The killing intent that once surged inside him, the thick hatred he bore toward the bounty hunters—it had vanished completely. Not because he forgot, but because he had evolved. He wasn't some mindless brute driven by rage. That was never who he truly was.
While Lancelot sometimes acted on impulse, he was never foolish. People underestimated him because of his brashness, but in reality, he was dangerous—because he knew when to fight and when to build. Each of his actions haves intensive thoughts behind it.
If he were truly just muscle with no brains, how could he have built and ruled an empire for years? His strength wasn't just in his fists—it was in his ability to think, to plan, to turn enemies into pawns, and chaos into advantage.
Deus knew that. That was exactly why he gifted Lancelot with the beast souls he did.
Gifts not just of power—but of purpose.
And now, as Lancelot's gaze swept across the bounty hunters—Scar, Scarlet Fox, Lone Wolf, Drake, Bald Eagle, Tigress… even Void—he saw it.
The glint in their eyes. They looked just like him.
Wild grins. Glowing sigils. Faces lit with unspoken thrill. Even the coldest among them, like Scar and Void, had a faint spark dancing in their gaze.
They had been given something—something great. And Lancelot knew instantly, without needing to ask, they too had received incredible beast souls… just like he had.
The battlefield was no longer about division or vengeance. Now… They were in this together.
***
And the world would tremble.
As they looked at each other, something unspoken passed between them. A silent understanding. They suddenly nodded, almost at the same time, as if their thoughts were entangled… as if their very souls whispered the same words.
And then—they moved.
In perfect harmony, every single one of them dropped to one knee. Heads bowed low, arms across their chests in solemn reverence. No one hesitated. No one questioned. It was like watching one body with many faces perform the same sacred act.
It was breathtaking. Surreal.
To an outsider, this would be unthinkable. A group of killers and betrayers—people who had been enemies mere minutes ago, bound by blood and hate— were now like kins kneeling together in reverence to the same being?
And yet, none of it was forced.
There was no divine coercion, no overwhelming pressure from Deus. He hadn't raised a hand. He hadn't said a word. This submission didn't come from fear or power—it came from deep within. From the very core of who they were. A collective cry of the soul, recognizing something far, far greater than themselves.
Their voices rang out like a sacred oath, trembling and raw with emotion:
"We greet God! We shall serve our Lord until our last breath!"
It was not just a chant—it was a vow.
Deus remained floating where he was, his presence overwhelming yet calm. His voice, though soft, seemed to echo beyond the place.
"From now on… address me as Deus Anima.
I am the God of Souls."
Their bodies visibly trembled. The bounty hunters. Lancelot. All of them. That name—Deus Anima—sent a shiver down their spines.
'He's… the God of Souls? In the body of a child?'
Of course, they didn't doubt his words. Deus had no reason to lie. Everything—everything he said, everything he did—it all suddenly made sense. Those proud, icy words from before echoed now like thunder in their minds.
"Such impudence." Deus' voice back then was cold, condescending, ancient—so much deeper than any newborn's should be. "You mortals dare raise your hands against your god… and use my own methods against me."
(Reference: Chapter 28)
At the time, they hadn't understood. They were too caught up with dread, in survival, they were after all in a life and death situation. Back then, when their connection to their beast souls had vanished, and they had brushed his words aside as some cryptic warning.
But now… Now, they understood. And with that understanding came shame.
Disgust. Guilt.
Deus was the very god Earth revered—the one they prayed to, the one who had saved their world when it stood on the brink of annihilation. And they… had raised their weapons against him. Questioned him. Doubted him.
They thought back to his arrival. The way they reacted. The accusations. The hostility. And now… now all they wanted to do was slap themselves. If only they had paid more attention. If only they had looked deeper. Maybe… just maybe, they could have avoided such blasphemy.
Lancelot's heart felt like it had been thrown into a storm.
When Deus claimed to be a god, Lancelot didn't suspect him to be Deus anima Not really. Not deep down. How could he? The god he prayed to… wasn't supposed to be a boy.
But the memory struck him—fierce and sharp.
That desperate day, surrounded by death, drowning in betrayal of his brother. Almost dying to the Silver-fanged wolf pack.
> "I swear to the God of Souls, Deus Anima, our savior god—I swear, I will kill that child for bringing this cursed misfortune on me! On the day my child is to be born, I get betrayed—backstabbed by my own brother, exiled from my empire, the very dome I built with my own hands... All of this? On the same damn day? No way this is normal!"
(Reference: Chapter 2)
Back then, his heart was filled with rage. Hopelessness. But now… now that very vow was haunting him like a demon.
His wife had always prayed to Deus. She believed, wholly. But he… he didn't realize Deus had not only heard them—but had been there. The entire time. Watching. Guiding. Protecting.
And he had cursed him.
Lancelot didn't dare to keep Deus waiting any longer. He stepped forward first, his head low, his voice trembling:
"Mortal Lancelot pays his respect to Saviour God Deus Anima. Please… forgive my blasphemy."