The valley vanished as if it had never existed.
White light swept up the gods, pulling them from that desolate scene. Not painful like before, no sensation of space tearing apart, no screams of a shattering world. Just a gentle feeling of floating in the void, like sinking into warm water, then slowly rising, then feet touching ground again.
When she opened her eyes, Frigg found herself standing in the square of the Eternal Palace.
Afternoon light gently poured down from the seven golden thrones towering high above. The ground beneath her feet was flat and clean, white marble veined with gold, reflecting light like a mirror.
The other gods appeared one by one around her, bodies covered in gray ash, wounds still bleeding, clothes torn. Their eyes still held traces of fear.
Some trembled, hugging themselves. Some knelt, breathing hard. Some stood still as statues, eyes staring into space.
Michael was already there before them all.
He stood right beneath the Throne of Humility, the highest of the seven, in the center. The silver armor on his body gleamed under the afternoon light, clean as if freshly polished, not a speck of dust, not a drop of blood.
He looked at Frigg, his gaze softening. A slight nod. It was a gesture of respect. Of recognition. Of empathy between those bearing the same chains.
They were the first two. Two Pillars among seven.
The other five empty thrones still stood waiting. Five thrones of pure gold, carved with ancient patterns. But no names yet. No masters. Only faint light emanating, like a silent invitation.
The gods quietly departed in small groups. Dragging footsteps, weary. No one spoke.
Some bowed their heads when passing Frigg. A few stopped, looking at her as if wanting to say something, but ultimately just bowed and moved on.
No one mentioned Leviathan.
His name wasn't spoken. His form wasn't remembered. As if he had never existed.
Frigg stopped, not following the others. She looked up at the seven golden thrones.
Two thrones had masters. On the left, the Throne of Humility, carved with folded angel wings, head bowed. On the right, the Throne of Kindness, carved with two hands embracing a bleeding heart.
Five thrones remained empty.
She exhaled, weary, heavy. The burn on her arm still stung. The scratches from the deformed children still bled. But she didn't care. She only thought of the souls who had been freed: the mother holding her child, the betrayed warrior, the soulless mass of flesh, the pack of deformed children, the starving lion, the burning firebird, the child singing lullabies in the ashes.
The final smiles before they dissolved into light. The whispered thanks. The tears of relief.
That was all that mattered.
She turned to leave, seeking rest. But before she'd taken more than a few steps, light blazed up.
Not violent light, but gentle, warm light, spreading across the square like a soft wave.
The departing gods all stopped, turning to look. Someone whispered:
"Again...?"
"Won't they let us rest...?"
Elyndo appeared.
Not from above as usual, but from the center of the square. Light gathered, spinning, then condensed into form. Towering tall as a mountain, but this time without the crushing feeling.
The light from Him wasn't blinding like the midday sun. Just gentle light, almost soft, like the morning sun just rising.
His voice rang out, not cold like when judging, not stern like when commanding, but deep and warm, like a father speaking to his children:
"You have passed two trials."
The gods stood still, listening.
"You have witnessed pain. Witnessed despair. Witnessed the boundary between death and life. You have faced souls crying out, monsters writhing, bottomless darkness."
Elyndo paused.
"You deserve to rest."
Silence. Then slowly, whispers rose:
"Rest...?"
"Elyndo permits it...?"
Some smiled, weary smiles, relieved.
Elyndo raised His hand, a massive hand of light. Light from His palm radiated outward, spinning like water in a whirlpool, then shot straight down to the ground.
An explosion echoed, but not frightening like thunder, just like a great bell resonating, deep and warm. The ground trembled, marble cracking into a large circle, and from that crack, something began to rise.
The gods stared, no one daring to breathe.
From the earth, inch by inch, a massive gate slowly emerged.
Not a gate of cold gray stone. Not a gate of dark black metal. But gold. Pure gold, gleaming, brilliant.
