Burning.
The sky of Holy City was burning.
"Look! His Eminence's robe has turned into starlight!"
In the third row of the audience seats, the chief apprentice suddenly grabbed their companion's sleeve, their youthful face illuminated by the divine radiance falling from the firmament.
The twelve floating magic towers resounded with the Celestial Harmony, their music woven with the Milky Way formed by condensed moonlight as strings and the golden morning glow of the Solar Crow as the score.
At the center of the altar, the young man in white robes, Owen, smiled with his eyes closed. The divine sigil on his forehead flowed like liquid gold.
He had long ascended to Supreme Magus, and decades of accumulation had forged this grand feast.
Today, he would step into the supreme realm—the realm of legend—the realm of Gods!
As the ninth holy light dissipated, he heard a crisp shattering sound within—
The legendary shackles that had bound mages for seven hundred years had broken!
This was... the moment of ascension!
Owen raised his head and let out a long howl, his years of magical insights transforming into a torrent, nourishing the chief apprentices below.
These children had followed him for countless years—some drawn by his reputation, others steadfastly staying by his side day and night.
In every sense, he could not fail them.
"Teacher..."
The chief apprentice, clutching the staff of inheritance, choked with emotion.
Owen smiled and nodded at him—the one he was most proud of, the one who had walked alongside him through most of his magical journey.
Divine radiance swirled in the sky, and from the depths of the firmament, milky-white clouds parted. Profound runes unfurled like a grand painting, revealing a golden gate emerging from their midst.
That gate was far larger and holier than any he had ever seen.
Golden runes spiraled around it, and as the gate manifested, an innumerable number of elemental forces converged upon it. The elements danced as though he had arrived at the very end of the world.
Yet at that moment, with the gate's appearance, the dragon crystal at the head of his staff—the very one that had accompanied Owen through his battles in the abyss—suddenly shattered into dust.
Everyone froze.
Owen lowered his head in confusion, only to see his fingertips vaporizing.
—It was not the anticipated divine body reconstruction, but something far more violent, an entity surging back along the newly formed divine core!
He heard a sticky, squirming sound from deep within the clouds, as if a thousand tentacles were stirring in viscous liquid.
His head snapped up.
"Activate the protective formations! Now!"
From the audience seats, the grand archmage's roar shattered the silence.
But at that moment, the guardian spirits of the twelve magic towers let out a collective wail. The oldest among them, the wind elemental guardian, exploded into a plume of phosphorescent fire.
The Heavenly Gate was wide open, and the sky... split apart!
Not metaphorically—literally split, like shattering glass, breaking into countless fragments in an instant.
From the crimson rift, twelve grayish-purple tentacles laden with suction cups descended. Each one coiled around a rotting star ring.
Owen, impaled in that instant, finally saw it clearly—embedded within the suction cups were the faces of past ascendants.
Among them were many familiar figures, mages who had soared into the heavens in years past.
His former mentors—the ones who had taught him magic, who had guided him—were now nothing more than withered faces trapped within the grasp of these horrors.
"So… this so-called Heaven… is nothing more than a dining table."
He coughed up bloodstained froth and gave a bitter laugh, catching a glimpse of the world crumbling around him.
Indeed, Heaven was merely a grand feast.
Its diners needed neither knives nor forks, nor did they need to show themselves. All they had to do was control these tentacles and siphon the nourishment they required.
And as for the world? What did it matter to them?
Just as humans do not listen to their food's cries, neither did they care.
Silence was the greatest contempt.
A calamity of unfathomable scale shattered the firmament, and the continent fractured like porcelain—splintering in an instant!
As heaven and earth collapsed, all living beings became mere adrift debris—
The chief apprentice, ensnared by a tentacle, continued to form hand seals, yet his proudest explosion spell only left a few blood boils on the monster's skin.
The chubby chief apprentice, who loved sneaking cakes from the kitchen, finally completed the Hymn of Holy Light he had prepared for thirty years—
But what use was it?
The grayish-purple tentacle, immune to elemental magic, simply pierced through his chest, shattering his efforts in an instant.
Among the gathered chief apprentices, they all struggled with all their might—but they were nothing more than lambs awaiting slaughter.
Flying dragons fell from the sky like insects.
