Chapter 112
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: 12th Floor - Lv. 355 Straggler Clans (3)
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Interactions between gods weren't nonexistent, but they weren't exactly encouraged either.
After all, they were rivals to one another—and not the friendly sort.
Having lived through endless ages, they might develop personal ties here and there, but most gods remained distant acquaintances at best.
Of course, that distance never escalated beyond mere aloofness.
Even when guilds waged war in a game, it never came down to total annihilation.
The gods' conflicts were much the same.
A god losing all followers and fading away was something that almost never happened at another's hands.
New challengers rarely scoured the fragments of countless worlds to find and confront a god on their throne.
A god was an Exile of the Labyrinth who had claimed immortality itself after an arduous journey.
Freed from the countless deaths that had spanned decades at shortest, full centuries at longest, gods tended to grow magnanimous.
Compared to their Exile days, anyway.
They no longer fretted over the future or raced against the 100-year deadline like challengers did.
Even as failed losers, they were free—and beings who could reign over their followers.
Above all, to those who had lived in game-like worlds, a divine throne was like a perfectly rigged PC setup.
The Goddess of Chaos observed her multitude of followers—something she hadn't done in ages—while indulging in luxury and pleasure.
"Gods don't get tooth decay, after all."
Immortality made it inevitable. An Exile seated on a throne had their time frozen.
If spiders nested in a throne room, the offering altars would overflow with webs.
Candy kept pouring out no matter how much she took.
Jellies, puddings, foods that now served only as treats—all gushing forth in heaps.
Unless it was some major historical relic, trivial provisions like these weren't preserved in skipped time.
So the offerings piling up now had only been offered in this brief span.
"Hm, this one's gotta go back."
Some devotees emptied their coffers in piety. With the goddess's return announced for all to see, there was no helping it.
"Shouldn't have shown off. Didn't think it'd cause this much headache."
Even inheriting memories felt slightly alien, like someone else's senses. She'd tried acting solemn like with party members, and the backlash was fierce.
Still, the throne offered great conveniences for managing followers. At last, the goddess finished sorting the offerings.
Far too many needed returning.
She'd set the criteria and inputted them; the throne would handle the rest automatically.
What remained was a mountain of food.
She pulled out a lollipop, licked it, and appraised it.
"A bit disappointing."
The Labyrinth was far more tangled and war-torn than worlds inhabited by single races.
Peace was fleeting, a mere illusion passing by.
Technological progress skewed accordingly. Wars always drove advancement.
Especially in weapons and siege engines.
Making candy tastier? That'd be pursued in more peaceful realms.
"Shame it's not his make."
She could source ingredients now, but he looked busy—off to the vampire horde and dwarf mansion. Best not disturb.
Fried or grilled stuff had been tasty. But the Federation had few races that savored cuisine.
For delicacies, the Alliance suited better.
[Hey, heard the Alliance has some famous artisans' sweets?]
The God of Order replied shortly after she messaged him.
[I've cataloged the Federation's specialties. Shall we trade?]
It was like gods' hobbies. Offerings from followers varied, so trades like this happened.
Not between all—relations had to align—but the Gods of Order and Wealth had no such qualms.
His throne hadn't twisted his nature; he'd always been that way.
Any deal benefiting him, his allies, or himself was fair game. Emotions rarely factored in.
Not friends, but convenient enough.
And this trade was a win for her, she figured.
[...You eat this stuff there?]
The message carried his puckered distaste perfectly. She'd seen it before.
[Goblins and undead dominate, so the flavors are... off-putting.]
[I prefer plain fried chicken, myself.]
Their exchange skipped follower gossip or politics.
No god was foolish enough to spill that.
The God of Order admitted the taste grew on him.
The goddess shook her head.
[Alliance candies are definitely superior.]
[The Federation boasts a unique food culture. How's your culture industry?]
[Just education and propaganda... not much.]
[If you're buying, name your price.]
[Pass. Think my followers can't procure it?]
The God of Order chuckled lowly.
Then he probed casually.
[Heard an angel appeared in the Kingdom?]
[Hm? No eyes in the Kingdom, so not sure.]
[The Chaos Angel?]
The goddess answered without hesitation. The God of Order paid for all intel, but getting led then stiffed felt like defeat.
[Wish it were. Shame.]
[Hm, lots of gods are coveting it. Angels and demons are rare.]
[Weren't there some rankers?]
[Been too long without Kingdom followers. Many died. Especially when 'Meteor Shower' guild collapsed.]
It collapsed? Must've been tough. The goddess tried recalling her last Kingdom checkup.
Memory fuzzy.
Exiles excelled at zoning out—fooling even themselves, lost for too long.
[Anyway, it's big news lately. Lots of guilds eyeing it.]
[Tch, I used to have high races under me.]