The gate soared high, taller than ten people stacked atop each other, wide enough for twenty to walk side by side. Every detail carved with exquisite precision.
On the left pillar, a dragon coiled upward, scales gleaming, claws sharp, jade eyes sparkling as if alive. On the right pillar, a phoenix spread its wings, each feather carved distinctly. On the gate's arched roof, lotus flowers bloomed, golden stamens gleaming.
The golden light from the gate was brilliant, but not blinding. Warm, inviting, like a hearth fire on a cold night.
The gate opened wide, both doors slowly parting. Inside, a long corridor stretched endlessly. And from deep within, golden light radiated, stronger, brighter, more sparkling.
Elyndo spoke, gentler than ever:
"This is the reward for those who have passed the trials."
He paused, letting the words sink into each mind.
"Inside contains everything that divine beings crave. Weapons that can split mountains and trample seas. Armor that can withstand ten thousand swords. Elixirs that can extend lifespan for thousands of years. Treasures that can grant unparalleled power. Knowledge that can open doors to truth."
Each word like a drop of sweet honey. The gods swallowed, eyes gradually brightening.
"You have one day. From sunrise to sunset. One full day."
"Enter. Take whatever you desire. No limit on quantity. No prohibitions. This is My gift to you."
Heavy silence. Then slowly, the gods began whispering:
"A reward...?"
"Free to take...?"
"No limits...?"
Some smiled, relieved. Finally something good after all the suffering.
Elyndo nodded:
"After taking what you need, you will have time to rest. Tomorrow, I will summon you back for the next trial. But today... rest. Take what you need. Prepare for what's coming."
Then the light from Him began to fade. His form blurred, dissolved, leaving only a final echo:
"I wish you luck."
Then vanished completely.
Only the brilliant golden gate remained, wide open, waiting.
The gods stood there, looking at each other. No one dared step forward first. Was this a trap? Was Elyndo testing them in another way?
Someone whispered:
"Can we trust it...?"
"What if it's a trap...?"
Tense atmosphere. Everyone wanted to enter, but no one dared step first.
Then a figure stepped out from the crowd.
Mammon.
He was tall, shoulders broad as a boulder. His golden robe draped to the ground. His face was angular, square jaw, eyes sharp as knives. On his hands were heavy golden bracelets, around his neck a chain carved with ancient symbols. Even standing still, he radiated an aura of majesty, confidence.
He walked toward the gate, each step firm, determined. No hesitation. No fear. His eyes looked straight at the golden gate, gleaming with undisguised greed.
Reaching the gate, he stopped, turned to look at the distant gods, voice ringing out:
"If no one dares to enter, I'll go first. If it's a trap, I'll die first. If it's real, I'll take first."
Then without waiting for an answer, he turned and stepped through the gate's threshold.
His shadow vanished into the golden corridor, swallowed by light.
The gods waited, holding their breath.
One beat. Two beats. Three beats.
No screams. No explosions. Nothing happened.
A young god, face still innocent, swallowed:
"He... he's still alive...?"
Another god nodded:
"Seems... seems real..."
Then another stepped forward. Then another. Then more.
The whole crowd rushed in, eager, no longer doubting. They ran, pushing each other, afraid arriving late would leave nothing to take.
"Let me through!"
"Move aside!"
"I was first!"
In moments, the square emptied, only a few gods remaining outside.
Frigg still stood there, looking at the golden gate, brow furrowing slightly. Something... wasn't right. A vague feeling in her heart, like a small warning bell.
Elyndo had never given for free. Everything had a price.
But she was too exhausted. The wounds throbbed endlessly. Blood still flowed. She needed rest more than treasure.
She turned away, walking slowly from the square, heading toward the western garden.
Michael didn't enter either. He still stood beneath the Throne of Humility, watching the golden gate with contemplative eyes. He didn't need treasure. He just needed... to observe.
Not far away, another figure slowly approached the gate.
Not hurried like those before. Just walking slowly, each step gentle.
