Sovereigns, Gods, True Devils

The bed groaned beneath me as I threw myself onto it, sprawled out like some tragic figure in a painting. I couldn't even muster the energy to kick my boots off. My arms dangled off the sides, and I stared at the ceiling like it held the answers to all my problems. It didn't. What it did hold, however, was the memory of that absurdly enthusiastic runic tailor.

"You'll look majestic, darling," he had said, hands fluttering like he was directing an invisible orchestra. "Grandiose! A walking declaration of power!"

I'd barely restrained myself from gagging. "Simple. Black, gray, maybe a little white. No frills. Just make it functional."

His face had fallen, crestfallen like I'd just told him puppies were banned from the kingdom. "But—"

"Simple," I'd repeated, firm.

In hindsight, I might've been too harsh. The man had a passion for his craft, after all, and his measurements—overzealous as they were—weren't meant to be creepy. I mean, the guy's obvious affection for the male species probably saved me from feeling grossed out. But did he have to be so precise? It was like he was measuring me for my own coffin.

Still, I couldn't deny his skills. Runic tailoring was an art, born from the brilliance of a legendary woman who had combined runes and forgery into a single discipline. Light armor designed for speed and flexibility was their forte, perfect for people like me who preferred movement over bulk. Not that traditional armors were obsolete—dwarven blacksmiths ensured that wasn't the case—but for what I needed? Runic tailoring was the way to go.

It's just a shame I had zero talent for it. I'd tried in my previous life, fascinated by the intricacies of runes and energy manipulation. But no matter how hard I studied, my hands fumbled, and my runes fizzled. My emblem, the Emblem of Omega, wasn't exactly tailored for crafting anyway. Its strength lay in manipulating energy—Origin, as it was called here. Why add another skill set to the pile? That'd just make me unbearably overpowered.

I rolled onto my side, my gaze drifting to the heavy bag by my bed. Alexander had delivered on his promise. Inside were 20 E-rank, 10 EE-rank, and 5 EEE-rank magical cores. Their energy pulsed faintly, visible only to my Mystic Eyes, like a feast waiting to be devoured. My Origin practically purred at the thought. I could almost hear it whispering, "Yes, feed me."

"The Gods…" I muttered, my fingers brushing against the bag. The thought of them sobered me.

This world's gods weren't just powerful—they were broken. The six Primal Deities could warp reality with a whim, and the Sovereigns that would soon rise to prominence weren't far behind. But even they paled in comparison to the Two True Deities: God and the Devil. Concepts made flesh, their existence shaped the very fabric of this reality. When I'd first come to this world, I'd been stunned by how similar their mythos was to Earth's. It wasn't until I'd studied their nature that I understood why. They were the embodiment of balance, of duality itself.

And then there was that. The being I refused to name. The End. It didn't belong here. It didn't belong anywhere.

I shook my head, shoving the thought away. No point in spiraling now. If I wanted to stand against those forces—to protect this world and ensure its survival—I'd need to grow. Fast.

"Let's get started," I murmured, dragging the heavy bag onto the bed. The notification flickered in front of me, patient and glowing softly in my vision.

[Absorb Magical Cores?]

+ 20 E-Rank Magical Cores

+ 10 EE-Rank Magical Cores

+ 5 EEE-Rank Magical Cores

Yes / No

I took a deep breath, my finger hovering over "Yes." A grin tugged at my lips as I tapped the confirmation. This was going to be worth it.

The reaction was immediate. The cores began dissolving, their essence unraveling into streams of pure energy. Warmth spread through my body, starting deep in my chest and radiating outward. It wasn't just heat—it was alive, tingling and electric. My Origin drank it all greedily, its hunger insatiable as the first core dissolved, then the next, and the next.

[Absorbing E-Rank Magical Core… Energy absorbed successfully.]

[Rank Progression: Iron VII Achieved]

A sharp gasp escaped me as the final core's energy surged through me, pushing my reserves to new heights. My muscles tightened, denser yet still flexible. My senses sharpened, every flicker of light, every rustle of the air around me suddenly clearer. I flexed my fingers instinctively, sparks of Origin dancing at my fingertips.

