The Pantheon
—I'm tired. For a moment... I shall seek sleep.—
"Yes, yes. You should get some rest. You burned through all that mana just to mess with one priest."
As the Red Dragon drifted back into slumber to recover his fatigue, far above the material world in the realm of the gods known as the Pantheon...
<Are you all quite sane? The Red Dragon is a being that deserves death. A harmful existence utterly useless to the world! Isn't this the price we've paid for leaving him be until now?>
<Hah, Verinal. You're too hasty. Weren't the deaths of your creations just the consequences of their own actions?>
The endless debate dragged on without resolution. It was inevitable. Verinal was the god of life and magic, and the creator of the elves. To him, they were no different from his own children. How could he not seethe with rage at the Red Dragon for slaughtering them all?
Yet in the end, it was merely Verinal's personal grudge. The gods could not interfere greatly in the material world. To extend their influence there demanded a heavy price. And who would side with Verinal, paying that cost for a victory that promised scant reward anyway? Naturally, such allies were virtually nonexistent in this Pantheon.
major gods, and focus on your own duties.>
Take her, for example. Beul, the goddess of disease, fate, and death. She could not endorse Verinal's recent antics in the slightest.
<Your creations reeked of your own arrogance. That's why they brought so much death upon themselves, wasn't it?>
<Hah! Nonsense. It's just the empty prattling of a coward terrified by a mere beast.>
<Death is impartial to all, and often sudden. Your creations were merely one such case.>
<You want to try me right now, Beul?>
Beul had once harbored some ill will toward the Red Dragon herself. Two hundred years ago, he had created countless undead without discrimination or mercy. But the souls he claimed now were mostly reaping what they had sown. And he showed no greed for divinity, humbly remaining a mortal. She simply couldn't understand why Verinal fixated on him so obsessively.
<Be content with what's before you, Verinal. Stop inciting your kin. It's plain as day that it will lead them—and you—to ruin. Why court self-destruction?>
So Beul advised him sincerely. As long as the Red Dragon remained in the material world, the gods could not touch him easily. They would need to 'select' a few among his mortal followers, grant them countless opportunities, and strengthen them to claim his life. But that required far too much time and cost an exorbitant price. The most feasible option was for Verinal to descend personally—but the backlash made it all but impossible.
For a so-called god of life to squander time on such folly? From the perspective of the goddess of death, Beul, it was naturally infuriating.
Verinal is too impulsive. He dives in heedless of consequences because he so cherishes life. If he fell from major god to even a minor god...
Beul might end up with even more work. A goddess of death saddled with the domain of life—what a horrific prospect. That's why she wanted to rein him in all the more. But even as a goddess, the world didn't bend to her whims.
As mentioned, those who sided with him numbered 'almost' none—which implied there were a precious few.
<Beul. I disagree.>
Selloir, the god of storms, volcanoes, and calamities.
<The Red Dragon encroaches on my domain. Bad.>
He bellowed like a thunderclap, his voice thick with fury.
<The domain of calamity is mine. That lizard eyes my domain!>
Honestly, to Beul's eyes, it didn't seem that way at all. He was just called the 'Dragon of Calamity' because he blundered into disasters without even realizing it. And seeing him go to absurd lengths to avoid divinity? No matter how she looked at it, the cause and effect felt badly twisted.
She glanced at Verinal, sensing something off.
...Verinal put him up to it.
She could roughly guess why he was reacting like this. Verinal must have distorted the Red Dragon's intentions when relaying them to Selloir. And witnessing the divinity beginning to cling to the Red Dragon, Selloir had formed a misguided conviction.
It reeked of shady dealings, nothing righteous. Beul sighed at the sight of them.
<Haa... You two are hopeless. One real tumble, and you'll never rise again.>
If they lost to the Red Dragon's burgeoning forces in the material world—or even if they succeeded in granting minor divinity but failed to drag him into ascension to the Pantheon—it would be no easy fight. No matter how she crunched the numbers, victory seemed distant. Yet they strutted with such confidence.
