Chapter 67: The World Seen by God (2)
The party of four—now joined by Tiamat—moved swiftly along the ridges of the Azerlisia Mountains. Ordinarily, they would have had to take the longer, winding paths, but with Tiamat's blessings upon them, even the most treacherous terrain posed no obstacle.
"Was this trail always this easy to walk?"
"Are your eyes just for decoration? This isn't a trail—it's a cliff!"
"Well, yes, but still…"
The slope was nearly seventy degrees, yet they climbed it as though strolling through a meadow.
Their feet pressed firmly against jutting rocks, hands grasped ledges with tireless strength, and they ascended with ease.
It didn't stop there. A single leap sent them soaring several meters upward. Confidence welled up inside them—an almost reckless certainty that they could run for hours without tiring—and their newfound power answered that belief.
It would be wasteful not to use it. With each step they grew bolder, until simply walking no longer satisfied them. They broke into a sprint, the landscape blurring past as Colton took the lead, Rohaim close behind, followed by Dean and Tiamat.
"Hey! Don't you think you're going too fast?"
"It's fine! I feel like I could keep running for hours! You feel it too, don't you?"
"I'm a magic caster, you fool! But… you're not wrong."
Even Rohaim, who was by nature not built for endurance, found himself sprinting alongside Colton without fatigue. He marveled—since when did I have stamina like this? Normally, magic casters lagged behind warriors in strength and endurance. Yet here he was, running freely, breathing easily, even grinning. There was no strain—only exhilaration. The sensation of relying on nothing but his own legs, rather than spells to fly, filled him with pure joy.
If I can run, then I'll run faster!
Rohaim pushed harder, his strides lengthening.
Dean and Tiamat followed close behind.
"Is this pace all right? I worry we may be overdoing it…"
"It's fine. This feels… refreshing."
Tiamat's smile banished Dean's concern. The scenery—beautiful as it was—had already lost some of its novelty. But this? This was intoxicating. The rush of air against his skin, the solid impact of the earth beneath his feet, the crisp scent of grass and soil—it was a feast for the senses he had never known in Yggdrasil.
This is fun!
Joy. Exhilaration. Wonder. Happiness. Every emotion surging within him was bright and positive.
In Yggdrasil, full-dive sensory law restricted nearly everything beyond sight and sound. No matter how fast you ran or where you went, what you felt were only system messages—damage counters, status effects—not the raw, vivid thrill of the real.
But this world was different.
I need to apologize to myself for doubting. This world… this world is the greatest.
The smell of wet grass, the sharp tang of herbs, the rich musk of trees, the occasional sweetness of blossoms, even the raw scent of earth and stone—all of it was intoxicating. Tiamat reveled in every breath.
Ah… how wonderful. This world is the greatest.
Tiamat longed to see more, to feel more, to savor every fragment of this new reality. It was nothing like the stale scent of dust that clung to his old room, the musty reek of an aging cooler, the artificial tang of air fresheners, or the sickly-sweet aftertaste of the gel-type energy packs he once fed through a weakened digestive system.
When he first opened his eyes here, he had assumed it was merely an extension of Yggdrasil. After all, he had fallen asleep in that world, and upon waking, the first thing he saw was an NPC's death-warning panel. Of course he believed it was still the game.
He was still in the guild's grandest chamber, the Throne Hall of the temple, his gear and items untouched, all their powers intact.
The fact that NPCs seemed to have developed "souls" had startled him, but beyond that—what did it matter?
They were NPCs. They could die, respawn, and return so long as gold was paid. That was all.
It was this assumption that made leaving so easy. What harm could it do to step outside for a while? Surely things would be fine without him. Surely.
But now—now he knew.
This was not Yggdrasil. This was something far greater. This world was richer, brighter, sharper than anything before. Even the simple act of eating from a convenience store had hinted at it—this world was real.
Compared to Yggdrasil, compared even to the polluted, decaying Earth he had left behind… this new world was incomparably better. A thousand times better than the suffocating four walls of his room.
Before he realized it, their path had led into high mountain country. The air thinned, their steps crossed snow-swept ridges and jagged rocks. Beasts sometimes peeked from the shadows, only to flee at once, scattering far from the party's path.
The cold air stung his lungs, the green slopes gave way to barren cliffs and white drifts of snow. Yet all of it thrilled him.
Beautiful. Truly beautiful.
This world was the best. And yet—it wasn't enough.
He wanted to taste more. To live it, breathe it, consume it.
Watching him, Dean could not help but smile faintly. So the young master is pleased… If the god was content, then there was nothing better. If this god were to grow wrathful, the consequences would never end with a single mortal. For everyone's sake, it was good that He was smiling.
