the way you’d imagine,” I say, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “He knew martial arts and survival skills like no other, but he wasn’t some grand general or battle-hardened soldier. He was a man of discipline. He believed in the power of effort, focus, and resilience. He always said that strength wasn’t just about what you could do with your fists—it was about what you could endure and still keep moving forward.”
I pause, the flickering firelight reflecting in my eyes as I think back. “My grandfather was a master of balance. He was well-versed in both Brahmanic and martial ways. He knew the rituals, the philosophies, and the disciplines like the back of his hand. He performed yajnas—sacred fire rituals—with a precision and reverence that could silence even the harshest critic. Not because he had to, but because he believed they were vital to maintaining harmony and balance within the family.”
Warzheil listens quietly, his expression contemplative.
“But me?” I continue, my voice tinged with a mix of regret and nostalgia, “I wasn’t like him. I watched him do those rituals, but I never truly understood them. I respected them, of course, but they weren’t something I ever took the time to learn. He tried to teach me, but... I guess I thought I had more pressing matters to focus on—learning to fight, to protect my family. Back then, I didn’t see how those rituals and teachings were just as important as the blade.”
I glance at the fire, my jaw tightening. “My grandfather was a master of balance. He was well-versed in both Brahmanic and martial ways. He knew the rituals, the philosophies, and the disciplines like the back of his hand. He performed yajnas—sacred fire rituals—with a precision and reverence that could silence even the harshest critic. Not because he had to, but because he believed they were vital to maintaining harmony and balance within the family.”
Warzheil listens quietly, his expression contemplative.
“But me?” I continue, my voice tinged with a mix of regret and nostalgia. “I wasn’t like him. I watched him do those rituals, but I never truly understood them. I respected them, of course, but they weren’t something I ever took the time to learn. He tried to teach me, but... I guess I thought I had more pressing matters to focus on—learning to fight, to protect my family. Back then, I didn’t see how important they really were.”
I glance at the fire again, my jaw tightening. “In my land,” I say, my voice growing more reflective, “we say that a woman and an elder of the family are what keep discipline, pride, goodness, and culture alive in harmony. An elder lost is equivalent to losing an aspect of your culture. When my grandfather disappeared... it wasn’t just losing a person—it felt like losing a part of myself, a part of my identity. He was the one who kept us grounded, who reminded us of who we were, even when the world tried to break us.”
Warzheil’s expression softens, his usual grin fading into something more serious. “What do you mean, disappeared?” he asks quietly.
“He just... vanished,” I say, my voice heavy. “One day, he went out on one of his usual trips to the temple and never came back. No goodbyes, no sign of a struggle—nothing. After I destroyed the Shadow Company, I turned over every stone, followed every lead, hoping to find some trace of him. But it was like he was never there to begin with.”
Warzheil frowns, his brows knitting together. “That doesn’t sound natural. No one just vanishes without a trace.”
Before the weight of my words can fully settle, Warzheil suddenly laughs, the sound breaking through the somber mood like a crack of thunder. “Who knows?” he says, grinning. “Maybe he ended up here, like you.”
I blink, my forced smile fading as my face twists into a look of shock. For a moment, I can’t speak. My mind races as I consider the possibility—a possibility I had never entertained before. Could it be? Could he really be here, somewhere in this strange world?
Warzheil’s grin falters as he sees my reaction. “Hey, hey, don’t take it too seriously,” he says quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was just joking. The odds of that happening are, uh, pretty slim. Right?”
But his attempt to calm me does little to stop the thoughts now spiraling in my mind. I shake my head, the idea taking root despite myself. “No,” I say quietly, almost to myself. “It’s not impossible. If I ended up here... why not him?”
Warzheil shifts uncomfortably, clearly unsure of what to say. “Ronin,” he starts, his tone cautious, “don’t let it get your hopes up too much. I mean, this world has its own rules—its own... ways of bringing people here. It’s not exactly predictable.”
“I know,” I say, though my voice carries a new determination. “But if there’s even the slightest chance, I can’t ignore it. I have to at least consider it.”