Was it the long peace dulling their minds, or arrogance from their divine thrones? Beul just wished they'd hurry back to their duties.
But breaking their stubbornness was impossible. They were major gods enthroned in the Pantheon, backed by legions of followers. They believed themselves immune to self-destruction.
<One last question. I will exact the price for coveting what belongs to the gods.>
<Hm!>
Yggdrasil burned to ash, for my creations trampled and incinerated without mercy. Is there no one else to crush that wicked mortal?>
Their voices boomed like thunder, infused with vital light. Such resolve filled them. But naturally, not a single god echoed their call.
<Tch, figures. Selfish lot. One day, you'll all fall to him too.>
<Verinal's right. You're all fools.>
With that, they vacated the Pantheon and returned to their domains. Beul stared at their traces in disbelief.
<...The fools are you two.>
She knew their efforts were futile. The Red Dragon might seem lazy on the surface, but his mind turned quick as lightning. Would he fail to anticipate their moves? Even his recent breach of the 'paladin's oath' and his overtures to the White Gold Dragons screamed preparation for something.
<...I hope my workload doesn't grow.>
Harboring worry, she returned to her domain—to reap the souls multiplying by the moment, to welcome those whose flame of life had extinguished. She would simply fulfill her duty with quiet resolve.
However.
<...Just in case, I should make some preparations myself.>
She was nothing if not thorough. She calculated the aftermath of their schemes: the influx of souls from mass sacrifices, the fallout from the Red Dragon's responses. She knew the dead would pile up in their wake.
She had to prepare.
...I'm exhausted. So damn tired. Going outside was a mistake, as expected.
Honestly, isn't a king wandering out absurd in itself? Just lounging in the palace, stamping decrees—that's the life I crave.
But.
"Countless nations have recognized us now. Kohmir's 'protectorate' declaration probably played a big role. Still, most are just watching neutrally."
[Can't you handle it yourself, Leviathan?]
"If I could, would I be here? I'm reporting because it's important."
[...]
Unfortunately, the 'Red Dragon's nation' is a startup. And startups mean the boss is always swamped. No escaping this mountain of work anytime soon.
[So, what's the problem?]
"Those 'neutral' ones I mentioned. They're the issue."
I couldn't quite grasp it. Neutral countries—like Switzerland, right? Staying out of international conflicts, no interference. What was the problem there?
"They don't trust us, that's why. There's not much they can gain by latching onto us anyway."
Listening to Leviathan, I started piecing together the logic. They fear me first and foremost. But banding together to challenge me? Their weight class doesn't match. Yet allying with me feels risky too. So they opt for neutrality, biding their time. That's why they haven't acknowledged our nation.
[Hmm.]
I pondered for a moment. When I torched Yggdrasil entirely, I figured I'd proven myself sufficiently. A decisive show of force so no one would dare look down on me. But here came the backlash.
Normally, when a dangerous figure emerges, don't they at least try flattery or overtures? Why were they just sitting idle? I couldn't underst—wait, the elves had gone through a similar phase, but the situations weren't identical. Why couldn't anyone keep up with this rapidly shifting world order?
It baffled me. No, thinking deeper, their stance struck me as downright arrogant. 'We won't trust you, so we'll sit tight'—opportunists waiting to jump on the winner. Recalling their vulture-like mindset grated on me.
As I mulled over what to do—
"—Sir! Red Dragon Sir!!!"
Elenoa rushed in urgently, shouting at the top of her lungs.
Leviathan and I paused our talk and turned to her. She dove straight into the point, spilling why she'd come.
"B-big trouble! The White Gold Dragons have arrived!!"
But her words weren't exactly dire. We'd already planned for one White Gold Dragon—and a human—to visit.
"Oh, that's fine. One White Gold Dragon and one human were supposed to come here."
So Leviathan smiled and reassured her, but—
"N-not one...! A bunch—a whole flock of dozens of White Gold Dragons flying toward us in the sky!!"
"...Huh? W-what?!"
[...?]
Something was going very wrong. Very, very wrong.