"It's honestly a miracle he's survived this long," Truman muttered.
"He... was born this way." Sasliel sighed, clearly exhausted by his role as the Vice Ruler of Heaven.
"Hello, I am Leodoro." Despite his initial anger, Leodoro was the first to regain his composure, suppressing his fury and introducing himself.
"Greetings, traveler from afar. I am Oseikus."
A man in a white robe approached, radiating warmth and energy. His golden hair gleamed under the sunlight, and he exuded an aura that reminded Truman of the ancient Sun God.
"You've now met all the angels under the Sun's Throne." Sasliel then introduced Truman to the angels.
"They're no weaker than the ancient gods."
Individually, they might not be weaker than a single ancient god, but an alliance of ancient gods was something even the Primordial Sun God had to be wary of.
Moreover, the ancient gods from whom the Primordial Sun God sought to reclaim authority belonged to two opposing factions. Without some way to divide them, facing six opponents at once was a losing battle.
Truman had come here to push for that division.
The two continued their tour of the Sun God's divine kingdom while the three angels observed from a distance.
"Why does he seem so weak?" Medici frowned. "And yet, I don't dare to challenge him… even provoking him feels like a mistake."
"You two, which of you will test him?" Medici urged the others.
"I'm not an idiot." Leodoro snorted, refusing to take the bait.
"Oh? Really? I never noticed." Medici's retort almost sent Leodoro into another outburst.
"We may be on the brink of war," Oseikus said, his usual smile fading into a more serious expression.
"That's fantastic!" Medici smirked. With an army at his back, he was at his strongest in times of war.
Truman gazed in awe at the colossal city before him, far surpassing Silver City in grandeur. It was at least a few thousand years ahead of its time.
Doric columns from ancient Greece, Byzantine domes, Gothic spires—styles long lost to history had been reborn in this divine kingdom.
"Extraordinary beings as construction workers… that's very on-brand for you guys," Truman chuckled.
This place had an abundance of low-sequence materials and supernatural beings. With a simple selection process, individuals could be granted potions.
For both the present and future of humanity, this was a true heaven.
"This place… is the future," Truman finally remarked.
It was no wonder the Primordial Sun God had become the Creator of the Third Epoch.
"Why is the progenitor of vampires called Lilith?" Truman asked Sasliel after they had finished touring the city.
"The origins of humanoid ancient gods are all tied to humanity," Sasliel explained.
Truman nodded.
"But Lilith has maintained her humanity well. She's the only one worth working with."
Sasliel seemed satisfied with Truman and the Goddess's choice of ally.
"I've received word—the Werewolf Tribe is already heading to the Giant Court."
The Goddess had already stirred up trouble? Truman was a little surprised.
"It's connected to the chaos you caused in Silver City."
The emergence of the Chaos Sea's aura had awakened the Fool's Path werewolf from its slumber. Its location immediately put it on alert.
Werewolves and giants were eternal enemies, constantly seeking to devour one another. The werewolves were the more frenzied of the two, and once their destructive instincts were triggered, they were unstoppable.
"As a result, all the ancient gods are now watching the Giant Court."
"…Well, I'll drink to that!" Truman chuckled, shaking his head.
Around the time Truman met with the Primordial Sun God, the disturbance caused by the Chaos Sea's source fluctuations had begun.
In the divine kingdom of the Doomsday Werewolf, inside a rugged yet serene temple, a figure materialized.
The Goddess of Misfortune, Amaniysis, opened her eyes and stepped out from her hidden state. Her expression remained indifferent, but a suppressed madness flickered beneath the surface.
She walked out of the crude temple, gazing upon an endless primeval forest and towering mountain peaks that seemed to touch the sky.
In the distance, massive beasts roamed, their howls shaking the land.
Silently, she climbed toward the mountaintop, her steps filled with a reverence akin to pilgrimage.
A deep, resonant howl echoed from the peak, laced with raw hostility.
Amaniysis remained unfazed as a massive werewolf stepped in her path.
The creature was as large as a small mountain, its body covered in dark, coarse fur. Eight muscular legs dug into the earth, and its black eyes gleamed with malicious intent as it stared at her.
