The Skies of Heaven (1)
In the Lower World, who could say? But up here in the Heavens, real estate was literally worth more than a person’s life. Not a metaphor—cold, hard truth. You could sell every organ you had, take out a life insurance policy, and leap off a ledge, and it still wouldn’t be enough for a down payment on a single room. Elves came before buildings, or so the saying went, yet somehow the order had been reversed. Was it because the land could never expand while population and demand grew without limit? Because the powerful could rig the game with impunity? Or was it simply to torment the poor, long-term exam candidates?
In Olcray’s narrow worldview—after one hundred and twenty years of failing the Celestial Church priest exam—that last answer felt like the only honest one. If the world wasn’t actively scheming to drag her down, how else could she explain this damp, itching skin and these perpetually empty pockets? This hellish paradise where even a half-millennium of labor barely scraped together a lease. Very few listings were affordable even for long-lived students. For someone living a bug’s life like Olcray, the one-room alleys near the harbor were a blessed breathing hole.
But everything has its price, as the old saying went. Every time a ship docked, all manner of invasive insects from the Lower World swarmed in and tormented the local underclass vermin. Plenty of naïve newcomers to the one-room slums fled screaming after their first encounter with the bugs. What good was being one of the Celestial God’s distant descendants if even the lowliest creatures could gentrify you out of your own neighborhood?
This year’s trend was, of all things, ants and booklice. They overlapped with Olcray’s habitat in the worst possible ways. The cheap wooden buildings were practically paradise for them, and the unfortunate elf was forced to scream every night as hundreds of eviction agents marched across her body. At least her situation was better than the next building over—there, the gnawed support beams had finally collapsed, and the upstairs woman and downstairs man had literally fallen into each other’s arms. One might call it a silver lining, but Olcray wasn’t particularly envious. She doubted they’d even managed to consummate anything. Better to avoid that kind of risky entertainment. The moment conception occurred, the breeding tax would be attached. Even if you abandoned the child and turned it into a street ba-eleim, the tax would follow you for life.
Today, once again, a worker ant had woken Olcray from her short, miserable elf nap. By now thoroughly accustomed to the pests, she irritably brushed the explorer off her earlobe. While straightening the haphazardly dangling strap of her bra, she thought:
Just what exactly makes this coffin-sized one-room better than a grave?
How much land does one elf truly need?
Beasts without the sacred brand were all supposed to be struck dead by lightning according to the laws of the Heavens. So why were things with more than six legs exempt? It would be nice if the Heavenly God would just cleanly incinerate these wretched pests. Though of course that would turn the entire one-room alley into a sea of fire first. Just how many times would lightning have to strike this room alone?
“Ugh, I can’t take it anymore.”
The elf who had failed both job hunting and the priesthood exam for one hundred and twenty straight years finally gave in to the rising frustration and pulled out her tablet. The cheap device, only half-charged with mana, was hot as if it had just come out of an oven. Olcray scratched at her golden hair and sank into tension.
How did my bets turn out?
She had no money to run away and lived in an ant nest, but if there was one expensive hobby she allowed herself, it was splitting her pathetic monthly salary as a temporary mana blood donor to gamble on toto. Specifically, the extremely dangerous arena betting.
The results had been posted exactly twelve seconds ago. Heart pounding, she checked.
The veins on Olcray’s rigid hand stood out. She had spread most of her painstakingly saved seed money evenly across the favored orc candidates, yet some insane Sapien had slaughtered them all. Was that even possible? Why not just say a meteor fell on the arena next time?
“Has the arena owner actually lost his mind? It was supposed to be an orc match.”
She no longer even had the energy to be angry. If you go all-in, it eventually evaporates. Even a .300 batting average produces home runs eventually. The chance for a dramatic comeback that clears the fences drifted endlessly farther into the sky.
