The War God's Arena
The war in the Great Forest. Even if he became the War God and earned the title "Noble and Great," he was still nothing more than a black mage. Therefore, his old rivals would not change their ways any more than the spirit goddesses had. Yet for the sake of survival, even vengeance was a luxury. "I can only hope this incident will at least prevent hostility with the goddesses."
With that, the reorganization of the Middle World came to an end. The High Elf Empire of the Great Forest lost five hundred million of its one billion citizens as punishment for betraying their new racial god, but was granted forgiveness when Granzoa, the former goddess of all elves, became a subordinate deity. The Middle World reeled in horror at the staggering death toll. All attention now turned to the treasures beyond transcendence that the Pope of the newly elected War God would bestow, and the powerful began to stir with feverish ambition.
Crack—! Thud—! Fwoooosh—! Hahahaha!
Hundreds of bodies gathered in the War God's arena shattered, spraying blood in every direction. Countless spears of flame and ice danced through the air, burning and freezing flesh alike. Whooooosh! Thud-thud-thud! Dozens of weapons enhanced by auras flew from every angle, tearing into their targets. Even amid this gruesome spectacle, laughter never left the plaza.
"Hahahaha! It's true! All injuries heal without death!"
Those whose arms were severed in the arena saw them reattach; those whose heads were cut off were restored. Only wounds fully recovered—mana and aura were not replenished. Yet stamina continued to return without end.
"Kuhahahaha! I never tire—this is wonderful!"
"You brats! This old man will show you how it's done!"
The square before the War God's Plaza, the site chosen to elect the new Pope, had become a chaotic free-for-all. Never since the Middle World's creation had so many Transcendents gathered in one place. The current Pope of the War God could only stare in disbelief.
"Even when the Demon King descends, it takes over a month for word to spread. Yet this time, within a single day, hundreds of 7th Circle masters have teleported here, desperate to see the treasures."
Though rejuvenated and strengthened, the Pope was only at the level of a 6th Circle user and could not control such a multitude of Transcendents. Disaster struck.
"A 7th Circle mage appraising the treasures slipped on the ring and grew young again—his eyes went mad. He tried to flee with teleportation but was caught by the gathered Transcendents and nearly torn apart."
When the ring was briefly worn, the aging 7th Circle master instantly became a youthful beauty, only to revert to an old man the moment it was stolen. His words set every eye in the crowd ablaze with madness.
"It is genuine. I do not understand the formula, but the effect is certain."
Every Transcendent who heard the white mage's testimony fixed their glittering gazes upon the ring and armor, then frantically contacted their own magic towers and empires. The crowd of Transcendents made it clear that no one could claim the prizes alone—they needed reinforcements. The mages were especially desperate.
"This is the pinnacle of great magic! It must not fall into the hands of muscle-bound fools who rely only on strength."
"The path to the 10th Circle, surpassing the human limit of the 7th Circle and even overwhelming the Demon King, lies here. Yet as things stand, mages will struggle to secure it."
"Gather, all who walk the path of magic!"
The mages' message magic, fueled by every drop of their mana, spread across the entire Middle World in a single day. Watching this, the body-strengthening Transcendents ground their teeth.
"If they had done this when the Demon King descended, we would not have suffered such losses!"
"The Middle World is too vast for simultaneous transmission? Then how is it possible now?"
"These swindling mages!"
Even the Transcendents felt their throats burn with thirst at the sight of the armor that could elevate an 8th Circle user to the rank of a lower god. Aging was the gravest problem for Transcendents.
"Reaching 7th Circle master takes fifty years at best, a hundred at worst."
"Even after becoming a Transcendent, one lives on with the body of that age."
"The path to the 8th Circle that restores youth remains invisible no matter how hard we search."
"I have lived as an old man for decades."
Having aged while ascending through realms, their longing for youth burned fiercer than that of the mages. When they witnessed an aged mage transform into a handsome youth of barely ten simply by donning the ring, an almost maddening desire surged within them.
"What use is living long as a Transcendent if one is trapped in a joyless old age?"
"My tongue is coated in white film; I can barely taste anything. After using the toilet, I worry whether urine will leak."
"My body reeks, and when I wake, my arms and legs go numb."
"My manhood barely stirs in the morning. Women will not embrace me unless bought or forced. At best, I am mocked for finishing too quickly."
Even Transcendents could not reverse aging, so they endured the sorrows of old age for decades. Having once known the brilliance of youth, they could not help but go mad for the treasure that promised to restore it. Moreover, obtaining the additional ring of immortality would let them remain with their partners for eternity. Young wives of Transcendents were forcibly sent to compete, lest they be driven from their homes.
The real problem was that even those who had long declared the world not worth living in—Transcendents on the verge of dying of old age—had crawled out of their graves. The younger Transcendents' eyes blazed with killing intent; they would end this, seniors or not.
"You should have just died! Why crawl from your tombs to block the young?"
The elderly Transcendents merely answered with chilling smiles, as if the provocation were laughable.
"Worthless whelps! Those with many years left should yield."
All pretense of respect had vanished. They radiated murderous auras and prepared for battle.
"Why wait two days? Let us settle this now."
"Your tongue is too loose."
"Hmph! The treasure is fine, but life is precious too, is it not? If the treasure is real, then that deathless plaza must be real as well."
The War God's Plaza, bathed in the faint light of the miracle magic cast by the Noble and Great Black Mage, drew every gaze. Almost simultaneously, the Transcendents began to move.
"Surely none of you would harbor petty grudges after defeat and harm your own nations?"
The older Transcendents, pillars of their countries, spoke with national welfare in mind. The reply was cold sarcasm.
