"Exactly, exactly! If it's an Old Deus, we can definitely bring Lord Artosh the head of one as a trophy, nya~" Azril's eyes sparkled as she rubbed her hands together excitedly.
"Besides, Lord Artosh hasn't risen from his throne in ages—not since he killed that so-called strongest Dragonia. If we manage to hunt down an Old Deus, surely he'll be pleased with us."
She turned to the fourth-ranked individual among their Flügel, the tactical brain Rafil.
"Isn't that right, Rafil?"
The short-haired, blue-haired Flügel nodded. "Yes. If we're to hunt an Old Deus, we must mobilize in full force."
As the wings crafted by the strongest Old Deus, Lord Artosh, they didn't even consider individually stronger races to be a threat.
The Flügel were not a race that fought alone.
A five-member squad of Flügel could annihilate a Giant unit. A fifty-member formation could hunt Dragonia.
And a single Flügel could decimate an entire escort fleet of Elves or Dwarves.
To combat an Old Deus—even the weakest—every Flügel had to deploy. Only a legion would suffice.
Even then, mere opposition wasn't enough—actual victory would require the power of their Creator.
"Then let's begin a search for the Old Deus's location. Hehehe…" Jibril was practically drooling.
She was the youngest Flügel—the baby of the group. Having never participated in the great war where the Flügel legions were fully mobilized to challenge an Old Deus, she carried deep regret.
She was eager to prove herself.
Just then, Artosh's voice rang out.
[This is not the birth of an Old Deus. The rules of the planet have changed. Some form of law—even One True God must obey—has seized not only this world... but even the surrounding cosmos.]
[Some kind of... hmm?]
At the deepest recess of Avant Heim's inner world—
A realm built like it was formed from voxel blocks, reminiscent of "Minecraft."
There stood a towering throne. Artosh sat motionless upon it, like an immovable boulder.
He was a giant of a being—more than twice the height of an ordinary man, rippling with muscle.
His sharp, golden eyes radiated a proud divine light. A few black bristles rested beneath his chin.
Most striking of all were the eighteen pairs of wings on his back, which, when retracted, resembled a feathery cloak draped around him.
The planet's depths had shifted—an inviolable order had seized control of the star and the universe beyond…
Was it because the war had dragged on too long?
He could've claimed the spoils of victory already. But he was the Strongest. His divine essence was defined by Strength and Struggle.
The Star Grail? A "One True God"? None of it mattered to him.
He sought only combat—equal combat.
Being born the strongest held no value for him.
The strongest who had never tasted defeat—was meaningless.
He longed for a rival. One who could challenge him, match him blow for blow—or even defeat him.
"Hmm?"
Artosh had no interest in cosmic changes. But suddenly, in the nearby void, an overwhelming number of powerful presences emerged—beings far beyond his own strength, entities he could not yet fathom.
And they were approaching this planet—like sovereigns descending to lay claim.
His golden eyes flared with flames.
Before the stunned Flügel could react, Artosh rose abruptly from his throne.
"Ah?! Lord Artosh is standing up!"
Azril, startled, quickly flew back into the "inner world," landing before his throne in shock.
"Lord Artosh! Are you going to fight?! Are you finally claiming the fruits of victory?!"
Every Flügel understood that Lord Artosh had remained seated all this time because he had no worthy opponent.
Now that he had declared the recent planetary anomaly was not caused by the birth of an Old Deus, it meant one thing: Artosh had grown bored of those long-eared pests and their chittering like moles. He wanted to kill their creators.
Just the thought excited them—they had long awaited this day.
Before the rest of the Flügel could voice their excitement, Artosh spoke:
"Powerful beings from beyond the universe have arrived in our world."
As an Old Deus, the personification of world law and concept, he naturally sensed what was happening.
"I see... this world has no worthy opponents. Then the other world must."
"Was it by chance they came, or something else?"
"Doesn't matter. If they are strong, then battle is inevitable."
"My wings—prepare for war. Beings from beyond the universe are about to arrive."
The divine heart of Artosh, long stilled, began to beat again. Thump-thump, like war drums resounding in a battlefield…
"Huh? Beings from beyond the universe?"
"There are other universes beyond ours?"
"I don't understand it, but Lord Artosh is finally leading us into battle again!"
