Wasteland to Golden Paradise
Heimdall sank into the plush chair.
A faint smile played on his lips.
'This'll be a trial by fire.'
The image was vivid in his mind.
That lone figure left stranded on an endless white expanse like a vast ocean.
100 Nectar.
With that pittance as startup capital, decorating a floor would feel utterly daunting.
"Heh."
A chuckle escaped him.
It wasn't schadenfreude.
More like anticipation.
A-rank.
A fine label, but in truth, a mission bordering on the impossible.
Elevating a floor's grade demanded vast resources.
Buildings to erect, ecosystems to cultivate, mana density to enrich.
And every step soaked in Nectar.
'At least fifty years.'
Heimdall raised his glass.
No matter how talented the brat, the wall of Nectar was insurmountable.
Gather devotees, conquer dungeons, climb floors—scraping it together coin by coin.
Those grueling years would forge him into a true god.
'Well, if he's truly desperate, I might lend a hand.'
Heimdall feigned magnanimity.
Should Rag swallow his pride and grovel at his trouser legs...
He'd pretend to relent and toss some Nectar his way.
Truth be told, the insolence rankled.
Bragging he'd seek him out first upon reaching the tower, yet silent even after the second floor.
Yet that arrogance somehow didn't grate.
Especially fetching was how keenly he'd grasped his place and groveled flat.
'Sharp instincts.'
A far cry from his initial insufferable haughtiness.
Only after climbing the tower had he recognized Heimdall's greatness.
Any lingering arrogance like before, and he'd have erased him on the spot.
Besides...
...what of the cards the brat held?
The Cataclysm Dragon, Angragon.
The Archangel Avriel.
And an elf brimming with potential.
Far more useful than expected.
'Overkill for a low-tier god.'
A lineup even mid-tier gods rarely commanded.
Proof his vessel was extraordinary.
The zero aptitude for disasters was a flaw, but that could be mended in time.
He'd already withstood Heimdall's tempest once.
Hidden talents surely lurked.
Heimdall sipped his Nectar.
Sweet aroma slid down his throat.
Then a curious thought flickered.
'Apostle God.'
Should he truly claim A-rank...
Making him an apostle wouldn't be amiss.
Apostle God.
Heir inheriting a superior god's power, attendant at their side.
A prized disciple of sorts.
Supreme gods each boasted stellar apostles.
Yet Heimdall had none to date.
Standards too high.
No vessel fit to bear his typhoon.
'Rag might just do.'
Raise him right, make him right-hand man.
A fine picture.
It would solidify the nature faction's might, a springboard to loftier heights.
Heimdall indulged the pleasant vision.
Fifty years hence.
Rag, grown mighty, kneeling before him with his A-rank floor on display.
He leaned back leisurely.
Time aplenty.
Fifty years a mere blink to a god.
He considered a brief nap.
Ding!
Congratulations!
The crystal grade of Tower Floor 2 has been upgraded.
Grade: F → A
Time elapsed: 23 hours, 3 minutes, 42 seconds
Miraculous speed!
Heimdall cracked his eyes open irritably.
'Another low-tier god bites the dust?'
Obituaries had surged lately.
Kartal, then Kalligo.
Who now?
He glanced indifferently at the message window.
But...
"...Pfft!"
Nectar sprayed from his mouth.
He choked, coughing violently.
Rubbing his flushed face, he blinked hard.
The text remained unchanged.
If anything, it flashed gold, assaulting his retinas.
"...!"
Heimdall's mind blanked.
F to A?
23 hours, 3 minutes, 42 seconds?
'What in the worlds?'
Impossible.
Simply impossible.
Turning an F-grade wasteland to A demanded at least 500,000 Nectar.
Buildings, temples, flawless ecosystems, premium materials poured in.
Yet... 23 hours?
The system mocked his disbelief with a barrage.
Ding!
Heimdall stared blankly into the void.
His recent musings—fifty years, apostle material, offering aid.
All rendered laughable in an instant.
The brat needed no help.
'Where the hell did he get the Nectar?'
Wasn't 100 his entire fortune?
Even selling sacred relics at the exchange wouldn't yield that much.
Incomprehensible.
'Some other fool sponsoring him?'
The thought trailed off.
He shook his head.
Contribution: 100%.
Solo achievement.
Infuriating, yet electrifying.
A rule-breaker.
Expectation-defier.
The insolent seed who'd blocked his tempest and named the Inevitable Force.
Confirmed.
He was the real deal.
Perhaps beyond even Heimdall's imaginings.
Heimdall straightened his garb.
A promise was a promise.
A god couldn't welch.
"Very well. Let's see it."
He strode back to the teleport gate.
His pace quickened.
Rag's second floor, reborn A-rank.
He had to witness it firsthand.
Vmmm!
The gate hummed open.
