The Gods' Garden Falls Silent

11.

The gods' garden had fallen into silence.

The muses who had been playing music, the spirits attending them—all frozen in place.

All because of the crimson system message floating in the air.

Overwhelming.

That single word explained everything.

Darakhan in 2nd place had scored a mere 2 points.

Rag's score was 300.

This was a massacre.

It crushed the competitors' pride and shattered the judges' standards.

"......Hah."

Someone let out a hollow laugh.

That sound was the spark.

"Does that...... even make sense?"

"300 points? Unless it's a system glitch."

"He blew up the entire sanctuary?"

The murmurs spread like waves.

Astoundment. And envy.

But what truly twisted the gods' faces was something else.

Beside Rag on the screen.

The dazzling holy sword hovering protectively at his side.

"Avriel......"

"That noble archangel knelt to some seed?"

Avriel was a prize everyone coveted.

Countless gods had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drooled over the chance to claim her as kin.

But she was proud.

She ignored all but the mightiest gods—and now she'd sworn loyalty to a rookie fresh on the 1st floor.

It stung.

Their guts twisted in agony.

Flames of jealousy scorched the garden.

And at the center.

"Kukuku......"

A sinister chuckle leaked out.

The god of typhoons, Heimdall.

He swirled his nectar-filled goblet, scanning the room.

"Well?"

His voice boomed with arrogance.

"Convinced now?"

The gods' gazes stabbed toward him.

Heimdall continued undeterred.

"You yapped about favoritism, parachutes dropped from on high. But the results speak for themselves. My eyes never lie."

A few gods bit their lips at his words.

No rebuttal possible.

The outcome was too clear.

But they couldn't stomach admitting it.

Especially the cluster huddled in the garden's corner.

They exchanged glances.

A dank, sticky aura clung to them.

Gods of the Life Faction and Material Faction.

The tower's power structure divided into three major blocs.

The Nature Faction, wielding typhoons, earthquakes, tsunamis.

The Life Faction, masters of plagues, curses, poisons.

And the Material Faction, commanding explosions, collapses, manipulations.

Heimdall was the Nature Faction's titan.

Naturally, they dominated in raw destructive power.

The other two factions constantly checked and balanced them through alliances.

This third trial, 'Sanctuary Purification,' was surely their joint scheme.

'GuGu must've cut a deal with Toolkacha for his talents.'

Obvious without seeing it.

Use the seeds as bait to eliminate Avriel and secure the sealed zealot Toolkacha.

That was the goal.

Toolkacha's authority: Rampaging Volcano.

A power that upheaved ley lines and forcibly twisted nature's flow.

Perfect for suppressing lower Nature Faction gods.

And if combined with another potent authority? Unimaginable devastation.

But.

'Rag...... annihilated Toolkacha.'

The plan lay in ruins.

Perhaps that's why.

A subtle killing intent rose.

The Life Faction god, the Plague Lord, narrowed his eyes.

'That one's dangerous.'

Not just because he's strong.

He knows how to flip the board.

And he's under Heimdall's protection.

They couldn't let the Nature Faction grow stronger.

"Heimdall."

The Plague Lord stepped forward.

"Impressive seed, no denying it."

He grinned slyly.

"But tall poppies get chopped down. The 1st floor's just the beginning, no?"

A veiled threat.

A warning: his path ahead wouldn't be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠smooth.

Anything could happen climbing the tower.

Assassinations disguised as accidents.

Unfair trials.

Gods had endless ways to meddle.

Heimdall's face chilled at the words.

Crash!

He hurled his goblet to the floor.

Shattering glass sliced the silence.

Whiiiiiing!

Wind stirred.

No mere breeze.

The harbinger of a storm sharp enough to rend space.

"......Threatening me now?"

Heimdall rose from his seat.

His divine majesty flooded the garden.

The Plague Lord flinched back a step.

"Listen well."

Heimdall's eyes flashed.

He glared at each Life and Material Faction god, growling.

"That boy's mine."

