The Gods' Garden
The gods' garden was peaceful.
No—boring.
The sound of flowing water.
The distant strum of a harp.
The fragrant scent of ripe fruit.
Everything in this perfectly tuned paradise was flawless.
But to Heimdall, the god of typhoons, this silence was pure torture.
He rested his chin on one hand, swirling the glass of nectar.
The golden liquid sloshed gently.
So quiet.
His thoughts inevitably drifted to one being.
Rag.
The one who had devoured his typhoon and brazenly proposed a deal.
—I'll climb this tower and seek out the great ruler of all creation, 'Heimdall,' first and foremost.
That's what he'd said.
The audacity had been impressive.
And he'd proven his strength.
By obliterating an entire sanctuary and claiming the first floor.
But after that? Radio silence.
The only news was that he'd lucked into the second floor after Kalligo's death.
The guy had gone as quiet as a church mouse.
"Heimdall."
Someone called his name.
He turned.
It was a god in a green robe.
Partagos, a supreme god overseeing forests and earth.
"What is it?"
"That seed you mentioned. Rag, was it?"
The god sat across from him.
Curiosity and mockery mingled oddly in his eyes.
"You really think that punk's gonna climb all the way up here to where we are?"
Heimdall tilted his glass instead of answering.
Partagos continued.
"You know what this tower's like."
The tower wasn't just stagnant—it was rotting.
Structural contradictions.
The poor got poorer, the rich richer.
For a lower-floor god to rise, they needed massive amounts of Prosperity.
To boost Prosperity, they had to develop their floor.
To develop a floor, they needed Nectar.
The problem? There was no reliable way to get it.
The pittance doled out every thirty days?
How long would it take to save enough for buildings or an ecosystem with that?
"There's a limit to what one can do alone. Even in a thousand years, he won't break the twentieth floor."
Partagos shot him a sly glance.
"Unless... you're backing him? Forking over heaps of Nectar?"
That had to be it—why else would Heimdall seem so relaxed?
Heimdall snorted.
He shrugged, as if it was absurd.
"Why the hell would I?"
"...Huh?"
"The guy's got zero aptitude for disasters. Not a speck of natural authority. Why would I back that?"
It wasn't a lie.
Rag's aptitude had come back as Nothing.
"R-Right? Yeah, doesn't sound like your style to run a charity."
Partagos nodded awkwardly.
Heimdall stood.
"Don't worry about it. If he climbs, he climbs. If not, he doesn't."
He waved dismissively, as if annoyed.
But deep down, it was different.
Curious, though.
No support—that much was true.
Rag was flat broke.
The 100 Nectar settlement from promoting to the second floor was probably his entire fortune.
That wouldn't even cover grass for the front yard.
Heimdall could picture him scrambling.
Maybe I should check on him.
The impulse hit.
He got it, sort of.
Suddenly kicked up to the second floor—no time to breathe.
Heimdall had been there once.
The guy probably didn't have the bandwidth to come looking yet.
Maybe drop some advice.
Left alone, he'd wither.
Teach him how to develop properly, slip him some Nectar if needed. Not a bad investment.
Heimdall left the garden.
Stepped into the spatial transfer gate.
Destination: second floor.
Wooong!
The magic circle glowed.
His vision flipped.
Here we are.
Heimdall opened his eyes.
And tilted his head.
"...?"
Nothing.
Literally.
No buildings, not even a single tree.
No monsters, water, or wind.
An endless white plain.
Dead silence blanketing the barren expanse.
"What the hell?"
Heimdall looked around.
Did he mess up the coordinates?
But the system clearly confirmed this was the second floor.
Maybe short on Nectar?
Even so, 100 should plant a few saplings.
New gods always experimented.
There should at least be some grass.
"Tch."
But this? Overkill.
After a moment's thought, Heimdall concluded.
He hasn't touched it at all.
Disappointment flickered.
Abandonment.
Hands off from the start.
He couldn't shut his mouth.
He counted the numbers again.
One, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand...
A million.
Exchanging one Fragment of the Broken Golden Rule for Nectar yields 1,000,000 Nectar.
The scale was insane.
A mythic-grade gear he'd just checked exchanged for a measly 5,000.
One fragment equaled two hundred mythic items.
Incredible.
I swallowed hard.
Of course, this exchange had a fatal catch.
There was a Sell button, but no Buy.
Once converted to Nectar, no turning back.
Is this fragment unique to me?
Doubt crept in.
I'd only gotten them from tutorial and hidden rewards.
Never seen other gods use them.
Just mentions of Nectar.
Likely not in standard shops or drop tables.
Couldn't sell recklessly.
This was my only key to projecting power to Earth.
Hold off for now.
I closed the exchange window.
Pulled another item from inventory.
Episode 2's hidden reward.
The Heart of Extreme Cold.
