Chapter 400: Even Heroes Wouldn’t Want to be Born in Troubled Times

The Thunder God had long been Claudia’s guardian specter.

On cloudy days, it would creep in from the distant sea, looming at the edges, only to bellow towards the land and rain down bolts of lightning.

Thanks to the Lightning Towers and the Thunderarch, it wasn’t particularly dangerous, just an annoying old presence that made a lot of noise.

But that was always intentional.

The Thunder God had merely been fulfilling its given role as an “alarm.”

It never actually directed its power at anyone in particular.

It would only warn of approaching storms and let itself be outwitted by human ingenuity—like the mighty but foolish giants in old tales.

[ … . – ] ¹

But the Thunder God standing here now was no such being.

It gripped a bolt of lightning like a spear.

The world trembled.

Every hair stood on end.

A faint charge spread over the earth and rock.

The Thunder God’s fury was seeking a target.

Everyone held their breath, bowing low, praying that this divine wrath would pass over them.

Never before had the Thunder God unleashed its rage upon humanity.

Had it done so even once, the world would not have remained intact.

And now, it was proving that truth.

[ .. -. .. .-. . ] ²

A spear over ten meters long began to burn white-hot.

The ground quaked as soil and stone lifted into the air.

Then, suddenly, the world stretched—and the spear became a single streak of light.

No deafening roar split the air.

No blinding flash accompanied its release.

No scattered energy leaked from its movement.

Its sole purpose was to be thrown.

There was no visible motion.

One moment, the spear was in the Thunder God’s grasp.

The next, it was gone.

A steel bolt at the speed of lightning—far beyond what the eye could track, speeding towards a large figure.

“…Huh? …Woof?”

Azzy, who had been barking loudly, blinked in confusion.

Lunken was gone.

A moment ago, the Elder had been massacring humans.

Now, in his place, his severed arms and legs tumbled to the ground.

Along with the humans he had been clutching.

Who knows how far he had been sent flying?

But one thing was certain—Lunken was now closer to the Duchy of Mist than to Claudia.

Even an undying Elder would take a long time to regenerate and return.

Having felled an Elder, Peru stood with her arm still outstretched, her breath heavy.

Both vampires and humans fell silent, staring at her.

She, too, stared at the aftermath of her own doing.

A branch-like pattern had been scorched into the earth—evidence of the spear of lightning tearing through the ground.

The fractured land crackled, with thin veins of lightning surging like reeds through the cracks.

The earth itself was now brimming with lightning, waiting for Peru’s command.

Amidst the silence, Peru’s expression remained impassive.

｢…Huh?｣

This wasn’t what she had meant to do.

She had only wanted to restore the Thunder God using the Golden Lord’s power—to make it frightening, but ultimately harmless.

She had expected it to be just as loud and menacing as before, without true destruction.

But somewhere in the restoration process, an unknown force had interfered.

The Lightning Thief’s carefully hidden power had submitted to her will.

And, without realizing it, Peru had created the true Thunder God.

｢…This isn’t right.｣

It was like pulling the trigger expecting a blank, only for a live round to fire instead.

No one was more shocked than the one who pulled the trigger.

Peru’s expression barely shifted, but internally she was panicking.

Her intention had been to intimidate, yet the Thunder God had obliterated an Elder.

She had lost control of the power she wielded.

Still, because of her naturally unreadable face, she simply looked detached, like an omnipotent being calmly observing the results.

There was no time to clear up the misunderstanding.

Taking advantage of the fear and silence, Peru spoke with conviction.

“…This is your final warning. Stop.”

It did not sound like a plea.

It sounded like a promise.

It meant: If you don’t stop, all of you will meet the same fate.

And that wasn’t an empty threat—it was mercy.

She was restraining herself from unraveling the world itself.

She was choosing to let them live.

Even if she had yet to fully master this power, one did not need precision to kill.

But one person among them did possess both overwhelming power and the skill to wield it with precision.

The moment he sensed this new force, he moved without hesitation.

“…Blood Veil.”

Valdamir clenched his fist.

A crushing force ruptured his own palm, spraying blood in every direction.

Instantly, a thick, bloody mist spread, devouring the air.

The pooling blood beneath their feet was absorbed, causing the mist to expand.

A life so close to death that it had become undying.

The Progenitor was once the seed of a Divine but never fully bloomed, instead becoming the deity of their race.

She had established new laws that bound only her vampiric descendants.

Yet, merely creating the rules did not make her the greatest player in the game.

Tyr had set the rules—but Valdamir had perfected and sharpened them into technique.

Suddenly, the cascading Cloud Waterfall turned crimson.

The bloody mist blocked all sunlight, and the stench of blood clung thickly to the air.

A realm of vampires, for vampires, by vampires.

And in the depths of that crimson fog, Valdamir disappeared.

Not from speed—but because his very form dissolved into the blood itself.

Crimson Phantom Step.

Though it resembled a footwork technique, it was more like swimming— or, more accurately, instantaneous movement.

Vampires blurred the lines between inside and outside.

Their bodies were fluid, their forms impermanent.

By scattering his own blood, Valdamir had expanded his own domain.

And inside it, he was everywhere.

With nothing but a shift in his center of mass, he moved.

And in one instant, he was standing before Peru.

He caught his descending greatsword midair and murmured,

“You wield power beyond your control.”

It was a technique that dismantled and reassembled oneself in motion.

There was no chasing or blocking such a movement.

Peru didn’t even have time to feel fear.

She barely had time to widen her eyes in shock before Valdamir’s greatsword came down—

Not to test her defenses—

Not to see if she could counter—

But to cut.