A young god. Thin frame but muscles taut as bowstring. Sun-bronzed skin, black hair tied neatly behind, eyes clear as a bottomless lake.
On his chest, brilliant golden armor covered him, not armor that could be removed, but perfectly joined with his flesh, as if born with him. The golden light from the armor wasn't blinding, but warm, gentle.
On his ears, a pair of gleaming golden earrings, small, delicate, also seemingly part of his body. Each time he stepped, the earrings rang gently, making a tiny tinkling sound.
Karna.
He looked at no one. Just looked straight at the gate, eyes calm as an unrippled lake, as if he didn't care about the treasure inside.
He stepped through the gate's threshold, disappearing into the golden corridor.
Inside, Mammon stood frozen.
Before him was an unbelievable sight.
A massive chamber, so wide no end was visible, ceiling soaring high as the sky, walls of gold reflecting dazzling light. And everywhere, from floor to ceiling, from wall to wall, were treasures.
Countless treasures.
Stacked upon each other high as mountains. Gold, silver, jewels sparkling like stars. Divine weapons standing in long rows, swords, spears, hammers, axes, bows, arrows, each radiating its own aura. Armor piled in heaps, some of gleaming metal, some of dark dragon hide, some of shimmering fish scales, some of crimson phoenix feathers.
Golden crowns stacked on high shelves. Scepters standing in rows. Elixirs arranged in crystal vials, some bright blue glowing, some dark red bubbling, some golden gleaming like honey. Old parchment scrolls piled high, ancient knowledge, lost magic, martial arts secrets.
Mammon stood there, couldn't breathe. His eyes ran everywhere, not knowing what to look at first. Heart pounding erratically.
"Everything... everything is here..."
Then he laughed, laughed loud, laughed joyfully:
"Hahahaha! Reward... I truly deserve this!"
He rushed forward, no hesitation.
Stepped to the first mountain of weapons. His hands touched each sword, sensing, evaluating. This one too light, discard. This one too heavy, discard. This one balanced but blade not sharp enough, discard.
Then he saw it.
A long sword lying separate, apart from the others. The blade of thunderstone, blue-black metal, blue light flickering in beats like a heartbeat. On the blade carved a coiling dragon.
Mammon lifted it. Heavy, but just right. Perfect balance. He swung once to test, wind whistling, small lightning bolts shooting from the blade.
"Excellent."
He set the sword aside, marking it "mine."
He continued selecting like this, from this type to that, from this pile to that. Each item must be the best, most beautiful, most powerful.
A bright blue jade, inside containing pure life force. Take it.
A vial of dark red elixir, rich fragrance. Take it.
A parchment scroll carved with ancient magic. Take it.
A golden ring carved with dragons. Take it.
The more he took, the more he wanted to take.
Because each thing was too precious. Each thing could change a god's fate. If he didn't take it, others would. If he didn't take enough, he'd be weaker than others.
His hands didn't rest. Taking, stacking, taking more. The pile of treasures beside him grew higher and higher, from knee-high, to waist-high, then chest-high, then higher than his head.
He didn't care. He only knew to take. Take everything that was best.
Not far away, in another chamber of the treasury, Karna also stood before a mountain of treasures.
But he wasn't hurried like Mammon. He just stood there, looking.
His eyes swept across each item, but without greedy light. Only calm observation.
Then he stepped forward, slowly.
His hand touched a sword lying in the pile. Not the most beautiful, not the most powerful. Just a simple sword, straight steel blade uncarved, hilt wrapped in old leather, nameless, without aura.
But when he lifted it, feeling the weight, feeling the balance, he nodded.
"Enough."
He held the sword, turned, about to step out.
Another god passing through the chamber, carrying a pile of armor and three swords, saw Karna only holding one sword, stopped, mouth agape:
"Huh? You... you only took one thing?"
Karna turned, smiled lightly:
"It's enough."