A declaration.

"Touch a single finger to him without my say-so."

Kwaaaaaang!

A massive whirlwind erupted in the garden's heart.

The sky blackened; lightning crashed down.

The apex predator of the Nature Faction's fury.

"It's war."

Heimdall twisted his lips into a smirk.

My head felt like it would split open.

Throbbing pain.

Like my brain had been through a blender—hangover-level agony.

But.

'......What's this?'

Unnaturally cozy.

My back wasn't stiff.

Like lying on clouds, with a faint floral scent drifting.

I slowly opened my eyes.

No blue sky first.

Empty air.

My body floated midair.

Precisely: cradled in someone's arms.

Treated like precious treasure—the classic 'princess carry'.

"......"

I slowly looked up.

Dazzling white jawline.

Golden-glowing eyes.

Eye contact with her—Avriel, who had become a holy sword.

She smiled benevolently.

"......"

Situation check needed.

So, I passed out.

Trial over.

This woman carried me skyward in ascension.

......But why still holding me?

"Put me down."

"Embarrassing. Put. Me. Down."

Firmly.

Avriel looked reluctant but gently set me on the ground.

Feet touching earth, I scanned around.

Still the sanctuary.

But the scenery had changed.

Rotted trees and blood-red mist gone; only clear, pristine air remained.

Perfect purification.

"Congratulations! Master Rag!"

Familiar voice.

Manager GuGu waddled over.

"Heartfelt congrats on becoming the 1st floor's master! An unprecedented, overwhelming score in history!"

GuGu's wings flapped noisily.

I rubbed my nape, nodding.

I remembered.

Zealot Toolkacha.

I'd devoured that massive disaster lump myself.

Hot embers churned deep in my gut.

Digestion going well.

"So, heading up now?"

"Ah, one procedure left before that."

GuGu pointed with a wing toward the gathered seeds.

The survivors.

They stared blankly—not at me, but at Avriel behind me—with awe-filled eyes.

"Before ascending to the 1st floor, you can designate one seed to bring along."

"Anyone I want?"

"Yes. A sort of 'mid-level manager' role."

Mid-level manager.

In plain terms: pick the 1st floor's mid-boss.

The floor's master is the apex predator.

But can't manage the whole floor solo.

Needs subordinates as hands and feet.

"Not exploiting for free, of course. The chosen seed gets massive perks too."

GuGu elaborated.

"Grants low-tier divinity based on floor height. Huge benefits to their race too. And above all......"

GuGu lowered his voice.

"Good performance could mean real ascension to godhood. If the master climbs higher or passes the seat on."

Those words dropped.

Whoosh!

The seeds' eyes changed.

The monster-wary glares vanished.

Desperation.

Yearning.

Pitiful pleas: pick me.

A lifeline to godhood.

Starting as subordinate beat flunking out pre-1st floor by miles.

"M-me! Take me!"

"I'll carry your bags! Order anything!"

Hands shot up everywhere, chaos erupting.

Pride? Forgotten.

I smirked at GuGu.

"Who should I pick?"

"Hm, statistically......"

GuGu skimmed his chart.

"Usually the 2nd place. Proven skills."

GuGu's gaze fixed.

Darakhan stood there.

He feigned dignity with a cough, but shoulders hunched in eager anticipation.

"Master Darakan owns the Abyssal Dragon, decent disaster aptitude too. Perfect to cover your...... er, practical gaps."

Not wrong.

Abyssal Dragon's mighty.

Pure firepower makes him ideal mid-boss material.

Darakhan glanced slyly, stepping forward.

"Ahem. Well, if you insist, I could help......"

Still obnoxious tone.

But eyes screamed: pick me!

I stroked my chin.

Efficient choice, sure.

However.

'The real gem's elsewhere.'

A seed with superior talent right here—why settle for Darakan?

Besides, I just don't like the guy.

Strutting on his summon, oblivious to his place.

"Pass."

"......Pardon?"

Darakhan's face stiffened.

