Chapter 105: Who Summoned the Old Man of the Mountain?
"Do we truly understand the gods?" Regilef asked quietly, her tone laced with unease. "Thor's gauntlets and hammer, Beelzebub's anomalies, the Zero Fortune of the Seven Lucky Gods—each more unpredictable than the last. Sister... do you really believe the divine pantheon only consists of the publicly recognized giants?"
Brunhilde froze as if struck by celestial lightning. For a long moment, she remained motionless. Then she exhaled deeply.
"Thank you, Regilef. I understand now."
The strategy of calculated underperformance—sacrificing weaker fighters early to preserve strength—was obsolete. No more playing games. Every match would now be approached with full force. The fourth battle was no exception.
And if the information from her contact was reliable, then the next god to descend into the arena was no ordinary deity—it was a true monarch of the underworld. The fourth round would be a clash of kings.
Brunhilde narrowed her eyes.
Which of humanity's King cards should she play?
The first three rounds were victories. Humanity's triumph was already nearly halfway realized. On hand, she held two remaining trump cards—three, if Adam was counted. If she could secure wins in those rounds, humanity's victory would be sealed.
Only the seventh round remained uncertain. She had a candidate. But that figure was elusive, unpredictable, and may not answer her summons.
Best to focus on the immediate battle.
"Which of our Kings will counter the godly ruler of death?"
As she considered the matchup, Regilef pointed toward the Akasha system interface.
"What's that?"
A peculiar icon was blinking in the corner of the screen—like an instant message notification on a mortal computer, tucked discreetly near the bottom edge. But the symbol was a skull. Ominous.
Brunhilde frowned.
"This... seems familiar."
Recognition dawned slowly. That symbol marked a summon who had encountered peril—not historical regression, but true erasure. Cosmic dust. Oblivion.
Was it Xiang Yu?
He was the only one still alive after the first three matches. Had his summoning gone awry?
No, she confirmed. Xiang Yu's status remained steady. This blinking alert referred to someone else.
Correction: multiple someones. So many that even Brunhilde couldn't recall summoning them all. They were the audience.
Could it be—had some of the summoned mortal spectators drawn divine ire?
She tapped the icon.
A window expanded, revealing the cause for concern.
"Old Man of the Mountain?" Brunhilde whispered, eyes narrowing.
Regilef echoed the name softly. Not an actual name, but a codename. In medieval human history, he had been infamous—an assassin who founded an elite order. So he'd been among the summoned observers?
It wasn't surprising. The arena's seats were limited. Not every historical human could attend. But notable figures—warriors, leaders, tricksters—often made the cut.
Brunhilde tried to access his current status, but the screen blurred and distorted. Something was interfering.
He wore a skull mask—normal at first glance. But deeper inspection revealed something unnatural. No facial data displayed. Not even aging the avatar revealed anything. It was as if the mask were fused with his being—a part of his soul.
Curious. The historical Old Man of the Mountain had always been enigmatic. No one knew his true face.
She discovered an old Akasha search log. Someone had once tried to investigate him through immersive playback, entering historical imagery directly. They had hoped to glimpse his true appearance.
Yet even then, he wore the mask.
Had the investigator failed? Or had they intentionally preserved the mystery?
Wait—this search log hadn't targeted him directly. It had been a side case, linked to something else entirely.
And now, Akasha returned new data.
The assassin wasn't in mortal danger. He was simply... out of range. Like a device trapped outside a broadcast zone—isolated.
Which god would be so idle as to toy with mortals like this?
Unless forcibly re-summoned through Akasha, he might remain imprisoned. That earlier blinking warning had been a stroke of fortune—without it, he might have been forgotten when the audience was sent home.
Then another anomaly appeared.
The summoning timestamp was recent—immediately after the third match.
But Brunhilde hadn't assigned fourth-round spectators yet. No selection had been made.
So who had summoned him?
It was as if he'd appeared on his own.
On his own?
Her thoughts spiraled with intrigue.
Just then, a collision snapped her out of it.
"Sorry, Sister Brunhilde!" cried Grey, bowing deeply.
She'd been shoved off balance by Sister Herlock and had accidentally bumped into Brunhilde. But Brunhilde didn't respond.
Because the impact had triggered something—her finger had pressed an interface option: immersive historical dive.
She tried to cancel. Too late.
A brilliant light consumed them. Their vision blurred.
And then—
Chapter 106: A God Slain Across Time
Grey gasped, heart pounding. Not again.
She remembered the last immersion—how Brunhilde had tossed her into history during the third round without warning. It had terrified her.
This time felt no different. Had she been abandoned once more?
She blinked, eyes adjusting.
Wait... they were still within Akasha.
Then who had been sent?
She scanned the space.
Everyone was still present.
"Brunhilde is just teasing me again," she muttered, pouting.
But Regilef noticed something odd.
A subtle change.
She gave Brunhilde a warning glance.
Brunhilde's expression confirmed it—she, too, felt the difference.
Her control panel should have appeared—but it hadn't.
The tea table, where Regilef, Yalvette, and Herlock had been chatting just moments ago, had vanished.
Brunhilde nodded.
They hadn't failed to dive into history.
They had succeeded.
But rather than entering the Old Man's personal timeline—they had jumped into a peripheral search record.
One not centered on him at all.
She had tapped a search log, not the character's direct archive.
And now—
"Brun—mmph!"
Grey's mouth was clamped shut by a swift hand.
Too hard.
She couldn't breathe. Her nose was blocked.
The culprit? Brunhilde.
The eldest sister wasted no time. They needed silence. They needed concealment.
The Valkyries huddled low.
"Fff—mph!"
Grey tried to inhale when released—but one glance from Brunhilde was enough to shut her up entirely. Those eyes promised stitches if she spoke again.
Brunhilde mimed a zipper over her mouth. Not sewn shut—but zipped tight.
An ironic mercy.
They stayed hidden, watching, waiting.
Because somewhere—beyond the veil of light, beyond Akasha's transparent folds—something was hunting gods.
Across time.
And it was getting closer.