"Oh…" I exhaled, leaning back into the bed. "This is gonna be good."

I glanced at the empty shells scattered around the room. The energy they once held now flowed within me, a buzzing ocean of power. My reserves were full, my progress leaping forward.

[Remaining Cores: EE-Rank: 10, EEE-Rank: 5]

[Next Rank Threshold: 55%]

"Not bad," I muttered, the corners of my lips twitching upward as I let a small ball of energy spark to life in my palm. It shimmered and pulsed, as if celebrating with me. I flicked it away and watched it dissipate into the air.

Not bad at all.

+

The moonlight spilled into Gale's study, casting soft, silvery beams across the room. The place was a monument to luxury: dark mahogany shelves brimming with rare books, gilded furniture that gleamed in the dim light, and a massive desk cluttered with papers, contracts, and ledgers. Gale leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his chestnut hair as he finished scrawling the last few lines in his journal. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he capped the ink bottle.

He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, sharp and alert. "You can stop lurking in the shadows now," he said evenly, his tone carrying the weight of command.

From the darkest corner of the room, where the moonlight failed to touch, emerged a figure cloaked in writhing shadows. The air around it grew colder, oppressive. The being chuckled, a deep, rasping sound that grated against the silence. "Still as pitiable as ever, Gale," it sneered, its voice dripping with mockery.

Gale's jaw clenched, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk. "Shut up," he snapped. "Did you do it?"

The shadowy figure tilted its head, a movement both casual and menacing. "Complications," it said, its voice dragging the word out like a taunt.

Gale's glare sharpened. "Complications?" he hissed.

The figure's laughter echoed around the room, disjointed and chilling. "Nothing to worry about. We're still bound, after all." Its shadowed form leaned closer, and two faintly glowing eyes fixed on Gale. "Unless, of course, the contractor were to die."

Gale leaned forward, undaunted. "You're bound by your contract and the honor of your UnderWorld," he said, his voice low and firm. "Your deity's name ensures it. Don't play games with me."

The figure chuckled again, stepping back. "Good. Good. You're not as dim as I thought. What a shame. We'd have had so much fun taking everything from you, merchant king. A man like you, crumbling under our might—it'd be beautiful."

Gale smirked, though his eyes burned with fury. "You'll have plenty to take when this is over. Until then, stay your hand. Before you strip me of everything, I'll strip him of his. I'll take everything from that bastard first."

The shadowy figure trembled briefly, a movement that might have been laughter or unease. "Ah, revenge," it mused, its voice almost fond. "The best entertainment. A man like you, so close to the peak, brought low by envy and rage. It's exquisite. You could make a fine brother among us, you know. Your ambition, your cunning… We don't see that every day."

Gale's expression darkened. "I'm not interested," he said flatly.

The figure sighed in disappointment, its form shifting slightly, like smoke caught in a breeze. "Such a waste. Your connections, your brilliance as a merchant—it's a shame we can't convince you. Oh well."

A knock at the door disrupted the tension in the room. "Master Gale," came the voice of his attendant. "Someone is here to see you."

Gale's eyes darted to where the shadowed figure had been, but the corner was empty now, as if nothing had been there at all. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dealing with the UnderWorld was like inviting a viper into your bed—inevitable, dangerous, and likely to bite you when you least expected. But what choice did he have? His fame and fortune came with burdens the common folk couldn't fathom. He'd exhausted nearly all his connections, pulled every favor he had, and now this accursed organization was his last card to play.

He glanced out the window, the moon hanging low and bright in the sky. It looked so tranquil, almost mocking in its serenity. "Let them in," he called, sliding his journal into a drawer.

The door creaked open, and Gale felt his heart constrict as his visitor stepped inside. A flood of emotions rushed through him—rage, bitterness, and a sick sort of satisfaction. He forced a smile, even as his fingers itched to reach for the dagger hidden beneath his desk.

"Speak of the devil," Gale said, his voice smooth and measured. "What brings you to my home, old friend?"