High Magi, once revered as mighty, evaporated like ants.
The moment disaster struck, there were no ordinary people left in this world, for beneath the overwhelming presence of that gate, mere mortals were reduced to nothing but dust.
Not even a single scream had the privilege to be heard.
And those who remained? They were merely lingering on the brink of death.
The cries of the devout believers were cut short.
Owen did not want to look, nor could he.
Because he realized—his retinas were crystallizing. The divine core was forcibly repairing its dying host.
Through those crystalline prisms, like a kaleidoscope, he saw the continent shatter, its tectonic plates breaking like a smashed porcelain dish. In the magma, half of the Elven Court floated aimlessly.
Then, suddenly, the tentacles tensed.
An indescribable sucking sound echoed from the void, and Owen felt like a punctured wineskin.
His divinity, magic, memories, even his perception of light, were all being drained away.
In his final moment, as his decaying eardrums captured a distant horn's call, he saw the monsters recoil, trembling at the sound.
The stench of decay filled his nostrils, and for a moment, Owen thought he had fallen into the stomach of the dead.
An ocean of boundless despair engulfed him, tossing him high into the air before vanishing without a trace.
Owen let out a muffled groan—
And then, darkness.
…
"Deus Initium, grant us clean water."
The aged voice of prayer carried the swamp's inherent viscosity, the stench of decay lingering at the tip of his nose.
He forced his swollen eyelids open, and what he saw were over thirty villagers prostrating before him.
To be precise, they were prostrating before a body pieced together from river mud, straw, and tortoise shells.
Owen attempted to move, and immediately, the tortoise shell covering one of the three critical areas fell off.
Owen: "…"
He glanced at the bewildered villagers and silently repositioned the fallen shell over his private area—
Even though that too was merely a patch of mud and straw.
What… exactly was going on?
[Host awakening detected, World 0061 has been destroyed]
[Congratulations, host has successfully ascended to god rank and has been reborn in World 1372]
Owen was still dazed when an emotionless mechanical voice exploded in his mind.
He frowned as a sharp pain—like needles stabbing into his fragmented divine soul—spread through him.
A void panel unfolded automatically:
[Current Location]World 1372 - District 44
[Surviving Deities]999,997 / 1,000,000 (3 eliminated yesterday)
[Congratulations, host has become the chief deity of Annasi Village, Deus Initium]
[This system includes six major sections: "Personal Information," "My Mission," "Devotee Records," "Chat Channel," "Trading Channel," and "Divine War."]
[Host, please strive to develop your followers in World 1372, ascend to the Divine Throne, and become the most powerful true god!]
"So becoming a god… is actually a battle royale?"
He pulled at the corners of his mouth, only for fibers of decayed straw to fall from his chin.
Fortunately, his years of experience had forged a resilient mindset, and even when faced with an entirely foreign world, he did not panic.
Since he was here, he might as well adapt.
Focusing his thoughts, Owen opened his Personal Information panel:
[Personal Information]
[Name]: Owen
[God Name]: Deus Initium
[Divine Throne]: Nameless God (Advance to "Protector of the Village" by reaching Godhood Rank 1 Star)
[Godhood Rank]: None (Consume 100 Divine Points to advance by 1 Star)
[Divine Points]: 2 Points
[Spice Points]: 765 Points (1,000 Spice Points condense into 1 Divine Point)
[God Skills]: Dream Revelation (1 Divine Point), Fireball (1 Divine Point), Necromancy (1 Divine Point), Holy Ordination (1 Divine Point)
It wasn't complex. In fact, it was simple and straightforward.
Owen's gaze immediately locked onto his Godhood Rank.
None.
A void.
Like the gaping maw of a great beast.
Owen's vision darkened.
In his understanding, once one became a god, the divine realm should automatically bestow a Divine Throne based on their past achievements—this title was the foundation upon which gods established themselves in the world.
Yet, at this moment, he wasn't assigned any Divine Throne.
Instead, he had been relegated to the rank of a "Nameless God."
This meant he could neither receive faith through a divine domain nor survive easily in the realm of gods.
A deity unrecognized by the divine realm was like a stateless person in the mortal world.
And there was no need to explain how miserable that was.
Great. This was just a blatant "weakest god" scenario.