"I challenge you! The position of God of Misfortune rightfully belongs to the great Gozzrat!" the werewolf declared.
Dark, eerie energy flickered across its body—a deep and all-consuming darkness that carried the essence of secrecy and fear, representing silent destruction and erasure.
Amaniysis glanced beyond the werewolf, noticing several others watching intently. If she showed the slightest weakness, they would tear her apart.
A mad god might need a subordinate of misfortune, but it didn't matter who filled that role.
For Amaniysis, this was just another day.
She couldn't kill these werewolves, but they were an endless nuisance.
Having long grown accustomed to these daily challenges, she simply gave them an indifferent look and stepped forward.
"ROAR!" The eight-legged werewolf howled in fury, unleashing waves of darkness infused with terror and secrecy.
But Amaniysis merely walked on, her form transforming into a pencil sketch that was effortlessly erased. When she reappeared, she was already at the mountaintop.
The power of secrecy and misfortune was overwhelming. The eight-legged werewolves, equivalent to Sequence 2 or Sequence 3 in later times, couldn't even glimpse her departure.
They were merely… annoying.
"Amaniysis."
Another werewolf approached. This one was different—its aura lacked the usual fearsome intensity. It carried itself with a certain grace, and glimmering spiritual insects occasionally crawled in and out of its body.
"Antigonus." The goddess gave a slight nod.
Moments later, another werewolf arrived, similar in appearance to Antigonus. Its eyes were almost entirely black, save for a sliver of white, and a tuft of white fur adorned its forehead.
The God of Wishes, the Dark Wolf—Kotar.
Antigonus snorted in disdain at Kotar and walked past him without a word.
Ahead, another divine being stood—a half-human, half-beast entity covered in black-and-white feathers. Its head resembled that of a bird, and eerie symbols adorned its pale skin, radiating a powerful aura of death.
The God of the Undead, Salinger.
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Chapter 7: All Familiar FacesNew18 hours agoShow less
"The main body has given you a return gift, but I can't just let it end like this," he mused before finally pulling out a stone tablet.
"I don't have the same power as the main body, but for now, this thing is under my control."
"I don't know how you came to understand sequences, but I can show you what a true sequence looks like."
Sasriel was being quite generous. In this eerie world, knowledge was akin to power.
Moreover, this was an era where sequences had yet to spread, making such knowledge even more precious.
"Just in time—I need this knowledge," Truman did not refuse. While this knowledge had limited use for him—since he could not follow the sequence pathway—the Ancient Sun God likely understood this, which was why Sasriel was willing to present the Blasphemy Slate to him.
"This is also part of the plan," Sasriel said. Truman nodded slightly.
Perhaps Sasriel did wish to repay him, but this also involved their ongoing collaboration.
For instance, the stars, the moon, and the pathways adjacent to them.
This was the Sun's side using leverage to draw in the other two factions.
"Oh..." Truman seemed to have thought of something. He looked at Hermes and sensed the boundless yearning in his heart. Nodding lightly, he said, "How much you can comprehend depends on yourself."
"Thank you, Angels!" Hermes bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle, nearly kneeling before the two.
Truman once again grasped a cluster of dreamlike phosphorescence and handed it to Sasriel.
Sasriel blinked, nodded slightly, and showed no objection.
"Let's begin," Sasriel said, fully revealing the Blasphemy Slate. The hazy shadows surrounding it dissipated, exposing the gray-white stone tablet.
It was ancient and weathered by time, inscribed with a peculiar script that could be understood at a glance.
"Sun Pathway: Sequence Nine, Hymnist..."
Draped in the robes of a sage, Truman's ability to record knowledge had reached an almost terrifying level. Without any difficulty, he deciphered the Blasphemy Slate completely.
"Sequence Zero..." This was one of the few things that Truman treated with genuine seriousness.
"Come to think of it, I can create Blasphemy Cards now!"
A bizarre thought crossed Truman's mind, but he quickly shook his head. He was not that emperor who could even target witches. No need to steal the spotlight.
He looked up and saw Hermes still immersed in deciphering the slate, intoxicated by the knowledge.
"Alright," Sasriel announced at a certain moment. The Blasphemy Slate was once again enveloped in dense shadows before he put it away.