Heimdall plunged in without hesitation.
Arriving on floor 2.
Once more, awe struck him.
"...This is floor 2?"
No wasteland.
A golden city dazzled, near-blinding.
Heimdall squinted.
The glare stung.
Glittering golden tiles.
Columns carved from finest marble.
At the center, a colossal golden temple loomed majestic.
No mere plating.
Pure mana crystals and gold throughout.
'Absurd.'
Heimdall was a god.
Yet such profligacy was unheard of.
He glanced down.
Impeccable walkways stretched endlessly.
Along the paths, vibrant flowers bloomed riotously.
Mana Grass—dozens of Nectar per bloom—sprouting like weeds.
"Insane..."
A curse slipped out.
Drawn, he wandered.
The air was different.
Crisp beyond refreshment, cleansing the lungs.
Looking up, an artificial sun hung.
Perfect warmth, ideal lighting.
Whoosh!
Cool water rushed from somewhere.
A waterfall.
Cascading from the void into a vast lake.
White steam rose lazily.
'Hot springs?'
Heimdall sniffed.
Faint herbal scent, dense divine power.
No ordinary waters.
Tubs brimming with top-grade Holy Water for divine force recovery.
"Hah."
Mind-boggling.
A literal resort.
The real issue?
'Defenses?'
He scanned about.
Tower floors were trials by default.
Traps against intruders.
Ferocious monsters to shred challengers.
Mazes to disorient.
That was normal.
Yet none here.
Not a hint of threat, even scouring.
Tweet tweet.
A bluebird flitted overhead.
Crickets chirped in the brush.
Butterflies fluttered, squirrels cracked acorns.
Idyllic.
Excessively so.
"This the ecosystem?"
Heimdall's face twisted.
No ecosystem—this was a zoo.
Or botanical garden.
What if intruders came?
Soak in the springs for R&R?
Stroll and heal?
"Rag!"
Heimdall bellowed.
The roar shook the golden city.
Bluebirds scattered in panic.
Yonder, beneath the waterfall gazebo, a figure.
Rag.
Lounging in silk robes, drink in hand.
Angragon floated belly-up in the hot spring.
"You've arrived?"
Rag greeted with a grin.
The picture of worldly leisure.
Heimdall stormed over, fist to collar—then restrained.
Pointed accusingly instead.
"Are you mad?"
"What's the matter?"
"You truly don't grasp why I'm furious?"
"The scenery, perhaps? I'm ignorant of other floors... but I gave my all for A-rank in short order."
"..."
Heimdall clicked his tongue.
No rebuttal.
Ignorance could explain it.
Besides...
'It is A-rank.'
Gold-plated temple.
Premium holy springs.
Even the ambient mana density.
Undeniably A-grade worth.
The problem was the direction.
A tower for battle and ordeal, turned pleasure garden for immortals.
Heimdall sighed deeply.
"...Fine. I acknowledge it. The grade holds."
He pierced Rag with a stare.
His gaze sharpened.
"But I must ask. This vast Nectar hoard—where from?"
At least a million Nectar sunk in.
Beyond a second-floor fledgling's reach.
Heimdall's eyes narrowed.
Rag shrugged.
Utterly unfazed.
"Exchanged."
"What?"
Brazen reply.
True, yet unbelievable.
Exchanging for this much demanded unimaginable wealth.
'Lies.'
Heimdall assumed Rag hid his source.
As he frowned, Rag waved it off.
"No misunderstanding, please. I swear no other god aided me."
"..."
"You're the only one I follow—dare I court another purse?"
Rag grinned slyly.
Sweet-talk.
Obvious flattery, yet pleasing to the ear.
Above all, Rag's eyes rang true.
Whatever the exchange, the one who'd summoned Angragon and tamed Avriel...
He transcended norms; some other method surely.
Heimdall shelved his doubts.
"...Very well. Let it pass."
The key: Rag had upheld the promise.
Blatantly, in record time.
Proof of utmost effort in the trial.
No room for suspicion—praise was due.
Rewards for merit, punishment for faults.
"Take this."
Heimdall drew from the void.
Elongated form.
Staff of neither wood nor metal—eerie material.
Swirling wind motifs etched surface; blue gem at tip spun fiercely.
Vmmm!
Air churned at its emergence.
Spring surfaces rippled, leaves thrashed.
"The Staff of the Shredding Tempest."
A savage name.
Heimdall intoned gravely, handing it over.
"One of my cherished divine artifacts."
Rag grasped it.
Heimdall warned:
"A forewarning: it'll be tough to wield at once."
"Why so?"
"Divine artifacts have egos. They choose masters. This one's notoriously feral."
Heimdall menaced.
"Even I took a decade to tame it. Talent or no, earning its recognition demands grinding toil and time..."
Whoooosh!
"...?"
Kwaaaaa!