Night after the opening ceremony.
Frondier sat in the chair of his room, deep in thought.
“What should I do with this.......”
He rolled in his hand the golden apple that Evlina had given him—now an indistinguishable ring of intertwined circles, no longer even clear what to call it.
No matter how many times he checked, the contents were always the same. Almost everything was marked with question marks.
Of course, not knowing the contents didn’t mean he couldn’t use it. If he used it, he’d know what effect it had.
Only, Frondier had already experienced something similar through Ares’s spear and shield. He’d even heard that Aster had suffered greatly from their hidden effects.
Those hidden descriptions weren’t for nothing. Frondier’s unease was justified.
‘To begin with, will this thing really give a “Restoration” effect?’
What Evlina had said referred to divine items appearing across various myths that granted similar blessings, yet they were all fundamentally different. Some were food, some drink, some fruit.
And now all of them were mixed together into this single ring of circles. The process itself was so unpredictable that it would be naïve to assume the function of this ring was simple recovery.
‘......Zeus.’
Among all the concealed information, only the mention of Zeus remained.
At the thought of him, Frondier’s face stiffened.
‘......This time I understood for sure. It’s not a problem that ends just by responding.’
Up until now, Frondier’s goal had been survival—nothing more.
At least until he defeated Belphegor, that was undoubtedly the case.
Even afterward, when he was hailed as a hero, branded a demon, came to Agoris, prevented a war, and declared himself King of Demons.
A game called Etius, in which every player had hit a game over—so the ending was unknown.
Believing that only advancing together with his companions could clear this game, Frondier had protected people. From demons, and from gods.
‘It can’t go on forever.’
In this war, Frondier had indeed fought the gods. He had clashed with them.
But even after doing everything possible and achieving a result close to victory—
The gods’ damage was almost zero.
Even Zeus, whose neck Aster had cut, had merely lost his host; Zeus himself returned to the realm of salvation.
‘It’s like an MMORPG.’
Frondier was the NPC, the gods the players. When they died, they just took a small penalty and logged back in.
For Frondier, who risked his life every time, they weren’t opponents he could match.
In the end, there was only one way.
‘I need to strike back.’
Before the gods attacked this side, he had to attack first. This time, his blade must reach a god’s heart.
But he still didn’t know how.
He didn’t, but perhaps there was someone who might.
“Am I seriously trying to get myself killed?”
Frondier gave a bitter smile and tucked the ring of circles into his breast pocket.
***
Frondier had made a very big decision.
The place he went to was a forest he’d once visited before.
Here—
“How dare you come here again!”
Was a demigod who clearly did not welcome him,
And—
“Be still, Telephos.”
A demigod who couldn’t care less.
“......I greet you, Lord Heracles.”
Frondier swallowed his resolve and bowed his head.
Heracles and Telephos looked every bit like lumberjacks. Heracles was chopping trees with a giant axe as tall as himself, while Telephos skillfully carried the massive piles of split logs.
After learning that Heracles had no intention of joining the war, Frondier had vowed never to return here.
Heracles was far too powerful—utterly beyond anything Frondier could manage.
Yet now, only Heracles could give him a hint.
“So. What business brings you, Frondier?”
Heracles asked. He remembered Frondier’s name. Maybe that was a good sign.
“Have you come because you finally want to fight me properly?”
......Or maybe a very bad one.
“I came to ask something.”
“Ho.”
Heracles handed the axe to Telephos.
Sst—
Then, with his next step, he arrived right in front of Frondier.
‘......So this is that “Shortening Step” from martial novels?’
He hadn’t stamped the ground or taken multiple strides. Just one step.
And yet, somehow, that single step crossed a vast distance—almost as if he’d literally shrunk the ground.
‘In terms of speed, Aster’s Ilseom is faster, but...... would that comparison even make sense?’
Then Heracles spoke.
“Think about winning later.”
“!”
“You said you had something to ask.”
Frondier hadn’t thought that long, but Heracles immediately saw through him.
Frondier nodded.
“......You’re aware there was a war, are you not?”
“You call that a war?”
Heracles tilted his head as if puzzled.
“I’ve never seen a war where so few people die.”
So he had seen it.
It was fortunate enough he hadn’t participated.
“That was my goal.”
“Right. When a faction’s king dies, a war can’t continue. You used your wits, Frondier.”
Of course, that “king” referred to Frondier himself.
You can’t kill a dead king twice—so Frondier had faked his death, in a way the gods could not doubt.
“But my fake death will be exposed sooner or later. No, it’s probably already been exposed.”
Frondier had returned to being a teacher. There must be plenty at Atlas with divine senses—his survival would already have been reported.
The only reason the gods hadn’t attacked again was that they’d lost their justification.
But who knew when they’d come again? They could return for the smallest excuse—or even invent one.
They possessed humans and attacked through them. Kill them, and only the possessed human died. What could be more one-sided a slaughter?
“So I intend to—”
Frondier stopped mid-sentence. It wasn’t easy to say such a thing in front of Heracles.