"Enough?" The other god laughed mockingly. "You see this place? A whole treasury! Countless things! And you only take one sword? Are you stupid?"
Karna didn't answer, just shook his head lightly, walked on.
The other god watched him go, shaking his head:
"Foolish. Wasting the opportunity."
Then he turned back, continuing to take more.
One day passed in the treasury.
No sun to measure time, but the gods could sense it, a vague feeling in their hearts, like a biological clock counting down. When that feeling neared the end point, the light in the treasury began flickering.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Then a voice rang out from thin air:
"Time is almost up. Prepare to depart."
The gods startled, hurrying to gather their piles of treasures.
Mammon looked down at his pile, towering high, big as a wagon. He counted: twenty-four items.
He smiled with satisfaction. Deserved. All deserved.
He used divine power to lift the pile of treasures, letting them hover behind his back like a golden cloud. Then walked toward the exit.
Stepping out from the golden gate, twilight had descended upon the Eternal Palace square.
The gods emerged one by one, each carrying their spoils. Some clutching armfuls so full they had to use their teeth to hold more. Some used divine power to lift whole piles hovering. Some even had to use cloth sacks as big as themselves, dragging them behind.
Their faces all bore satisfied smiles, pleased, excited. Voices chattering loudly:
"What did you get?"
"Ha! I have phoenix armor! Look, the feathers are still warm!"
"I found a thousand-year elixir! Just one drop brings resurrection!"
Mammon stepped out, chose a position in the center of the square, where light shone clearly, where everyone could see.
Immediately, many eyes turned toward him, more precisely toward the massive pile of treasures hovering behind him.
Whispers began:
"God... So much..."
"How many items did he take?"
"Not fair..."
"Greedy..."
Mammon heard, but didn't care. He just raised his head high, letting the twilight shine on the pile of treasures.
A tall god, sinister face, walked over:
"Do you plan to leave anything for others?"
Mammon turned, face cold:
"Elyndo said no limits. How much I take is my right."
"Greedy."
"Smart," Mammon replied.
The other god frowned, but ultimately just turned away, left.
Mammon smiled, victorious.
Then another figure emerged from the gate.
Karna.
In his hand, just one simple sword.
The square fell silent for a beat.
Then laughter erupted:
"Hahahaha! Just one sword!"
"Are you joking?"
"A whole day in there and only took one thing!"
"How stupid!"
A young god, round-cheeked, walked closer to Karna, laughing mockingly:
"Hey, what were you doing in there? Sleeping? I went in for half a day and got five items. You spent the whole day for just one?"
Karna looked at the young one, not angry, just smiled lightly:
"I took what I needed."
"Needed?" The young one laughed loudly. "You only need one sword? So when facing danger without armor to protect you, you'll die?"
"I'll avoid it."
"Can't avoid in time?"
"I'll endure it."
The young one shook his head:
"Foolish! People like you die quickly!"
He turned away, still laughing mockingly.
Karna didn't respond. He just stood still, holding the sword, eyes calm.
Mammon stood in the distance, looking at Karna, brow furrowing. Something about that young god... was different. But he didn't think much about it.
The light from the golden gate began flickering faster.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Then with a deep rumbling boom, the gate began sinking into the ground.
Slowly. Inch by inch. As if retreating into the earth.
When the gate sank completely, the ground closed slowly. Then silence.
No trace remained. As if there had never been a gate there.
A god asked:
"Now... what do we do now?"
Mammon answered:
"Elyndo said to rest. So go rest."
The gods nodded, began departing in small groups, carrying treasures.
Mammon found a secluded corner at the square's edge. A flat area of ground, dry, with a large boulder for shelter. He carefully set down his pile of treasures, arranging each item in order.
Then he sat beside them, back against the boulder, hand still resting on the pile. Even while resting, he didn't want to be far from them.
The sky darkened. No moon, no stars, only thick darkness enveloping. But from the Eternal Palace, faint light emanated, enough to see surroundings.