Letting the tears roll silently down her cheeks, Olcray lay back and waited endlessly for the second match’s result. This time she wouldn’t bet recklessly. Seventy years of being a gambling addict had sent her a signal today that something was off. Though thanks to that same signal, she had never once escaped her deficit hobby.
The forums only posted fragmented photos. The owner of the Floating Arena did not tolerate leaks of match footage. That flying pig would track down even a few-second clip and immediately file a lawsuit. What a stingy, outdated bastard who didn’t understand business. Yet he happily swallowed every coin the gamblers threw at him. Disgusting.
Nevertheless, some brave souls had managed to leak an eight-second highlight. For the first time in nearly two months, Olcray’s eyes flew wide open—wider than when she had discovered an ant nest under her bed leg.
A Sapien was lifting a massive chimera with a single blade. He was even carrying it step by step. It was like the return of the wild ferocity the Eleim had lost in ancient times. The giant monster’s venomous barbed tail pathetically whipped the empty air, but it wasn’t enough to stop its impending death. Crash.
He slammed the chimera onto the rock. Shattered skull, twisted spine, gushing fluids and brain matter. A monster the size of a mid-sized car, literally turned into meat paste. The Sapien had won again.
The video was hastily deleted within seconds, but capitalist pressure could not erase the pounding in the witness’s heart.
“Whoa, insane. So that’s why he wiped out three hundred orcs.”
And then, as if to add insult to injury, another payout exploded at 99.9 percent odds based on population ratio. A miraculous moment where only the true beasts chosen by fate could cheer. Perhaps because of that, a notice soon appeared announcing a third match. It seemed the desperate arena management was making one last attempt to win back public sentiment.
Her gut was telling her something. If that guy survived even the third match…
“Wait. What the hell are these odds?”
The proportion of bets on his death had once again soared past ninety percent. She instinctively understood. This wasn’t logic. It was betting rooted in pure hatred. A mindless, voodoo-style wager wishing death on the Sapien who had taken their money.
“No matter how famous the opponent executioner twins are, he’s already proven himself twice. And you’re still not jumping on the underdog? Thank you, kids.”
It was an opportunity. Olcray scraped together not only the handful of seed money she had left but emptied her entire bank account. It was only enough for a year’s worth of food and rent, but…
“Twenty times the return. Twenty times! I can last another twenty years—!”
Clutching her heart that felt ready to burst, Olcray frantically scoured the forums for any updates on the match. Perhaps because leak control had tightened after the first match, the leaked footage was cut into mere seconds at a time. They had every reason to be sensitive. A corporation that charged sixty thousand credits per on-site ticket while catering to vicious gamblers naturally wanted to preserve the brand value of live attendance. After both the first and second matches had produced unbelievable upsets, they must have been even more desperate to calm the on-site crowd.
But Olcray’s nerves were just as frayed.
“Damn it, what’s happening…!”
Suddenly, a message arrived in the chat room that had been silent for hours. The moment she tapped it, she saw a post from a shady forum that her friend—who had been a graduate student for one hundred and sixty-five years—had sent her.
Olcray’s hand tore at the bedsheet.
No way. No way.
The Sapien had knocked down the older twin and nearly killed her. With the cry of “No matter what!” he had crushed the younger twin’s steel helmet with his bare fist. “Absolutely not!”
The final leaked scene showed the dramatic moment when he lifted the famous twin’s decapitation sword, preparing to split the older executioner’s head open. Anyone could see the outcome was obvious.
What followed was a flood of mockery and random images. The thread was plastered with the smiling face of a certain famous underground Lizardian idol whose entire purpose seemed to be making people furious. There was even the famous photo of the former arena champion rejoicing at his survival. It was a masterpiece of provocation, every element carefully chosen to infuriate someone.
Of course, Olcray—who was on the winning side—felt no anger at all. Instead, she burst into roaring laughter.
Olcray unconsciously grew a little gloomy. He was right about that. Fortunately, the depression didn’t last long. One of her bitten friends had already left the chat, declaring he was cutting ties.
