The light of dawn broke, and the thick sea fog gradually dissipated with the arrival of the morning light.
On the desolate volcanic island, it looked as if a fierce artillery strike had occurred—large and small craters nearly filled the coastal beaches and rocky grounds, while pale bone fragments and blood-stained snake scales were scattered everywhere.
The closer one got to the island's center and highest point, the more gruesome and bloody the scene became.
One after another, alluring snake-women had their heads severed by wind blades, their waists chopped apart by earth spikes, or their bodies blown to pieces by flames… Blood, flesh, and scattered body parts painted the gray-brown rocks in a vivid crimson, forming a gory path leading from the ridge up to the heights.
"Bang!"
With a sharp crack of air, the mutilated upper half of a snake-woman's corpse slammed into a protruding rock, splattering into shredded meat.
A wisp of golden-red blood essence, rich with divinity, separated from it and automatically converged toward the sole figure still standing at the summit.
"Hah…"
Lorne lowered his arm and slowly exhaled a long, turbid breath.
His joints crackled as the purple hue faded from his eyes. Surveying the unrecognizable, brutal battlefield, he couldn't help but frown.
As expected, even with full advantage of the terrain, taking on thirty-seven at once was still a bit of a stretch…
And that number was only counting the adult-stage, Gold-rank Lamia. There were at least a hundred more Silver and Bronze-level juveniles.
If the entire island had not been built into an iron barrel-like war fortress by himself, and if there were not dragon tooth soldiers guarding the two wings, it might have been hard to say who would win or lose in the end.
But no matter what, this hurdle had finally been cleared.
Once he confirmed it was safe, Lorne dropped his guard and slumped to the ground.
Glancing down at the bloody wounds on his chest, arms, and neck, he hissed through clenched teeth, inwardly cursing.
Originally, his plan had been to use the home-field advantage to kill as many as possible, then fight while retreating, holding out until dawn when the tide receded. After resting, he'd come back for another round of baiting and fishing.
But who would've guessed that the so-called "Blessing of Ares" had another goddamn side effect?
—It suppressed fear, making one fight harder, fiercer, and more recklessly until all reason was lost, turning them into a battle-crazed maniac who would fight anything alive to the death.
Especially after Lorne used the stolen War Authority to absorb too much tainted divine essence filled with impurities and negative emotions from the corpses of the defeated, this state became even harder to control.
If not for the War Authority's secondary effect of healing and repairing bodily damage while absorbing divine essence, Lorne probably wouldn't have a single patch of unbroken skin left on him right now.
No wonder Ares was also called the "God of Berserkers"—it referred to that brain-dead state of bloodlust in battle where even family became unrecognizable.
Rubbing his throbbing temples, Lorne silently cursed his blood-related great-grandfather in his heart, at the same time resolving to slow down his ascension process using the [War Authority].
After all, the side effects were too damn treacherous, and he didn't have the near-immortal bodies of the gods.
No need to end up as free takeout before even completing his ascension.
At the same time, as Lorne rested, wisps of golden-red blood essence seeped from his wounds, causing the gruesome, gaping injuries to heal at a speed visible to the naked eye.
In just under an hour, not a single scar remained on his body, and even his spirit, which was a little sluggish before, was rejuvenated with more vigorous vitality.
There was no denying it—while Ares' War Authority did some damage to one's IQ, its physical enhancement effects were nearly flawless.
Of course, aside from all that, there was still one minor issue.
For example… it tended to make one overheated.
Feeling the surging blood essence circulating within his body and the increasingly stiff and swelling attachment below, Lorne twitched the corner of his mouth and stood up from the ground.
Dragging his tattered bronze armor and outer garments, he made his way to the seaside.
After washing and cooling off, he looked down at his current reflection.
After a night of fierce battle and sacrificing thirty-seven Gold-rank Lamia, his body, now tempered by the War Authority and the baptism of internal and external divinity, had shot up to a height of 180 centimeters.
His limbs and abdomen were now defined by well-proportioned, explosive muscles.
"Boom!"
A single punch shattered a nearby chunk of hardened volcanic rock several meters tall, the sound of the impact sharp enough to pierce eardrums.
Lorne glanced at his unscathed fist, then back at his reflection in the water—now as sleek and powerful as a panther, and couldn't help but press a hand to his forehead.
'Speaking of which, why does it feel like my path as a mage keeps getting further off course, with all my points going into physique and strength instead…'
'Forget it, good physical fitness is not a bad thing after all. Right now, the most urgent thing is to complete this trial to become a demigod first.'
Shaking off his thoughts, Lorne began counting his gains and losses after the battle.
While he had successfully wiped out a large wave of Lamia and achieved a qualitative leap in strength, the materials, potions, and equipment he had scavenged from Circe were nearly all depleted.
Without these resources, he could only use local materials and get some ready-made things from sea beasts and monsters as substitutes.
Of course, the effectiveness would take a significant hit.
For this reason, after careful consideration, Lorne decided to slow down the pace of his hunts, luring no more than three to five Gold-rank sea creatures at a time—and completing this ascension trial in a steady and steady manner.
'Sixty-three more to go…'
The hunter, bathed in sunlight, licked his dry lips and gazed thoughtfully at the churning sea.