But behind Dean's reverence was fear.
His power is absurd…
Colton and Rohaim dismissed the boy as some "legendary prodigy" or a "hero beyond heroes." But Dean, with his years of hard-won experience, knew better. He had seen gods' touch before—and this was no mere mortal strength.
The youth had invoked a long-forgotten 5th-tier divine spell, one so ancient it was thought extinct. Other incantations, too, bore the weight of impossibly high tiers. He cast them in succession, each with the ease of breathing, never faltering.
Any other priest, even one who had entered the realm of heroes, would have collapsed after a few repetitions.
Yet this boy's mana seemed endless, a sea without shore.
And as long as he walked with them, their own stamina, too, became limitless. In the thin, biting air of the mountains, they did not tire—in fact, they felt stronger than on flat ground. Hours passed without a single pause for rest, yet not one of them gasped for breath.
It was impossible. It was divine.
We must never oppose him.
Dean had no genius, no power to rival gods. His life had been forged through effort, training, experience—but that was all. Yet he had enough wisdom to know: one does not make an enemy of the divine. If he could remain near this god, if he could serve Him faithfully, then one day blessings without measure might fall upon him.
And so they ran. Hours melted away. Before long, the jagged ridge gave way to a strange rift between the peaks, a shadowed cleft where no sunlight reached. Dean raised a hand, pointing forward.
There—through the gloom—they glimpsed the unmistakable hand of civilization. The sheer face of a cliff disguised as stone, yet hiding walls, battlements, slits for crossbows, and narrow murder-holes.
The fortress of the dwarves.
The dwarves last bastion rose before them, a natural fortress carved into the sheer cliffs of the Azerlisia Mountains. Built as though leaning on the mountainside itself, it was a masterpiece born from the land's own defenses. Tiamat let out a quiet breath of awe.
Shinshi had been dazzling in its modernity, but this was different. This was beauty of another kind—like something straight out of an old fantasy film, except more tangible, more real.
The stone walls, the rugged angles, the weight of craftsmanship all pressed into his senses.
Compared to the countless castles of Yggdrasil, this fortress was beyond comparison, radiating a majesty he could feel.
"There! That's it! That is Feo Jula, the dwarves' final refuge!"
"What, we're already here? Weren't we supposed to need half a day?"
"…The blessing was too strong, I suppose."
Rohaim turned his head aside, unwilling to admit aloud that he, a mage, had gotten so carried away with running that he had lost track of time. Still, an early arrival was better than letting the "god" grow bored. Dean stole a glance at Tiamat, gauging his expression.
"It seems we've arrived."
"Yes, it does. Shall we go straight in?"
"…Rohaim?"
He answered quickly, more polite now than he had been hours earlier. In a society where strength ruled all, respect was the only natural response to power of this magnitude—and who knew what rewards might fall from currying favor with such a being?
"Hm, I don't see why not. We helped them just days ago, after all, and even lent them blessings. There shouldn't be any problem."
"Then let's go. I'd like to see the dwarves' city."
"Yes, sir. Colton, you lead. They'll recognize you from a few days ago, so negotiations should go smoothly."
"Yes!"
Colton took the lead, the others following close behind. As they drew near the fortress, slits in the cliffside suddenly opened—hidden shutters swinging back to reveal watchful eyes.
"Who goes—wait, is that… Thunderblade and Sky Tempest? I thought you'd already departed!"
"Yes, we had business and returned with our companions. Will you let us in?"
"Companions… meaning those two behind you? Can you vouch for their identity?"
"They are with us. That is enough, isn't it?"
"…Understood. Lower the lift! Quickly!"
The guard, flustered, shouted orders. The cliffside rumbled with noise as disguised stonework shifted, revealing what had seemed to be a natural wall. A heavy wooden-and-stone lift, braced with iron chains and pulleys, began its slow descent with a clatter.
Tiamat's lips curled faintly. Compared to an elevator, this was crude beyond measure—yet that was what made it so delightful. It was like stepping straight into the kind of fantasy film he had once watched in another world.
And then, his senses prickled. From somewhere within, beyond the walls, he felt a surge of malice—murderous intent that was not dwarven. His keen instincts caught the trace instantly, and excitement colored his face.
What had begun as a casual whim, the simple desire to tour a dwarven city, now promised something greater. Perhaps another interesting event awaited him here.
The lift creaked and swayed, carrying them steadily upward. Tiamat smiled. Joy swelled within him, overflowing until it almost felt like love.
Yes… this world is wonderful.
Far more wonderful than Yggdrasil could ever hope to be.
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