Hummm~
Avant Heim let out a low hymn as it gazed toward Artosh, sensing the overwhelming auras of countless Old Deus—some even greater than the God of War who had once subdued it. In its chaotic eyes, a terror that gripped the soul began to rise…
"Depart."
Yet as a Phantasma bound to an Old Deus, it suppressed its fear and soared into the void of space.
...
Deep underground, within a magma-filled forge—
The God of Forge, Ocain, opened his magma-colored eyes.
His appearance was rugged and humanoid, with a wild beard and eyebrows made of flame, and muscles that looked like solid steel.
As the incarnate of the Law of Forging, he acutely sensed a strange new order influencing all rules.
His expression shifted in surprise.
"So many Old Deus auras! What in the world is going on?"
"Hmm? That battle-crazed Artosh actually went ahead of me?"
"Heh… Makes sense. With that many Old Deus, he'd be first to charge in."
"Other universes exist beyond ours?"
He had never left this planet. Among the Old Deus, only the God of the Moon had ever fled the war and taken refuge on that crimson satellite.
"Hahaha! Things are getting interesting! Even Old Deus from beyond the cosmos want a piece of this war?"
"You lot from Section 5.3, hold your positions for now! Let's see how this unfolds."
The commander of the Dwarves, Roni Drowenir, received the order and asked in confusion, "Great Father, why?"
To the Dwarves, Ocain wasn't just a creator—he was their father. Ocain himself felt the same.
The Dwarves were easily the most beloved of all his creations, which made them prideful. They didn't fear even the Flügel or Dragonia.
And Ocain never restrained their arrogance.
...
Above the Red Moon—
Centaur-like Lunamana gathered around the temple.
The God of the Moon stared in astonishment at the tiny shimmering "Light Gate" now visible in the cosmos.
Countless specks of light—Old Deus—were emerging from the gate, streaming forth like a meteor shower, all hurtling in her direction.
"What is that gate? Are those all Old Deus? My kin?!"
The God of the Moon stared up in shock at the tiny gate suspended in the distant depths of the cosmos.
But She knew—it only appeared small because of the distance. That gate was vast.
A torrent of terrifying auras from another universe poured out from the gate.
Alongside them came a countless number of Her "kin"—Old Deus—and their "followers."
Yes, followers, not creations. Even the weakest among them carried the power of divinity. To wield divine power was to no longer be a mere creation.
The strongest of those auras was far beyond comprehension. She could not even gauge how powerful it was—only that it felt like a bottomless abyss.
In the presence of these kin, She felt utterly insignificant. Even the strongest Old Deus She knew—Artosh, the God of War—was not even one ten-thousandth as powerful.
They were strong. Unimaginably strong. She didn't feel awe, only fear.
She had always considered the war over the title of the "One True God" to be absurd. Killing each other until only one remained?
Old Deus weren't that foolish. Didn't they understand the consequences? Didn't they know this was nothing but a glorified ritual of sacrificial competition?
Of course they knew. But even Old Deus could not escape their instincts. It was the divine essence of their rule-concepts—their Ether—that bound them. No matter how rational their thoughts, instinct always prevailed.
The God of Forest, driven by instinct, became the embodiment of the planet's ecosystem—Kainath fusing with the very biosphere.
The God of Forge, likewise, was compelled to forge the land beneath His feet—shaping the planet's depths, tolerating the destruction of its surface, seeking ultimately to reforge the world into a hell where no others could survive.
The God of War—the Strongest—was shackled by the concept of Strength. He waged endless war, ever seeking Old Deus strong enough to match him.
The stronger the Old Deus, the more enslaved they were by their own divine instinct.
She was a weak Old Deus. She knew She could never win. Joining the war would mean certain death. And precisely because She was weak, instinct had little sway over Her.
So She decisively led the race She created to the Red Moon.
From there, She watched the planet be ravaged by endless war. Its ecosystems obliterated. Ominous darkness enveloping the entire world.
"Why have these Old Deus from beyond the universe come?"
So many kin. It was staggering.
Even before the Great War, there had never been more than ten of them.
And now—
As She shivered with terror, another aura caught Her attention.
She turned to see a Phantasma flying from the planet's atmosphere toward the gate.
The presence of an Old Deus boldly spread outward—an open invitation to battle. It was a challenge.
"Artosh, actually…"
The God of the Moon paused. It was no surprise.