"Only a conscience-dead old thief who marries his great-granddaughter's age would seek petty revenge."
"Kuh!"
"Grind—!"
The sound of several elderly Transcendents gnashing their teeth echoed through the War God's Plaza, and pandemonium erupted. Latecomers who teleported in after hearing the news assessed the situation briefly before joining the melee. The number of participating Transcendents had already surpassed a thousand. Freed from the fear of injury and death, they rampaged with infinite stamina, drunk on their own power. No one listened to the 6th Circle Pope's pleas.
"Just you wait! I will never forget this moment."
Tears of a weakling's sorrow streamed from the eyes of the Pope, whose title had been hastily labeled "temporary" by the god he served. Thus the Middle World faced great change.
Meanwhile, the hero party—renowned throughout the Middle World for slaying the Demon King ten years ago with the holy sword Durandal granted by the Main God—was heading toward the teleportation gate in low spirits.
"Huu… At this rate, we'll really become unemployed."
"You're telling me. Even national requests have dried up, let alone private ones."
With two Demon Kings dead in the Middle World and high-ranking black mages annihilated, the heroes' work had plummeted to near shutdown. It was as if a storm had razed the forest— even the once-numerous monsters had hidden themselves so thoroughly they were nearly impossible to find.
"Should we try the battlefield? I hear wars between nations have increased."
"Would they accept a hero of justice in a war? Let's just buy a farm with our savings."
"Does farming suit just anyone? We'll only ruin ourselves doing anything but fighting."
"Exactly! But without work, it's truly frustrating."
The more they talked, the heavier their sighs grew—until astonishing news arrived. A recruitment notice had been posted for 7th Circle masters to elect the Pope of the Holy Empire of War. The party stared at the announcement in disbelief, noting the shaky, hastily scrawled signature that read "Temporary Pope." The reward—treasures surpassing even the hero's holy sword—left them stunned. When they inquired with the holy sword and received confirmation, they set off for the Holy Empire of War without hesitation.
"A ring of immortality with no equipping restrictions must be worth a fortune."
"Its value cannot even be measured. Especially if it contains 10th Circle magic, even I cannot resist."
The Crimson Mage, hailed as humanity's strongest, urged them onward, her alluring figure wrapped in a glossy red robe that clung to her skin.
"The emperors have publicly declared they will grant a duchy on the level of a kingdom to whoever brings the ring."
"Huk! So winning means becoming a king?"
"Thanks to that, everyone is charging in like mad."
"I hear the 7th Circle mages have sent magical transmissions to their towers. The artifacts are real, and wearing them instantly restores youth—requesting all possible reinforcements."
The Crimson Mage nodded and continued.
"The Red Tower has ordered me to participate as well. They said if I obtain it, they will make me tower master immediately."
"Kek! Tower master? Really?"
"It was the first time I saw the elder geezers shouting in such excitement. Well, I cannot resist either. The chance to possess a 10th Circle magical artifact, not even 7th Circle…"
The Crimson Mage licked her parched lips with a red tongue, her eyes blazing with excitement. She could not even imagine how extraordinary the magical tools created by the black mage who had become the War God—after slaying the Demon King and annihilating high-ranking black mages—must be.
"We have the hero's holy sword. It does not matter how many other 7th Circle masters gather."
"Let's finish this cleanly and convert the treasures into money to split."
"I want to wear it—can you not yield?"
"You are no emperor, yet you speak of buying a kingdom so casually. Do not even think such foolish thoughts."
"Tch! Fine!"
Hopeful of striking it rich, the party arrived at the teleportation gate only to be shocked by the outrageous price and immediately began protesting.
"What? A thousand gold for teleportation? It used to be ten gold! You raised it a hundred times?"
"So many wish to go to the Holy Empire of War that we raised the price. It seems it will rise even further."
"That is absurd! You expect us to pay a hundred times the toll?"
"You need not pay. Next, please."
The party continued arguing over the ridiculous price until the Crimson Mage presented her magic tower certificate, allowing them to travel at half price. Having been fleeced of a staggering 2,500 gold in an instant, the heroes were left speechless. Upon arriving at the teleportation gate in the Holy Empire of War, they found countless Transcendents and mages already gathered, with teleportation circles endlessly disgorging more arrivals.
"Every single person in this crowd of thousands is a Transcendent!"
"Insane!"
The Transcendents and mages who had arrived in the Holy Empire of War moved with frantic purpose. Among them, fully armed Transcendents in armor and swords ground their teeth as they dashed toward some unknown destination. When the hero party emerged into the capital, the streets were so packed with people there was no room to step, and mages floated in the sky, shouting and waving their hands.
"What is this? Was this not the city that underwent a great purge two days ago?"
"It was. The atmosphere is strange, but let us hurry to the central plaza."
Rumble—! Roar—! Waaaaah!
The closer they drew to the Grand Temple where the War God's Pope would be elected, the denser the crowds became, and explosions and roars began to echo. Unable to pass through the central plaza packed with spectators, they leapt onto building rooftops and looked down—then recoiled in shock. Inside a transparent hemispherical magic barrier, tens of thousands of people were locked in combat, every one of them possessing an extraordinarily high level.
"No way… Are all those people 7th Circle masters?"
"It is a battle between Transcendents."
"At that scale, it is a war."
The plaza's perimeter was crammed with spectators, while thousands of War God priests and holy knights struggled to keep the crowd from approaching the battlefield. Occasionally, fighters were flung outside the barrier only to scream and charge back in. Even more astonishing were the occasional flashes of holy power completely different from the War God's divine energy.
"Why are priests of other gods here to elect the War God's Pope?"