Chapter 110: A Summoning Gone Wrong
Heimdall stood on the grand stage, poised to summon humanity's champion—yet something felt off. The summoning circle shimmered erratically, its runes flickering as though struggling against some unseen force.
Gray's breath caught as she turned to her elder sister Herlock, her voice edged with dread. "Sister…"
She had pieced it together. Brünnhilde's gambit was now clear.
Because there was no safe way to enter the epoch where the assassin had once existed—no method to confirm whether he was truly the one who could kill across space-time—Brünnhilde had gambled everything on a direct summoning. Right here. Right now.
If the summoned was indeed the fabled deathbringer from another age—and if he recognized his role and agreed to fight—then Herlock would be spared. She wouldn't have to descend into battle and risk her soul.
But if he was merely a legendary assassin of lesser renown—no godslayer but still willing to fight—then Herlock would have to become his sacred weapon.
Yet how could such a pairing prevail against Hades?
The prospect of loss was real. And with that loss, Herlock would fall with him.
Brünnhilde understood the cost. Sacrificing one sister to force Hades's appearance—and bar his future use—was tactically acceptable. But Gray found it intolerable. Was her sister truly willing to offer another's life to protect their strongest card from clashing with the god of the Underworld?
There was one other possibility. If the summoned entity refused—unable or unwilling to shoulder the burden of representing humanity—Herlock might yet be spared. Then the mantle would pass to Reginleif and her counterpart. And in that scenario, victory was... uncertain.
"Uh… what's going on?" Heimdall murmured aloud, glancing around with unease.
Was the summoned resisting?
And then, the world split.
A broadsword of shadow burst forth from nothingness, slicing through the air like a lance from another dimension. It hovered, suspended eerily, its tip poised a mere centimeter from Heimdall's throat.
He gasped.
He could feel death caressing his skin. The chill of the blade whispered against his neck, like fingers brushing over his pulse—ready to snuff it out.
He stumbled back, collapsing to the ground in a heap.
Then the sword swung downward.
With an unearthly crack, the arena shuddered. A rift tore open in space itself. The very fabric of the world screamed.
And then came the blood.
A geyser of crimson sprayed forth from the tear, dousing Heimdall, soaking his robes. He screamed without sound, horror silencing him.
To the gods, it seemed as though reality itself had been wounded.
The world was bleeding.
The divine audience—so confident just moments before—fell mute.
"What in the name of Olympus…?"
"Space… bleeding?"
"And this scent—what is this blood?"
No mortal fluid. No ordinary scent. This… was divine blood.
Hades's eyes narrowed.
His pupils dilated as he recognized the signature within the crimson haze.
Titan blood.
A chill swept through him.
The rift widened violently, as if kicked open by some unstoppable force. Blood spewed like a waterfall, and from its depths emerged a figure.
A warrior clad in obsidian plate armor. A double-horned skull mask concealed his face. In one hand, he held a massive sword. In the other, a shield adorned with a grinning skull.
He looked like death's knight—come not to fight, but to judge.
As the black figure stepped through, the rupture behind him snapped shut. But Hades had glimpsed it—just for an instant. Within that collapsing dimension, corpses piled atop one another. Titans. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Crushed into oblivion by collapsing space.
"What… what is that?"
"That's the human champion?!"
"You're joking. That aura—he's not human!"
"Assassins… don't dress like that."
"If Hades is the incarnation of death… this one looks more like death."
Unease rippled through the gods' ranks.
They had seen what unexpected terrors the second and third battles had unleashed. And now this? Was humanity's summon… broken?
Many who didn't know the two figures—who hadn't heard Heimdall's announcement—couldn't even tell which side each belonged to.
To them, Hades must be humanity's last hope.
And that blood-drenched, skull-faced knight?
Surely he was the divine agent of annihilation.
Chapter 111: The Moment Battle Begins—All-Out War
The air was thick with blood. The arena swam in metallic stench.
Several gods turned pale.
"Is that… really the Old Man of the Mountain?"
Herlock—a petite Valkyrie dressed in an elegant gown—trembled as she spoke. Her cherry-blossom lips quivered.
This had to be a mistake.
The arena was drenched in divine blood. How many lives must one take to spill so much?
And this blood—yes—held remnants of divine power.
The knight bathed in it… his eyes glowed with a ghostly light. His aura seethed with darkness.
No human could emit such terror.
He felt like a god of death—one born not of heaven, but from its ruin.
Suddenly, a thought struck Herlock.
During the previous match, wasn't the Venus Eye destroyed? The seal that held countless dangerous beings had ruptured.
Could this skeletal knight be one of those entities—freed from eternal prison?
"Probably," came a voice beside her.
"…Huh?"
Herlock turned, stunned. Her sister had casually confirmed it.
She held out her device. A scan displayed one name: Hassan-i-Sabbah. Code name: Old Man of the Mountain.
Herlock blinked. "That… that can't be right. That looks nothing like a legendary assassin. That looks like a demon lord."
"I know," her sister replied. "But the Ragnarok match system hasn't triggered a rejection. Which means—he's legitimate."
This man, this black knight from a dimension of corpses, was humanity's representative.
And now, summoned into this age, he had painted the arena with the blood of his past. Even Brünnhilde was sweating.
Had he just massacred a divine conclave before arriving?
Herlock stared, her voice dry. "Sister… this is bad."
Murmurs swept through the gods. Brünnhilde had done it again. Another dangerous summon. Another unpredictable force.
"Why? Afraid?"
Brünnhilde's voice rang out, laced with sarcasm. "No spine left in the gods?"
She cast contemptuous eyes toward the divine balcony, taunting them as she had during that infamous council.
The gods paused.
Then—
"Afraid of humans? Don't be ridiculous!"
"You foul woman! What is that thing?!"
"Can't we have a proper fight?"
"Look at the arena! That's not human!"
Shouts of fury erupted.
Even Gray and Herlock were stunned by Brünnhilde's boldness. The gods' rage surged—
Until silence fell.
Like a record halted mid-note.
Murderous intent swept the coliseum.
And it did not come from the knight.
It came from Hades.
"Speak again, and I'll kill you," the Underworld King said coldly.
The threat silenced them.
None dared test him.
Hades turned, twin-pronged spear aimed at the knight. "Who are you?"
The knight tilted his head. "Where am I?"
He hadn't answered. He'd asked.
Summoned mid-combat without preparation… he knew nothing of the present.
"Explain," Hades snapped. "You have five seconds."
"Eh?!" Heimdall, still sprawled in blood, blinked in disbelief.
Two seconds had already passed.
He scrambled. "This is the final war—gods versus mankind. Thirteen matches. First to seven wins. If humanity triumphs, they survive another thousand years. Otherwise—"
WHUMP.
Hades swung his spear.
A shockwave hurled Heimdall from the arena.
The knight nodded. "I understand."
He stepped forward.
"But humanity's fate is theirs alone to decide. For you to steal that right—that is evil. You are my enemy. I will strike you down."
His voice was quiet, but the aura behind it was crushing.
Gods felt their souls clench.
Some swore they saw their heads fall.
They shivered, checking their necks instinctively.
"Hehehe… Fine," Hades grinned darkly. "Then come—human. I, Hades, god of the dead, deem you evil. Can you kill a god?"
His war spirit erupted like never before.
This man—this knight—he was the strongest enemy Hades had ever known.
And Hades knew: a mere 100% was not enough.
He must exceed even that.
Suddenly, to the shock of all, Hades drew his spear's blade across his own chest.
Blood sprayed, soaking the weapon.
The king of the Underworld was ready.
This would be no ordinary battle. This would be the war to determine destiny itself.