Mammon closed his eyes. Breath slowly steadying. Exhaustion after a long day finally descended.
He sank into sleep.
In his dream, he saw himself standing on one of the seven golden thrones, the highest throne, the center throne, the Throne of Humility where Michael sat. But in the dream, it was his throne.
Dazzling light surrounded him. Golden, brilliant, warm, radiating from his body as if he were the sun itself.
Below, countless gods bowed their heads. They knelt, they prostrated, they respectfully called his name:
"Mammon! Mammon! Mammon!"
The calls like tidal waves, caressing, sweet.
He laughed, laughed loud, laughed joyfully. The feeling of power sweet as honey flowing in his blood.
He raised his hand, and the light blazed brighter. The gods below bowed their heads deeper.
"That's right," he whispered in the dream. "This is my place. This is what I deserve."
But the dream didn't last.
Because light exploded.
Not gradually like dawn. But exploding, like a thousand suns simultaneously shattering right before his face.
Mammon jolted awake.
He screamed, a piercing scream, panicked. Eyes not yet opened. Blinding light pierced through his eyelids, stabbing straight into his brain.
"What—"
Before he could finish the sentence, his body was lifted up.
Not by anyone's hands. But by light.
White light like silk ribbons wrapped around him, tightening painlessly but irresistibly.
Mammon struggled, shouting:
"What's happening? Let me go!"
But the light didn't release. It pulled him up into the air, higher and higher, faster.
The space around began twisting. Earth, sky, the Eternal Palace, everything blurred into smears. Then shattered into pieces.
When Mammon opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the square.
He stood.
Feet pressed down on the ground. Hard. Cold as ice. He looked down.
Cracked earth. Barren. Gray-black like ash burned for thousands of years.
Chunks of earth big as arms, separated by deep cracks, wide as fingers, deep with no bottom, black as bottomless pits.
He bent down, looked into a crack near his feet. Deep. Very deep. No bottom. Only pitch-black darkness swallowing everything.
He shuddered, stood straight, looked around.
The wasteland stretched endlessly in all directions. No mountains, no rivers, no trees. Only dry earth extending to the hazy horizon.
Gray overcast sky. No sun, no moon, no stars. Only dim light from somewhere unknown pouring down.
Wind blew past, bitterly cold. Mammon hugged himself, shivering. The wind carried a strange smell, dry, dusty, and something rancid like ashes mixed with corpses.
He covered his nose, turned away.
Then he realized he wasn't alone here.
The other gods too. Appearing scattered across the land. Everyone's faces bewildered, frightened.
Some shouted:
"What's happening?"
"Elyndo! Where is Elyndo?"
"I want to go back!"
But no one answered. Only the sound of wind blowing past, cold, lonely.
Mammon turned to the side, heart pounding.
And he sighed with relief.
The pile of treasures was still there.
Stacked high beside him, each item gleaming under the gray light. Everything intact, not one item missing.
"Still here... Thank goodness..."
He was about to approach when he heard sounds.
Not one. But many. Very many.
Sounds of breathing. Gasping. Labored.
Sounds of footsteps. Dragging. Scraping on the ground.
Sounds of crying. Moaning. Soft from deep in throats.
Mammon startled, spun around.
And he saw.
From the cracks in the ground, hands began emerging.
Slowly. One finger. Then two. Then the whole hand.
Not normal hands. But horrifying hands, skeletal thin, skin stretched tight as paper, finger bones protruding at each joint, nails long and curved yellow.
Those hands clung to the earth's edge, nails clawing at stone. Then pulled. Slowly but persistently.
Arms emerged. Then heads.
Mammon stepped back, swallowing with difficulty.
The first person crawled out completely from the crack.
A man. Or had been.
White hair, nearly all fallen out. Scalp dry and cracked like parched earth.
Face gaunt to the point of horror, jawbone protruding, cheeks sunken deep inward, skin stretched tight over cheekbones.