"Whew!" Hermes snapped back to reality and once again bowed in gratitude toward Sasriel and Truman.
"A complete divine pathway... and other sequence pathways leading to demigod levels..."
Hermes was not like Truman; he couldn't decipher all the information in such a short time.
Thus, he had to make choices—he gained full knowledge of his own pathway and acquired knowledge up to Sequence Four for others.
"Knowledge should be spread cautiously," Truman advised, his words carrying a hint of guidance.
"Yes!" Hermes, still reeling from the overwhelming influx of mystical knowledge, quickly composed himself.
"I, Hermes, swear to follow the Angel, even if it costs me my life! Human history will forever engrave the name of the honored Angel!"
Hermes dropped to one knee, bowing his head before Truman.
This was no longer just a simulated persona—it was the true Hermes speaking.
Truman was momentarily stunned before smiling and nodding. "You may also call me Dream."
"Yes!" Hermes etched the name into his memory.
"Go now. Your knowledge will allow humanity to truly possess the power to protect itself," Truman said.
Hermes was an excellent follower, but for now, he needed to return to the human city-states.
With the Ancient One's Gloves, Truman directly transferred Hermes back to the place where they had first met.
"Apologies, I may have disrupted your plans," Truman said to Sasriel.
After all, this knowledge was the Sun God's best tool for gathering human believers.
"This is the reward you deserve," Sasriel replied indifferently. "A god's power alone is enough to command human faith."
Hermes had only received such an abundance of mystical knowledge because of Truman. As Sasriel said, Truman's name was bound to be etched into human mysticism history, with countless humans becoming his anchors of faith.
"But your abilities resemble those of a Miracle Invoker," Sasriel remarked, glancing at the Ancient One's Gloves before his gaze swept over the Dream Book. "Be it fate or wishes..."
So, they suspect I have ties to the Lord of Mysteries? Truman suddenly understood.
The Ancient Sun God must have noticed inconsistencies in Ulysses's fate and inferred the Dream Book's abilities. This naturally led to thoughts of the Fate Marker.
However, Truman knew it had nothing to do with that. He did not deny it but merely smiled.
"Why not take me on a tour of your divine kingdom?" Truman was curious about the Sun God's divine realm. Besides, he expected to see some familiar faces there.
Sasriel gladly agreed—hosting a guest while slacking off a bit.
"Yo, Sasriel, who's this? He's almost as handsome as me!"
Before they had walked far, a knight with fiery red hair and clad in black armor approached.
He was young and striking, his expression as wild as his crimson hair.
"Medici!" Sasriel called sternly. "He is a guest."
"A guest?" Medici raised an eyebrow, casting a provocative glance at Truman—enough to make anyone want to punch him.
"Your act is quite convincing," Truman even sensed a level of mystical provocation. If two Sequence Two angels stood before him, the one he'd instinctively prioritize attacking would be the red-haired one.
"This isn't an act. He… is just naturally like this," Sasriel said helplessly.
Medici's expression shifted slightly. From Sasriel's tone, he could tell that he regarded Truman with great importance.
That piqued his curiosity.
He was about to say something when a terrifying storm interrupted.
It was an apocalyptic tempest of lightning—silver and white, so intense that it turned the sky above them into another world.
"Medici, stand right there!"
A voice like the roar of a giant beast thundered through the air as a humanoid calamity wrapped in wind and lightning appeared on the horizon. His deep blue hair billowed wildly in his rage.
"Here he comes, little brother," Medici didn't flee. Instead, he moved closer to Sasriel, forcing him to raise a hand and block the storm of lightning.
He couldn't exactly let his guest get struck by lightning, could he?
"Leodoro, you have offended an important guest of our Heavenly Kingdom! Your punishment—sing a song to calm the guest's fury!"
"You—!" The towering and rugged Leodoro's face contorted, teeth clenched in frustration. Even Sasriel twitched slightly.
"I believe this is truly his nature," Truman mused.
Hearing that furious roar just now, he could already gauge Leodoro's level as an Oceanic Singer.
If he started singing, the damage would be devastating.
The only reason Medici wasn't dead was that he was strong—and had the backing of the Ancient Sun God.
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