Warzheil exhales deeply, his hands dropping to his sides. “Fair enough,” he says, his grin returning, though less pronounced this time. “But let’s focus on getting through this mess first, yeah? Then maybe we can figure out if there’s any truth to my crazy idea.”
I nod, though my thoughts are already elsewhere, the possibility stirring something within me—a fragile glimmer of hope I hadn’t felt in years.
The fire crackles between us as the conversation turns to lighter topics, the weight of the moment easing slightly. Warzheil explains the history of the Dratnir Bridge, its colossal size, and the relics that support it. As his voice grows softer, I find myself drifting into sleep, the weight of the day finally catching up to me.
The last thing I hear is Warzheil sharing details about the bridge—the four Dratnir robots stationed at equal distances across it, the three Dratnir Colossus supporting it as pillars, and the story of a mad human king who tried to monopolize the bridge for tax collection.
Suddenly, a screech pierces the air, jolting me awake.
“What’s that?” I ask groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Warzheil’s face sets in a determined expression. “It’s my fault that I forgot to tell you. The lich can sense the dead from leagues away, and the mana spilling from within my dimensional pocket where Drax’s body is stored is making us a beacon. Right now, every being within 50 kilometers probably knows our location.”
I stare at him, my pulse quickening. “Wait, you mean the pocket isn’t sealed enough to contain the mana?”
Warzheil grimaces, adjusting the pouch on his belt. “Dimensional pockets aren’t perfect. They’re great for storing things physically, but when it comes to something as powerful as Drax’s remains, the mana can’t be fully contained. It leaks, like steam from a boiling pot. I thought it would be minor enough to go unnoticed, but clearly, I underestimated just how much energy Drax is radiating.”
“Great,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “So not only do we have to worry about the lich, but who knows what else might come sniffing around.”
Warzheil nods grimly. “Exactly. We need to move now before anything worse shows up.”
“Fuuuuu*kkk,” is all I can manage as we hastily pack up, the urgency of the situation driving us into the night.
As we run, the world around me suddenly freezes. The rustling of leaves stops mid-sway, the wind becomes eerily still, and even the flame of Warzheil’s torch is suspended in place, its light casting unmoving shadows.
Before me, a pure white figure made of ethereal energy materializes, radiating an aura of calm yet undeniable power. Her form flickers, almost like a mirage, and I can see her clearly only through my left eye.
“Shar, the anomaly of space,” she begins, her voice soft yet echoing in a way that feels as if it resonates directly in my mind. “Know that I am not your enemy—at least not for now. I trust Drax’s body to you. If you must, take his power for yourself. Yes, I know you can. But by any means, do not let the Lich or the Demon Lord get their hands on it, or there will be cataclysmic consequences.”
I stare at her, my mind racing. “So, you’re Ethis,” I say, my voice low. “You know who I am, don’t you? Did you tell Ava about me?”
Her expression remains serene, unreadable. “Rest assured, I will not disrupt the wheels of fate more than your existence already has. But she will eventually discover the truth for herself.”
I nod slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. “That’s fine,” I say after a moment, “as long as you don’t meddle with her or me. But if she or her family is ever in danger, please, go through the trouble of telling me.”
Her gaze turns solemn, the serene energy around her shifting slightly. “I can’t,” she replies.
“Why?” I ask, confused. “Aren’t you her protector?”
Ethis’s voice remains calm, but there’s a faint undertone of impatience. “I do not have the time to track a mana-less being such as you merely to inform you of her well-being. We deities have matters far greater to attend to. Now I must go. This time stop is not something I can maintain for long.”
Before I can respond, her form flickers once more and vanishes, leaving only an empty void where she stood.
The world around me jolts back into motion. The wind resumes its whisper through the trees, Warzheil’s torch flames dance once more, and the sound of our footsteps echoes through the night.
I shake myself out of the daze and pick up my pace, rushing to catch up with Warzheil before he notices me lagging behind. The goddess’s words echo in my mind, their implications weighing heavily on my thoughts as we press onward through the dark forest.
103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡitkDp1WShw
