The story of McGuy Zaborg, the "Thunder Emperor," had ignited an outpouring of admiration and heartfelt responses:
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ㄴ"People die; there’s no way he could still be alive after all this time."
Unlike other Constellations, who often felt distant and untouchable, McGuy was an ordinary man—relatable in his flaws and triumphs.
"Hahaha! Thank you, Director!"
McGuy raised a massive mug of ale, laughing heartily.
I clinked my glass lightly against his.
His appearance didn’t scream "Thunder Emperor."
If I hadn’t known better, I’d have mistaken him for a regular barfly enjoying a drink after a hard day’s work.
“To hear people call me the most human god! Hah! What a time to be alive! And it’s all thanks to you!”
His face, flushed from drink, lit up with joy.
“You give me too much credit,” I replied. “This is your story, after all.”
And I wasn’t just flattering him.
After all, even I had been moved while witnessing his memories in the Dreamscape.
Stories of virtuous saints saving people are common.
And while they’re undeniably admirable, they can sometimes lose their impact.
But McGuy’s story was different.
A selfish, small-minded man who found humanity within himself and chose to save others—it was a narrative that struck a chord with everyone.
For viewers, it sparked hope.
It made them wonder: Could I do the same? Could I make a difference?
“This story has inspired so many people. It’s the first time I’ve wanted one of our patrons’ tales to reach even more audiences,” I said.
“Hahaha! Come on now, Director. Aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?” McGuy said, his face redder than ever.
He raised his mug again, grinning.
"Still, for so many believers to look up to me, it’s only thanks to the grand way you crafted my final moments."
Indeed, McGuy Zaborg’s death had been a pivotal moment in the Twelve Gods Saga.
No matter what players tried, the story was set for him to die—a necessary sacrifice for the buildup of the overarching narrative.
It was essential to tie in the lore of Beidos and its fallen Empire, as well as connect to future Constellations.
In reality, McGuy’s fate had been different.
During the Empire’s collapse, McGuy had relied on those he had saved to escape the turmoil.
But all his wealth and influence—tied to the Empire—had vanished when it fell.
Even with his business acumen, the chaotic times ruined every attempt at a comeback.
And though some of those he saved, or their descendants, occasionally offered help, it was never enough to change his dire circumstances.
McGuy lived out his remaining years in poverty, passing away quietly.
It was only later, when the descendants of those he had saved gained power, that his story came to light.
His deeds spread, leading to his deification as a Constellation—an incredible achievement for a man who had saved thousands.
Still, as a god, McGuy remained a lower-tier Constellation.
He lacked the divine authority or powers of his peers, and most mortals were unlikely to worship an overweight, beer-loving old man.
Which is why I had been so shocked when our Dreamteller Constellation had chosen McGuy out of all the candidates vying for the coveted Twelve Gods spot.
“I hoped more people would learn of your story,” I said earnestly.
“The incredible feats you accomplished, saving so many in the face of overwhelming odds—it’s a story that will move people across the continent.
“It will inspire them to help others, creating a better, kinder world.”
“Hahaha! You’ve painted this little penny-pincher in such a grand light! Director, you’re the best Apostle anyone could ask for.
"I’ve envied other gods before, but never this much. Where in the world did the Dreamteller find someone like you...?”
McGuy’s voice trailed off, filled with gratitude and wonder.
***
"Did this story teach you much this time?"
Back in the Pantheon of Statues after the conclusion of the tale, Oscar stood motionless, his mouth slightly agape.
“...Did I learn much, you ask?”
He had indeed learned a lot.
Perhaps more than from any other hero he had encountered.
McGuy was of the same ilk as him, yet a completely different kind of hero.
...But.
"Thystina."
"What is it?"
"The end of the story... What happened to McGuy in the final moment?"
“...? Did you not see it yourself?”
The magic circle originally meant to consume him, the one targeting him, not McGuy.
But... McGuy had taken it upon himself.
“That’s right. McGuy saved you and perished in the process.”
“Because of me...”
“No, not because of you. In fact, you did everything you could to save him. It’s simply that the opponent was far too powerful.”
"...Opponent."
The owner of that magic circle. And the one controlling the dark magic from the underground.
"...Who is it?"
Thystina chuckled softly, seeing the deadly seriousness in Oscar’s eyes.
“You are not ready yet.”
“Not ready? I defeated the Queen of the Abyss, toppled Orpheus, and led the Demon King himself! And you’re telling me I’m not ready?”
“I know of your strength, but this opponent cannot be defeated by sheer strength alone.”
"Then tell me. Who are they?"
"...It seems I must show you something first."
Snap.
With a snap of her fingers, Thystina summoned a brilliant white light that coalesced into an illusion before them.
"...This is..."
"McGuy Zaborg. He saved around 2,000 accused heretics and suspected heretics from the jaws of the Verdus Empire. He saved them all through his own efforts."
In the illusion, the people McGuy had rescued thrived alongside their families.
"They built a village. And then, they built a nation."
"...McGuy..."
"And after his death, he was revered as a great figure. He became a Constellation."
A statue of McGuy being erected in the center of the survivors’ village square.
Oscar’s eyes began to glisten as he watched the illusion unfold.
***
“Have you arrived, sir?”
Oscar returned to the guard station, greeted by salutes from the guards under his command.
He acknowledged their salutes with a nod and sat down at his desk.
“Hans.”
After a moment of thought, he called for one of the guards standing nearby.
“You called for me, sir?”
“That beastkin street vendor from yesterday—do you remember her?”
“The middle-aged beastkin woman, you mean?”
“Yes. Where is she now?”
“Oh, she caused such a commotion in the holding cells yesterday that we had her moved to the underground prison. She kept yelling about how her children were starving.”
“......”
McGuy.
My dear friend.
Lend me your strength.
“Bring her to me. She needs to be released.”
“...I beg your pardon?”
“Hans, who are we?”
“We are the shield of the nation and its citizens! We are the Lyphobia Guard!”
Guardsmen enforcing the law?
No.
We are the guardsmen who protect the people.
Enforcing laws made to serve the power struggles of those above, even if it means harming the citizens?
If McGuy were here to see this, what would he say?
He operated in conditions far more dangerous and harrowing than these.
So surely, I can too...
Hey.
You can do it too.
“...Hah.”
A faint smile spread across Oscar’s lips.
My friend.
It feels as though the small commoner—no, the small hero within me—is whispering once again.