But I, who can read thoughts, always see my opponent’s moves.

Usually, I realize it only to be powerless against it, but fortunately, this time, I have a way to stop it.

The greatsword grazed Peru’s ear.

A sound like the world itself being split in two rang out as the crimson blade left a deep scar upon the earth.

The greatsword cleaved halfway into the ground, treating even the solid earth as something that could be cut.

Yet, Peru’s blood was nowhere to be seen.

The Crimson Duke’s sword had missed by the width of a single sheet of paper.

Valdamir glanced at his right arm—the one he had disassembled and reconstructed just moments ago.

Something thin, like a delicate thread, extended from within.

Thinner than a spider’s silk, shimmering yellow strands flickered with light.

Something as frail-looking as a mere thread had tugged back the arm of the strongest Elder.

Valdamir followed the thread to its source.

A card.

Seven of Spades.

A card symbolizing the idol of the Thunder God, wrapped in countless strands of woven lightning, as if it were a spool winding up a kite string.

A condensed mass of lightning, wound into threads numbering in the millions, billions—no, beyond even trillions.

Valdamir, showing a hint of curiosity, spoke.

“So it was you wielding the power.”

Whew. That was close.

I let out an internal sigh of relief and casually deflected,

“No, it’s not my power. I’m just borrowing it.”

And I meant it literally.

The one who made Valdamir’s attack miss wasn’t me—it was Valdamir himself.

When he reconstructed his body, I planted lightning threads within him.

As his blood fused together, the threads burrowed into the gaps.

And when he tried to swing his sword, I interfered, making his own body resist the motion.

If I could make direct contact with the insides of a body, then even with my meager mana, I could make a Progenitor’s heart skip a beat— a lesson learned from personal experience.

And naturally, someone who’s done it before would be even better at it the second time around.

Now that I had claimed the Divine of Lightning, I could control anybody my lightning threads touched.

…Of course, this trick only works if I can actually get inside someone’s body.

And what kind of idiot would let me reach their nerves?

Even more so, if they were as sharp as Valdamir—they would immediately notice and resist.

Valdamir clenched his right fist.

With just that, every single lightning thread I had implanted snapped at once.

Regaining control of his arm, Valdamir rested his greatsword on his shoulder and turned his gaze toward me.

“Do you wish to die?”

A chilling bloodlust swept through me.

Even the hot blood coursing through my veins paled, seemingly holding its breath in fear.

Yet, despite standing before Valdamir, I didn’t lose my smile.

“You can’t kill me.”

Because I am Tyr’s favorite.

The wait wasn’t long.

Tyr’s voice rang out, calm but resolute.

“Valdamir. Restrain yourself.”

A simple warning, yet one filled with absolute authority.

Valdamir, without hesitation, lowered his head in deference.

“…As you command, Progenitor.”

The murderous intent vanished instantly.

As if his actions until now had been nothing but an act.

And, in truth, they were an act.

Every word, every movement, every pulse of bloodlust…

All of it was deliberately calculated.

If Valdamir had truly intended to kill me, it wouldn’t have taken a second.

He could have tightened the blood he had spread across the battlefield and crushed me like a fruit in a press, splattering me into a pulp.

And Peru?

She was the same.

She had barely dodged one attack, but if Valdamir had been serious, she wouldn’t have lasted a moment.

In short—the only reason we were still alive was because Valdamir had chosen not to kill us.

Valdamir didn’t act without purpose.

His bloodlust towards me? It was just to gauge Tyr’s reaction.

His attack on Peru? It was because he saw her as a legitimate threat.

And once he assessed the situation, he discarded any meaningless actions with effortless pragmatism.

He had been genuinely intent on killing the Saintess, but the moment he realized it was impossible, he moved on immediately.

People say age makes one more stubborn, but at some point, it loops back around— Valdamir was swift and flexible in his judgment.

I like guys like that.

So long as I read his mood properly, there was nothing to lose.

“Well, Tyr, how about we calm down a bit? We have no reason to be fighting each other, do we?”

But Tyr’s expression remained stiff.

She didn’t hate Peru, but if Peru sided with the Sanctum, she could kill her without hesitation.

And I? I had not only given Peru the power of a Divine, but I was also actively protecting her.

By her principles, that meant I should be killed too.

Yet, she was deliberately ignoring that possibility.

Because she didn’t want to dwell on it.

“Hu. Are you siding with them? With the same Sanctum that tried to cast you aside, just as they did me?”

Tyr’s grumbling was laced with deep resentment.

Not toward me, but toward the dilemma I had forced her into.

Enough pulling, time to push.

People’s emotions are like kite strings, pull too hard, and they plummet.

Let go too much, and they fly away.

“I wouldn’t say I’m siding with them… But I definitely haven’t sided with the Sanctum. In fact, I’d rather get in their way.”

Tyr narrowed her eyes.

“Then why do you interfere?”

“Because the Sanctum wants everyone here dead too.”

I didn’t point it out, but Valdamir’s gaze naturally drifted toward the Saintess of Steel.

The very same Feruel who, just moments ago, had been fighting him so ferociously,

…was now doing nothing.

She hadn’t summoned the angels.

She hadn’t used her Holy Power.

She had merely stood there, watching, observing in silence.

Valdamir knew.

Because he had fought her himself, and at the most decisive moment, she had let go of her weapons.

Not because she was too weak— but because she already knew what had to happen.

I smirked and turned back to Tyr.

“The Saintess of Steel wants to martyr every single one of us in these clouds.”