GuGu blinked in confusion too.

"Then who......?"

I pointed.

Not Darakan, but the lone woman in the back corner.

"Come with me."

Cold demeanor.

White hair.

Eyes glaring murderously at me.

Seria of the Frost Tribe.

"......Me?"

Seria furrowed her brow.

Incomprehension plain.

Makes sense.

Contribution: 1 point.

Below even Darakan.

"M-Master Rag? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You serious?"

GuGu tried to dissuade.

"Even combining trials 1 and 2, she's no top seed. Personality ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aside...... socially challenged."

"Don't care."

Firm.

Contribution? Just system numbers.

My eyes see different.

'She'll grow into the ultimate sniper.'

The sniper who terrorized our raid party on the 50th floor's tundra.

Potential dwarfs the Abyssal Dragon.

I approached Seria.

She gripped her bow warily.

"Why me?"

"Don't you want your lost territory back?"

"......!"

Seria's eyes widened in shock.

How do you know?

Reason she lingered as 50th floor mid-boss despite god-potential: all for family.

'Right before death, she said she had to reclaim the territory.'

Sacrificed herself for the Frost Tribe's stolen lands.

Those heartfelt words still echoed.

"Giving you the chance."

I extended my hand.

"Follow me."

Seria's eyes wavered.

Moment of silence.

She stared at my hand, then lifted her head resolutely.

"......No regrets."

Click.

She took it.

Cold hand, but burning resolve within.

Darakhan's wail echoed behind.

"Th-this is insane! I'm 2nd! I have the Abyssal Dragon!!"

Whiiing!

Vision brightened.

Before spatial transfer's aftereffects faded.

I blinked.

"......"

Silence.

Seria beside me, Angragon on my shoulder—all quiet.

Only sword-form Avriel emitted soft light.

We stared blankly ahead.

"This the 1st floor?"

Seria muttered incredulously.

Spot on.

Absurdly so.

The tower: gods' abode, trials for entrants.

Should be prepared accordingly.

But the sight before us? Literal nothing.

Endless white expanse.

Sky white, ground white.

No trees, no grass.

No buildings, not even a pebble.

Just a massive empty lot.

I narrowed my eyes; a cough came from beside.

"Ahem. Shocking, I see."

Manager GuGu.

He flapped awkwardly, grinning sheepishly.

"Allow me to explain. The previous 1st floor master ascended to the 2nd...... packed up everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Ecosystem, buildings, monsters, traps—all gone."

GuGu gestured at the void with a wing.

"Thrifty sort. Left the 1st floor spotless. Blank slate."

Ridiculous.

Thrifty? More like stripped it bare.

"So what am I supposed to do here?"

"Build from scratch!"

GuGu chirped brightly.

"Head to the floor's center—massive crystal there. Buy what you need."

Irresponsible as hell.

"Good luck then!"

Pop!

GuGu vanished like a coward.

Left with empty white void and us.

"......Hah."

Hollow laugh escaped.

Start from zero.

Gods' tower my ass—feels like a real estate scam.

"......Master. What now?"

Seria adjusted her bow, asking.

Tone shifted.

Good—she accepts me as master.

Eyes steady too.

Promising indeed.

"Assess first."

I calmed myself.

No rush.

Fretting won't conjure buildings.

Check my hand first.

Bzzz.

Holy sword floating: Archangel Avriel.

-Kyaang.

Hatchling dragon licking my cheek: Angragon.

And.

Frost Tribe sniper: Seria.

'Not bad.'

Overflowing, even.

'......Wait.'

A memory flashed.

Forgot something.

Devouring zealot Toolkacha in the sanctuary.

With level-up, the final system window.

Catastrophic reward.

Different from Angragon's jackpot (100)—another extreme rarity.

Hadn't checked it yet.

Forgot amid the rush to the 1st floor.

'Inventory.'

Hand to air.

Semitransparent space unfolded.

The moment I saw it.

"......Insane."

My eyes bulged.

'Authority Combiner?'