~~
Deep in the night, atop the sacred Mount Olympus, brilliant starlight cascaded from the heavens, illuminating the sprawling, majestic structures below.
The divine temples of the gods stood imposingly at the summit, some shrouded in thunderclouds, others exuding an aura of serenity, and still others surrounded by fluttering white doves—each embodying the essence of their respective domains.
At the center, amidst vast fields of sacred flora like roses, poppies, pomegranates, myrtle, quince, and clover, stood a breathtaking temple of pure white marble, constructed in perfect golden ratio.
Its pillars, adorned with carvings of waves, sea foam, and dolphins, were inlaid with countless gems and pearls.
This was the palace of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love and Beauty.
Born from the sea's foam, she possessed porcelain-like skin, golden hair, blue eyes, and the flawless figure and visage of an ideal Grecian woman.
She was the very embodiment of love and beauty, wielding the authority to stir desire and passion between mortals and gods alike.
Almost every male deity of Olympus had fallen for her charms, engaging in frenzied pursuits to win her favor.
Yet in the end, this exquisite flower,
by the decree of the king of gods, Zeus
was placed upon the head of Hephaestus, the God of Fire and Forge.
—A deformed, ugly cripple.
This ill-matched union of beauty and ugliness was frowned upon by nearly all the gods, and naturally it was inevitable that there would be many twists and turns.
At this moment, deep within Aphrodite's opulent temple, the sounds of frantic flesh collisions and the heavy panting of a man and woman could faintly be heard.
Beneath the gauzy pink curtains, clothes were flying in disorder.
On the exquisite seashell-shaped water bed, two figures clung to each other, kissing passionately, ready to indulge in the boundless vigor and reproductive desires of the divine.
However, judging by the man's strong, well-formed limbs and handsome features, he was clearly not Aphrodite's crippled and ugly husband.
—As renowned as the Goddess of love's peerless beauty was, so too was her infidelity toward her spouse.
And her primary lover?
None other than Ares, the God of War.
After all, only the mightiest and most virile king of warriors could satisfy the Goddess's insatiable appetites.
But what should have been a frenzied coupling lasting days on end came to an abrupt halt after only a brief moment this time.
No matter how Aphrodite tried afterward, she simply couldn't revive Ares' dwindling vigor.
"Bang!"
Finally, at her wit's end, the Goddess of love, kicked Ares off the bed.
"My love, it must be today's battles—they've drained me too much. Just wait, I'll definitely—"
Ares scrambled up from the floor, his handsome face flushed crimson as he stammered excuses.
"Get out!"
But Aphrodite, frustrated and humiliated by repeated failures, was in no mood for explanations.
She even began to doubt her own allure and therefore, with an icy look on her face, she unceremoniously chased her longtime lover out of her chambers.
Faced with the most unspeakable shame for any male, even the proud and tempestuous God of War could only stand there, utterly humiliated and at a loss.
In the end, seeing no chance of reconciliation, he eventually gathered his clothes and slunk out of the palace in disgrace.
Damn it all, what's wrong with me?!
Lately, why have I been so sore, so drained, so… uninspired for even my favorite pastime?
.
.
Outside the palace of the Goddess of Love, Ares, who had just been coldly rejected, stormed off with a darkened face, cursing under his breath and taking out his anger on the flowers and plants along the way.
"Bang!"
In his distraction, the hot-tempered God of War collided head-on with a figure sprinting toward him.
"Watch where you're going, you idiot!"
Ares stumbled back a few steps before steadying himself, then glared furiously at the fool who had dared to bump into him.
"Oh-ho-ho, just a little bump in the road—no need to get so worked up!"
Hermes picked up his fallen hat from the ground, dusted it off, and placed it back on his head with a cheeky grin.
"What's the matter? Did someone beat you up again?"
"You are looking to die?!"
Ares' expression darkened further at his brother's taunt.
His fists, as large as sandbags, clenched tightly, and his bloodshot eyes gleamed with a dangerous chill.
Perfect. He needed a punching bag right now.
""No, no, no, it's just a joke!"
Seeing Ares bristle like an enraged bull, Hermes quickly raised his hands in surrender, flashing an appeasing smile, then pointed toward the grand temple ahead.
"Father's still waiting for my report. How about I treat you to some honey wine later to make up for it?"
"..."
At the mention of "Father," Ares, who had been stomping forward in fury, froze mid-step. With a resentful snarl, he lashed out with a kick, sending Hermes sprawling.
"Get lost!"
As the God of War, who had nowhere to vent, left the scene and returned to his temple, Hermes, who was kicked, stood up from the ground and looked back and forth between Ares' back and a gorgeous palace in front with a playful look.
Hmm… from entry to exit, was it only three minutes?
Could it be…?
As a strange idea emerged in his mind, Hermes, who seemed to have discovered a secret, suddenly showed a subtle smile on his face, and the gossip fire in his body burned fiercely.
Eavesdropping and uncovering secrets were, after all, the Messenger God's greatest pleasures.
Though, delivering messages was technically his primary duty…
Hermes stroked his chin, his eyes glinting with mischief as they landed on a certain temple where the heavy clang of metalwork echoed ceaselessly.
Should I… make things a little more interesting?
A thrill of mischievous delight, mixed with just a hint of petty revenge, sealed his decision.
With a spring in his step, Hermes strode forward.
(End of Chapter)