IfYoure200AndDontHave100MillionCreditsJustKillYourself has left the private chat.
The graduate student jeered. What a pathetic gambler. You bet and lost, huh. When your whole life is ruined, you lose the ability to appreciate humor.
Olcray swallowed once, put on a mask, and joined the criticism.
Exactly. Why is that gambler having a meltdown? Shouldn’t have bet in the first place.
The underground forum, famous for entrusting management to Lower World staff, did not quickly comply with the arena owner’s deletion requests. In the gap between anonymity and neglect, the controversial popular post spread like wildfire. Half the reactions were rage from lunatics who, like her friend, had lost everything on toto. But mixed among them were also praise and awe.
I’ve never seen a human knight fight that well in the arena.
Olcray alternated between her pleasantly plump balance and the forums that had caught fire. In the end, she couldn’t hold back. She hugged her tablet and burst into squealing laughter. It had been a very long time since she had been soaked in the sweet nectar of victory.
“Wow, I think I’m falling in love with this extraordinary Lower World bastard—!”
The Floating Arena would dock in thirty minutes. The harbor was only ten minutes away. It didn’t seem like a bad idea to go see the beast who had brought her such incredible luck. If he happened to pass in front of her, she could at least throw him a snack as a reward.
With a light heart, Olcray began preparing for her first walk in a long time.
The moment he finally reached the exit, Nathan couldn’t run out. Instead, he staggered backward.
A bizarre snow was falling. Just a few days ago it had been a scorching summer down on the ground, and the temperature didn’t seem to have changed that much, yet what kind of cursed phenomenon was this? The snow that didn’t match the temperature melted and vanished before it even touched the ground. A damp mist rose everywhere.
Thanks to that, the scenery of the Heavens he had been curious about was barely visible. A stifling warmth mixed with chill. And beyond that thick curtain, they were there.
Countless beings. So many that the fog made it impossible to count them all. Black silhouettes packed from the horizon all the way to right in front of him. They had already been waiting for Nathan beyond the entrance.
“There he is!”
“It’s that bastard—!”
“That’s the guy—!”
“Why the hell did you crawl out instead of choking to death in there—!”
A cacophony of shrieks so tangled it was hard to distinguish them. Shaking arms and the flashes bursting from their fingertips. Nathan flinched in terror. Tears stung his eyes, already hypersensitive from the flares. And those words. Strange incantations he couldn’t understand.
Give me back my seed money!
Make a V-sign at the tablet over here!
Hey, Sapien! Want a bite of chocolate? Catch!
This was no crowd. The people Nathan knew didn’t look like this. Through the thick, damp mist, fearful watery shadows. They looked more like horrors crawling up from the ocean floor. Strange blue and red glows only added to the grotesqueness.
His breath caught from the sudden panic. As the adrenaline drained from his brain, Nathan’s body finally registered its exhaustion and threatened to collapse. Only now did he feel it vividly—the ankle he had sprained fighting the orcs. The throbbing joints in both wrists that had endured countless impacts. His spine, spleen, ribs, skull, twisted toes, and broken teeth. The pain crashed over him all at once.
Maybe I’m already dead.
If I fell into purgatory after dying, it would probably look exactly like this…
I can’t weaken now.
Nathan clenched his bloodied teeth.
“So this is what you people call the Heavens. My first impression was right. There’s no greater arrogance than this.”
The sound of footsteps chasing from behind grew closer. He had no time to stop from the pain. No time to be distracted by idle thoughts. He had to run. Just as the twins had sung, if yesterday chased today, anyone even a single step slower would be devoured.
Nathan squeezed his eyes shut and ran out into the terrifying unknown. Into the crowd that parted like ghosts while shrieking. Between buildings that seemed impossibly tall and lights that were unnaturally bright.
Nathan ran, burning rage instead of calories. It might be the last escape of this life.