As the Old Deus of Strength and Struggle, Artosh's divine essence would compel him to seek combat upon sensing a stronger being.
He couldn't possibly win… It was utterly impossible.
Yet within only a few heartbeats, over a hundred Old Deus had flown from the gate. The seven at the front exuded a pressure as deep as the cosmic void.
Even those dozens behind them were far stronger than Artosh.
How many Old Deus existed in that other universe?
...
Lucia Continent—the most devastated continent on the planet. The initial war had begun here, leaving it completely ruined by the Old Deus.
The remnants of races whose creators had been slain now huddled here, clinging to survival.
Because it was so desolate and devoid of resources, the stronger races no longer cared about it. Wars rarely reached here.
Deep in a canyon at the continent's heart lived the White Dragon—a member of the three great Dragonia clans, known for avoiding the war.
"Hmm?"
The last remaining Dragon King, Reginleif the Enlightened, raised its mighty head. A look of disbelief spread across its rugged face.
"Impossible… I didn't see this in the future!"
As a Dragonia born from the shattered divine essence of an Old Deus, Reginleif was a being of multiple timelines—existing simultaneously in the past, present, and future.
Because of this, the Dragonia possessed eternal life and the ability to perceive time.
It had foreseen the Great War continuing endlessly. That's why it had led its kin to avoid the fighting.
Had it joined the war like the Final Dragon or Ultimate Dragon, the conflict would only have bred more hatred and tragedy.
And yet now, what did it see?
Old Deus from beyond the universe flooding into this one.
Artosh, who had not risen from his throne in a millennium, now soared on his Apostle toward the incoming storm of cosmic Old Deus.
"The future… it's changed! It's becoming unclear! How can this be?!"
Reginleif's massive white form spread its wings, shock filling its sapphire draconic eyes. Through their depths, glimpses of the reshaping future shimmered.
...
Deep space—
At the World Gate, an unending shower of divine meteors poured forth, streaking toward the planet.
The distance wasn't far. In just two minutes, they would enter the planet's gravitational range.
The gods' divine thoughts mingled casually—no tension, only impatience.
"Too bad there aren't more Old Deus here. Not enough to go around."
"You want to fight them? Even the weakest Old Deus are Upper Gods. We Middle Gods should just deal with their races."
"That Dragon King—Reginleif—is mine, Apep's. We're both dragons, both Upper Gods."
"Look at that planet!"
"They're charging toward us! And openly releasing divine will to provoke us!"
"That's the 'Strongest'—Artosh, isn't it?"
"Tsk tsk. The War God, fighting for battle's sake."
"From what we've gathered, he's only at Upper God level now, but he grows rapidly with each fight."
"Yeah, total monster."
"Supposedly, in battle with a Primary God, he can instantly evolve to match that level. I wonder if he can reach Supreme God level the same way?"
"Scary… That's what it means to be the Strongest Old Deus. His growth ceiling matches his universe's ceiling."
"Still, he probably isn't stronger than a Supreme God. Supreme Gods aren't just about raw strength—they're tied to Truth itself."
"Oh please, none of us are even Primary Gods yet. We're all Upper Gods talking big. Doesn't concern us. Let's just handle the basic Old Deus."
"Are we doing solo duels?"
"Solo? More like a solo duel where we gang up on them."
"Exactly. Why duel when you can swarm?"
At the head of the divine procession flew the Seven Supreme Gods. They oversaw the operation, prepared to intervene if needed.
Artosh, the God of War, was a unique case. He required the Supreme Gods' attention.
After all, the concept of "Strongest" was essentially a cheat.
Not even a top-tier Primary God could defeat him outright. The rules of this universe were too potent for conventional suppression.
"Strongest" meant Strongest—in battle, he would be the strongest.
Against a Primary God, he would ascend to their level in mere heartbeats.
Unless he were instantly killed, he would adapt.
But killing such a special Old Deus was a waste.
This was a universe's legacy—a future war hound.
Let him fight troublesome foes in other universes. He longed for war anyway.
Artosh's potential matched his universe's—but he still needed opponents to grow.
Yet even so, a rule-concept was still just a rule-concept. It could never surpass Truth.
So they would initiate a top-down strike.
"Seven Supremes, leave Artosh to us sisters," said Raiden Makoto, stepping forward as the God of War charged straight toward them.
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