Owen felt a brief moment of despair, but it vanished in an instant.
The next second, his focus returned to this new world.
The lead-gray clouds split open, and a white falcon folded its wings as it dove, gliding over the oak forests along the Normandy border.
In its claws, a struggling trout reflected the twilight, its scales gleaming like fragments of stained glass fallen from a cathedral window.
Beyond the last field of buckwheat, a weathered statue of the Holy Mother stood in a clearing within the woods. On its moss-covered pedestal lay offerings of rye bread and elderflower wreaths.
Twelve villagers, draped in rough burlap cloaks, lay prostrate on the ground, withered leaves rustling beneath their knees.
Old John struck a piece of flint, igniting a bundle of sagebrush, the bitter smoke curling around the river-mud-and-straw-forged statue—
It was a faceless god, symbolized only by a crown of thorns and an iron sword.
"In the name of the Protector of Annasi!"
Old John's throat trembled with ancient Norse prayers, while behind him, a farmer woman's linen headscarf quivered in the sulfuric air.
"May you have mercy upon the lambs besieged by wolves."
Three dead wolves were carried onto the altar, their wounds still oozing blood that seeped into the cracks of the stone.
When blacksmith Thomas placed a bloodstained silver cross at the center of the sacrifice, everyone traced an inverted cross over their chests.
Owen's spiritual form trembled within the holy effigy.
Through the eyes of his followers, he saw his semi-transparent hand pass through the stone walls. In the distance, the vesper bells of a monastery rang, muffled as if behind a veil of silk.
Owen furrowed his brows.
His current situation was not too difficult to understand.
The system had provided sufficient information—beyond his Personal Information, he had four inherent divine abilities upon reincarnation:
Dream Revelation, Fireball, Necromancy, Holy Ordination.
As one of his four divine abilities, Owen only needed a mere thought to activate them. However, the problem lay in the divine point limitation.
Experimenting would be nothing but a waste, so his understanding of these abilities was confined to the descriptions provided by the system panel.
For example, [Dream Revelation] worked on a sleeping being, constructing a dream world according to his will.
[Necromancy] functioned on a ghost, allowing him to command it to do anything.
However, given his current Godhood rank, he could only command beings below god rank.
As for [Holy Ordination], as its name suggested, it allowed him to appoint someone as a missionary.
Once ordained, both the soul and body of the individual would belong to him. With just a thought, he could reduce them to ashes.
At present, the only ability he could freely use was [Fire Ball].
"To ascend from Nameless God to Ancient God, I need a hundred divine points…"
He frowned.
1,000 spice points were required to condense 1 divine point.
To accumulate 100 divine points, he needed a total of 100,000 spice points!
This was far from an easy goal.
"So for a deity, spice points are the most important thing…"
"With spice points, you can do anything."
"Without enough spice points, you're nothing more than a statue…"
"No wonder in so many legends, gods were so obsessed with sending out apostles to spread their faith—turns out, it was all just a way to farm spice points…"
"This… is the essence of being a god."
A sharp glint flickered in his eyes.
Immediately, he reopened the [Devotee Records] panel.
How did he gain spice points?
Through believers!
Believers were a god's most valuable asset!
Through the nature of spice points, he had already grasped this fundamental truth.
In this world, without spice points, he could not survive—let alone ascend to true godhood!
[Devotee Records]
[Daily spice point income]: 124
[S-Rank Believers]: 0 (provides 100,000 spice points per day)
[A-Rank Believers]: 0 (provides 10,000 spice points per day)
[B-Rank Believers]: 0 (provides 1,000 spice points per day)
[C-Rank Believers]: 0 (provides 100 spice points per day)
[D-Rank Believers]: 5 (provides 10 spice points per day)
[E-Rank Believers]: 65 (provides 1 spice point per day)
[F-Rank Believers]: 91 (provides 1 spice point per 10 days)
"Most of them are F-Rank believers… The overall quality of my believers is extremely low."
Owen raised an eyebrow.
His gaze swept over the crowd of villagers kneeling in reverence outside.
In the shadows of the forest, a few believers were whispering among themselves.
A surge of nameless anger suddenly flared within him.
Low quality was one thing, but they weren't even devout enough.
If given the chance, he had to make a public display of divine might!