[Of course, eldest of gods. Oh, someone sent mint choco from the Kingdom. Service.]
[Mm, lovely.]
Eldest god.
A title she hadn't heard in ages.
When the Chaos Goddess hit her 100-year limit this Run, the Kingdom was an empty plot without foundations.
In such state, it might've been surprisingly peaceful.
[My goddess! I found a house!]
Angels became gods' faithful servants absent other duties. It maximized racial traits and offered huge gains.
This 47th-Run Exile angel was a first for her race, with heavily skewed experience to boot.
Berserker-only class. She'd reached the Kingdom steadily enough, but her spineless nature meant she underperformed for her tenure.
No challenger dreams—just a commoner Exile chasing homeownership.
Veterans were monstrous horrors pre-Kingdom.
Even among them, tiers existed. A solid 20th-Runer could outshine a 50th-Run slacker.
Thus, the angel leaned heavily on the goddess.
[A goddess this kind is a first! Oh, my goddess!]
Her psyche had crumbled somewhat; the goddess even counseled her.
It evoked memories of partying for the Main Dungeon.
Anyway, the adorably bumbling angel followed advice, hiding well.
Rumors spread anyway.
New server spawns reached Kingdom Exiles via countless gods.
Yet few crossed over even after time, drawing intense scrutiny to her every move.
Survivors thinned post-space themes—no parity in floors.
Kingdom reachers were countable on fingers.
Entering the gates, the angel drew peak attention.
The goddess barked.
[Hey, idiot! No interviews—bolt!]
Wings out, full-speed flight escape. Few Exiles could catch a fleeing angel.
Her race obvious, she became instant celebrity.
She dodged people a fortnight, limiting contact.
Scouts relented, opting to watch.
Then house-hunting began.
[Never seen such a bustling kingdom!]
The goddess agreed. Last memory: underdeveloped zones galore. Now, proper cities abounded.
Especially around the central Dimensional Corridor—magitech wonders.
Unlike the Gobletaria Federation server, truly peaceful progress.
At a glance.
The denser-than-expected ditz required goddess oversight there too.
Sold feathers and tears for inn fees, loans for the house.
Blond angel clutched deed reverently exiting realty—seemed airborne.
She was.
[So this house is for when seniors visit?]
The goddess shook her head.
[Guild house.]
Angel eyes spun to realization.
[Forming a guild?!]
[Yep. Lots to do now. Media play too.]
Blanche's status needed checking.
Spotted trudging from Kingdom gates—cyberpunk spy vibe—scouts scattered.
Don't touch.
Better if someone killed her now.
It happened.
Infamous named Exile NPC Blanche accrued unknown grudges.
Fugitive in Kingdom, uncatchable.
High-levels balked at her starter gear's power.
[Help Blanche if she's in danger.]
[Huh?! Why me?]
[Do it!]
Goddess bullied; angel deflated.
High-ranker favor wasn't easy.
Muttering, she clenched fists in vast house, steeling resolve.
Anyway, angel thrived. Not her first Kingdom; ditzy but tenure intact.
Held "promising rookie" status quietly.
Now snoring under feather quilt and wings, drooling happily.
Irksome, but blissful—let her be.
Goddess smirked, shifting view.
Sensation like panning game screen to another map spot.
Tech progress unraveled many Exile secrets.
Healing Potions, hailed as miracle springs.
Their mechanism defied explanation or replication, but not true Healing Springs.
Just divinity-magic-infused water.
Magitech approach: headache-inducing delicacy.
Even doping via empowered blood complicated it.
Partial studies improved potions.
This era: non-Exile potions commercialized.
But barely clung-to-life "corpses" stayed dead.
Visible wound-healing speed at best.
Revolutionary—shrank healer clerics' roles—but no match for originals.
Dwarf arms dealer welcomed the real deal in his mansion with open arms.
Warm to me and party too.
"Man, suddenly evicted—total panic. Woke on street. Guards tossed out too; nearly froze."
Rock dwarf: perpetual upper elementary look. Suit, cigar, words—awkward mismatch.
Girl found it cute, hands twitching to poke.
Never actually touching—rude.
We led; others entered mansion.
Vast garden.
Center fountain spot: bubbling spring.
Dwarf approached joyfully, touching water.
"The miracle spring original, eh. Heh."
Taste unremarkable, yet he savored.
Others equally awed.
"First, our Exile guests. Chef!"
Servants moved efficiently. I eyed vampire.
"No stairwell intel?"
"Post-job."
Local non-regulars no major threat now.
Just time waste worry.
"Skip hospitality. Next."
"More talk needed. About the anvil."
Better avoid. Dwarf seemed scheming.
This power-holder's friendliness: suspicious.
Vampire overly cordial sans quips.
Common trap.
No escape route anyway.
Exile terror widespread; so was utility this era.