A ring carved from transparent ice crystal.
Cold seeped out, numbing my finger.
I stared intently.
◈ Type: Ring
◈ Base Effect: Mana +100
◈ Special (1): 50% immunity to cold damage
◈ Special (2): Cold attack power +50%
◈ Special (3): Wave of Frost - Chance to freeze on hit
◈ Special (4): Frost Spikes - Reflect strong cold damage on hit
"Whoa."
Still ridiculous.
Mythic grade lived up to the hype.
Every option was a keeper.
Mana +100, cold immunity and boost, plus offense-defense specials.
Sell this for 5,000 Nectar?
Insane.
No matter how desperate, you don't gut the golden goose.
I slipped the ring onto my left index finger without hesitation.
That's when it happened.
Woooong!
Space vibrated.
Someone appeared.
Exuding overwhelming pressure that crushed the air itself.
-Grrr...!
Angragon on my shoulder shrieked and burrowed into my chest.
Trembling like a leaf.
The disaster dragon reduced to this?
Shing.
Avriel, the holy sword at my side, quivered.
Seria went pale, nocking an arrow, but her fingers shook faintly.
Instinctual terror.
A top predator beyond reach had arrived.
I looked up.
A rift cracked the white plain; a man stepped through.
Heimdall.
The god of typhoons. The one who'd brought me here.
Arms crossed, looking down at me.
"It's fine."
I patted Angragon in my arms.
Nodded to Seria.
Signal to stand down.
Resistance was pointless.
Should've gone to him first.
I'd promised to seek him out upon entering the tower.
Thought he'd wait, not come knocking.
I stood.
Bowed deeply.
Time to grovel.
"My apologies."
As polite as possible.
"No chance to visit amid the chaos. Just promoted, so much to sort."
My shift in demeanor pleased him; his brow relaxed.
The killing intent faded.
But his gaze stayed sharp.
He scanned the emptiness, clicking his tongue.
"'So much to sort,' huh."
Sarcastic.
"Nothing here—what exactly did you sort? You haven't given up, have you?"
Disappointment laced his voice.
Looked like I'd dragged him here just to slack.
I shook my head.
"Planning how to develop it."
"Planning."
Heimdall snorted.
Stared, then lectured.
"Listen well. Cultivating your floor comes first."
"..."
"Build an ecosystem, raise the floor's grade. That's how you get more system Nectar."
Floors had grades too.
Cultivate the ecosystem, upgrade the floor—more perks.
I feigned ignorance.
"Any other ways to gather Nectar?"
"Seeking my wisdom?"
"Yes. Teach me. I want it faster, more."
My words lit his eyes.
Ambition.
He loved that fire.
Hands behind back, he spoke grandly.
"There are ways. Three main ones."
He raised a finger.
"First: Outside the tower, in Asgard's lands, gather followers."
Followers.
Religion's foundation.
"Grant them territory, safety. Select 'sacrifices' from them."
"Sacrifices?"
"Offer them on the altar of sacrifice, burn them as holy flames."
Heimdall said the horrific casually.
"The faith from living sacrifices, refined—purest Nectar. Most efficient."
...Insane.
Burn people alive for Nectar?
Stomach churned.
But I kept my face neutral.
Gods' world.
Their morals weren't human.
To Heimdall, mortals were livestock, resources.
"Second."
Another finger.
"Conquer dungeons. They spawn across Asgard. Clear them, claim the land. Extract the core—decent Nectar."
Better.
Hunting, conquest.
My specialty.
"Last, third: Climb this tower's floors."
He pointed skyward.
"Strengthen your floor, raise its grade. Challenge the next owner, win. Climbing yields ample Nectar."
Survival of the fittest.
Surest. Riskiest.
Most appealing to me.
"These three: surest paths to Nectar. Got it?"
"I'll remember."
I bowed; he nodded, satisfied.
Turned to leave, paused.
Remembered something, added:
"Oh, right. Some motivation."
His lip curled.
"Upgrade this wasteland to A-grade or higher..."
"..."
"And I'll gift you a treasured divine artifact."
Divine artifact.
God's gear.
Beyond mythic.
One he treasured? Even better.
Tempting. Insanely so.
"Won't be easy, of course."
Heimdall snorted.
"Decades at least."
Decades.
I met his eyes squarely.
"You won't be disappointed."
My gaze intrigued him.
"Good. I won't."
Whoooosh!
Wind, and he vanished.
Pressure lifted; Angragon peeked out.
Seria exhaled sharply.
I shrugged.
Solves my dilemma.
Opened inventory.
Fragment of the Broken Golden Rule.
Pulled one out.
One exchange: a million Nectar.
Decades?
Please.
I'll show you true capitalism.
Exchanged 1 Fragment of the Broken Golden Rule for 1,000,000 Nectar.