Faith could never be born out of nothing. Only by manifesting miracles could he make these believers utterly devoted to him.
Unfortunately, his divine points were currently limited. If he wanted to display his power, he would have to find another way.
Instinctively, his gaze fell upon the offering table before him.
Upon it lay the sacred offerings presented by the villagers.
Aside from the usual three wolves, there was one particular object that glowed with a white radiance in his eyes.
This object—
This was the true offering prepared for the grand festival, held only once a year.
"As a deity—"
"Every year, during the grand festival, a god may claim one offering from their believers."
"This offering will receive an enhancement from divine order, granting it a twofold increase in power."
"Additionally, the grand festival provides ten days' worth of spice points in one go."
Thus, the annual grand festival was crucial for any deity!
Owen frowned.
Most of the items on the table were common trinkets, utterly worthless.
Even if enhanced twofold, they would remain nothing more than useless junk.
After all, only one item could receive the divine amplification, making this an incredibly rare opportunity.
For a Nameless God like him, this was even more precious.
If he had to choose—he would choose something valuable!
Moreover, the selection of offerings had strict conditions. For example—
It could not be an item dedicated to another god, preventing double offerings.
This meant that these objects had to be personally acquired by his own believers to qualify as festival offerings and receive the blessing of divine law.
He gently raised his hand.
Instantly, the object that glowed white in his vision lifted into the air and floated toward his Divine Space.
His Divine Space was a cramped one-meter-wide dimension, solely his own.
Owen's gaze fell upon the floating silver cross—
This was the only effective offering of this year's Autumn Equinox Festival.
Among all the objects on the altar, only this one was worth considering.
According to the knowledge in his mind, this world followed pure Western mythology.
Thus, it had its own unique definitions for objects of power.
For instance, the concept of "Sacred Vestige."
In this world, any item blessed by a god or consecrated by a church bishop gained special properties.
In a way, it was akin to imbuing an object with a divine imprint, allowing it to release sacred power through elemental activation or ritual usage.
Many different objects could bear prayers or divine imprints—
From gold-forged crosses to ordinary iron shovels,
All could be imbued with divine blessings through the hands of the church.
These blessings granted various effects, including but not limited to:
Healing and restoration,
Increased resistance,
Protection against curses.
Such blessed objects were known as "Sacred Vestiges."
While ordinary objects had no hierarchical distinction, Sacred Vestiges did.
Like the ranking of humans, Sacred Vestiges were divided into nine tiers.
Any Sacred Vestige surpassing tier-9 was considered an artifact, as it had essentially become the creation of a god.
Thus, they were also known as "Divine Relics."
Under normal circumstances, an object without divine blessing or one not consecrated by a bishop would possess no mystical power and remain a mundane item.
Yet the moment he touched the silver cross, golden letters suddenly ignited in the void—
[Offering "Bloodstained Silver Cross" has received an anomalous spice point enhancement ×100]
[Transformed into "Fragment of the Spear of Longinus"]
[Spice points +1086]
[You have obtained "St. John's Wort"]
Spear of Longinus!
The system's archive contained records of this artifact.
It was said to be the very spear that pierced the Holy Lord "Saint Hwaye."
According to legend, when Saint Hwaye was nailed to the cross, a centurion stabbed him in the side with a spear.
That centurion's name was Longinus.
When Saint Hwaye's blood dripped into Longinus's eyes, the centurion was instantly converted.
He uttered the words:
"This man truly is the Lord."
Afterward, he abandoned his old identity, became a monk, and gained the ability to perform miracles.
Later, he was canonized as a saint, known as "Saint Longinus."
Naturally, the spear itself came to be known as the "Spear of Longinus."
However, historical records were one thing, and the truth remained unknown.
What was indisputable was that anything recorded in the system under the name of "Spear of Longinus" had to be an artifact!
Unfortunately, what had fallen into Owen's hands was only a fragment.
Otherwise, starting with an artifact-level weapon would have completely broken the game balance.
A faint sense of regret lingered in Owen's heart for only a moment.
The next instant, his attention was captured by another line of text.
"A hundredfold?"
Owen's spiritual form rippled slightly.
Wait a minute—hadn't the system said the offering would only receive a twofold enhancement?
Why did it become a hundredfold in his case?