“Oh ho.”
Heracles understood instantly.
“You intend to kill a god, Frondier.”
“.......”
Frondier couldn’t immediately affirm. He didn’t know how Heracles would react.
The one whose reaction was easier to read spoke first.
“To kill a god—! A mortal dares! Such blasphemy beyond blasphemy!”
Telephos, of course, couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
Naturally, his voice reached neither Frondier nor Heracles.
“You came to ask that method of me? Of me, a demigod—the son of Zeus himself?”
Heracles asked.
“Yes.”
Frondier answered briefly.
“......Heh.”
Heracles lowered his head and laughed.
And immediately, killing intent flared.
“!”
Frondier swiftly readied Heukcheon. It couldn’t block Heracles’s punch at all, but better that than taking it unguarded. It was a matter of life or death.
“What a pity, Frondier.”
But Heracles did not strike him.
“I don’t know that method.”
“......I see.”
“If I did,”
And Heracles’s killing intent grew even heavier.
Then Frondier realized—that intent wasn’t directed at him.
“I would have killed a god first.”
It was killing intent toward the gods.
The moment he grasped that, Frondier’s entire image of Heracles changed.
“Ah—Father.......”
Telephos made a small, trembling sound—half shock, half fear. Perhaps this was the first time even he had heard such a thing.
‘They said Heracles withdrew from the war. Maybe that was why.......’
It felt like finding one small clue.
“......However.”
Heracles’s killing aura vanished. His eyes sank deep, as if something had suddenly come to mind, and he turned slightly to his left.
“There is something that bothers me.”
“What is it?”
“How did you manage to fake your death? Against the gods, I mean.”
“......Does the answer to that question connect to the method of killing a god?”
“That depends on your answer.”
It sounded almost like a threat, but Heracles carried no killing intent now.
It really might depend, exactly as he said.
Frondier spoke honestly—about that unique thing he alone could do in Pandemonium: his freedom to enter and exit it at will.
Lying before Heracles carried too great a risk; if Heracles heard it and could offer advice, that alone was enough.
So he told him.
Then—
“.......”
“.......”
Heracles and Telephos both fell silent, staring at him.
Even Telephos, who always made snide remarks from the side, shut his mouth in eerie silence.
Still, it was Telephos who finally spoke first.
“......Unbelievable.”
“That’s different from your usual reaction. I was expecting a ‘Don’t lie!’ or something.”
Even when Frondier lightly provoked him, Telephos’s expression only grew darker.
He said,
“It has to be a lie.”
Seeing Telephos like this, Frondier realized the atmosphere had turned serious.
Then Heracles spoke.
“How many people know of this?”
“......Not very many.”
“Among the gods?”
“The only one who’s seen it directly is Atena.”
“Atena......”
Heracles covered his face with a hand. Whether his face was small or his hand was large, one hand covered it entirely. But through the gaps between his fingers, his eyes gleamed cold and sharp.
“Frondier, there is a way. Or rather, a possibility.”
“Is that true?”
Heracles nodded.
The mood was strange. Heracles was telling Frondier, who sought a method, that one now existed—
But neither his expression nor Telephos’s showed anything hopeful.
“Frondier, who do you think would know how to kill a god? Do you truly believe the gods themselves would know?”
“.......”
Frondier had thought something similar.
When someone is cursed, you don’t go to a shaman—you go to a healer. When you get food poisoning, you don’t go to the chef but to a doctor.
Usually, when seeking knowledge, you go in the opposite direction of the subject.
So it would be difficult for gods to know how to kill gods.
But then—what was opposite to the gods?
“You’ll have to go to the Giants. They’ll know the way.”
“......!”
At Heracles’s words, Frondier’s eyes widened.
Giants—he was beginning to piece together their identity.
They were the humans of the past. Humanity that had stood against the gods.
But another thought arose, and he said,
“......But the Giants—all of them, long ago......”
“Yes. Ragnarok. The Giants all died then.”
Heracles said this, then shook his head as if to correct himself.
“......No, it’s better to say they’re as good as dead.”
“......What do you mean?”
“The Giants of that time had the power to oppose the gods. Not all of them were slain by divine spears and swords.”
Frondier blinked.
With each blink, he absorbed the contents, the information, and the meaning of Heracles’s words.
Thump—
“......Pandemonium.”
“The Giants used Ecleksis. Just as you do now.”
Meaning, many Giants had clashed with the gods through Ecleksis and opened Pandemonium. Some won, some lost.
In that case, that Pandemonium would still—
“Frondier. Let me tell you one thing.”
Heracles spoke in a stern, warning tone.
“Of the flames that rose from Ragnarok, I know them better than anyone.”
Ragnarok—the battle between Giants and gods.
And—
“Why do you think there are so many myths where Giants appear?”
Thump, thump.
Frondier’s heartbeat wasn’t from excitement or anticipation.
It was closer to fear.
“Do you wish to repeat Ragnarok?”