Eyes sunk deep into sockets, pupils cloudy like foggy glass, but still seeing, looking toward Mammon with desperately yearning eyes.
Lips cracked into pieces, peeling, revealing dry black gums. Yellow teeth, several already fallen out. Dry cracked tongue lolling out.
Body just skin over bones. Ribs protruding clearly. Belly completely collapsed. Arms thin as kindling.
He crawled. Dragged his body with two hands. Legs powerless, just trailing behind, leaving a wet trail on the ground, not red blood, but black viscous fluid, reeking.
Each crawling beat, bones hitting the ground, clicking.
Mouth gaping, jaw trembling, trying to speak. Voice like old paper rubbing together:
"H... hungry..."
Just one word. But enough to make Mammon shudder from neck to spine.
He stepped back another step.
But behind him similar sounds. He turned his head, another soul also crawling out.
Mammon turned left, two more souls emerging.
To the right, three souls.
Ahead, five souls.
They crawled out ceaselessly. From all directions. From every crack in the ground.
Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.
The dragging crawling sounds merged into a horrifying noise, like ocean waves hitting shore, but instead of water sounds were bones scraping on earth, gasping breaths, weak moans.
Mammon stood in the center, spinning around, heart pounding as if about to burst.
They didn't attack. Just crawled slowly, persistently. The encircling ring tightening.
A few meters. Then one meter. Then half a meter.
Mammon looked down at the pile of treasures beside him, now like a small island in a sea of souls. He backed against the pile of treasures.
Then a soul's hand touched his pant leg.
Mammon startled, kicked out, the hand released, but immediately another hand from behind touched his back.
He spun and pushed away.
But too many. They came from all sides.
Pleading voices rose like waves:
"Please... please..."
"Hungry... so hungry..."
"Cold... save me..."
"Give me... just a little... anything..."
Voices overlapping each other, creating a horrifying chorus of despair.
Mammon covered his ears, but useless. The sounds still seeped in, still echoing in his head.
He shouted:
"Enough! Don't come near me!"
But they didn't listen. Or listened but couldn't stop. They still crawled. Still pleaded.
Mammon wasn't the only one.
Across the wasteland, the other gods also faced similar situations.
A young god, face pale, backing away:
"Go elsewhere! I have nothing!"
But he did have a gleaming silver shield from the treasury. The souls saw it, crawled toward it.
Another god knelt down, clutching his pile of treasures:
"Mine! This is mine!"
A tall god drew his sword, pointing straight at the souls:
"Come closer and I'll strike!"
But the souls weren't afraid. They still crawled forward, eyes only on the weapon.
Screams, pleas, cries, all merged into a chaotic symphony.
Then light blazed up.
Not from the ground. But from above.
Blinding white light, forcing everyone, both gods and souls, to look up.
The souls stopped crawling, turned their heads up. The gods also looked up, shielding their eyes.
Elyndo appeared.
Not gradually like before. But bursting forth instantly, towering form, light from Him pouring down like a waterfall, sweeping away darkness.
His voice echoed across the wasteland:
"Enough."
Just two words. But everything fell silent immediately.
The souls stopped completely. The gods stopped breathing, no one dared speak.
Elyndo looked down, eyes sweeping across each god, each pile of treasures, each soul kneeling around them.
Then He spoke, deliberate, clear:
"What do you see around you?"
No one answered.
Elyndo continued:
"Souls. Thousands of souls. They are dying. They need help."
He paused.
"And you, have in your hands what they need."
Light from Him shone down on each pile of treasures beside the gods. Weapons gleaming. Armor shining. Jade, elixirs, food, water.
"So tell Me... what will you do?"
Heavy silence.
Mammon looked down at his pile of treasures. Then looked at the souls around him, they were looking at him, eyes full of tiny hope.
He swallowed, not knowing how to answer.
Elyndo, as if reading his thoughts, spoke more clearly:
"This is not a command. I do not force you."
"Give or not give, is your decision."
"But remember... every decision has consequences. And I will see all."
Then the light from Him dimmed.
His form didn't vanish, just retreated higher, becoming a small point of light in the gray sky, observing from afar.
The gods stood there, looking at each other.
The souls also stood still, no, they knelt, looking up at the gods, waiting.
No one dared move first.
Then a god stepped forward.
A middle-aged god, thin shoulders but steady. He looked down at the blue jade in his hand, the most precious item he'd taken from the treasury.
Then he knelt down, held out the jade to the nearest soul:
"Take it. You need it more than I do."
The soul tremblingly received the jade, clutching it to their chest. Gentle blue light radiated from the jade, seeping into the soul's body.
Their skin gradually filled out more. Ribs no longer protruding. Cheeks no longer sunken deep. Eyes from cloudy turning clearer.
Breathing steadier. No longer wheezing, choking. But slow, deep, each breath as if drawing in life.
They looked at the god, tears streaming:
"Thank you... Thank you... I will remember this kindness... forever..."
The middle-aged god smiled, nodded lightly. Just stood up, turned to another soul.
A warrior lying nearby, deep wound on his shoulder, black blood flowing. The god looked down at the sword in his hand. That was the second item he'd taken. A good sword, sharp, with power.
He knelt down, placed the sword in the warrior's hand:
"Take it. You are a warrior. You need it more than I do."
The warrior gaped:
"But... but this is a precious weapon..."
"I took it to protect. But you need it to live. Take it."
The warrior grasped the sword, squeezed tight. Light from the sword flowed into the wound, healing from within. Blood stopped flowing. Flesh closed. Strength returned.
The warrior stood up, knelt before the god, bowed deeply:
"This debt... I will repay with my life if needed..."
The god shook his head:
"No need to repay. Just live well."
Then he continued. Took armor, gave it to another soul. Took an elixir vial, gave it away. Took a parchment scroll, handed it over.
Item by item. Kept nothing. No hesitation.
Until he had nothing left. All five items he'd taken from the treasury were given away.
He stood there, empty-handed, nothing left. But around him, five souls had been saved, standing up, looking at him with eyes that couldn't be expressed in words.
The god smiled. A gentle smile, serene. As if he'd just done the most right thing in his life.
That action was like a breeze blowing across the wasteland.
The other gods saw. They saw the first person give everything away, saw five souls saved, saw the smile on his face.
Then another god also stepped forward.
A tall god, face scarred and rough. He looked down at his pile of treasures. Eight items.
He hesitated slightly. Then took a deep breath, began giving.
A long spear, gave to a warrior. A pair of iron gauntlets, gave to a blacksmith. A red medicine vial, gave to the wounded.
He gave away six items. Kept the last two.
Looked down at those two items. A small shield and a white jade. He needed them. If he gave everything, he'd have nothing left to protect himself.
But then he looked to the side. An old soul still knelt there, looking at him, eyes full of hope.
The god sighed. Then held out the shield:
"Take it."
The old one received it, eyes brightening.
The god still had the white jade left. He gripped it tightly, didn't want to let go.
But a child crawled over, looked up at him, said nothing, just looked.
The god closed his eyes, bit his lip. Then held out the jade:
"Take... Take it all..."
His voice trembled, as if giving away part of his soul.
The child received it, clutched it tight, smiled for the first time.
The god stood up, having nothing, breathing heavily. But in his heart... strangely light.
Then more people stepped forward. And more. And more.
One god gave away all ten items.
One god gave away nine items, kept one.
One god gave away seven items, kept three.
One god gave away five items, kept five.
Everyone gave at least something. But different amounts. Different decisions.
Some gave out of compassion. Some gave fearing Elyndo's judgment. Some gave because they saw others giving. Some gave because... they didn't know what else to do.
Different reasons. But the same action. Giving.
Sounds of gratitude rose across the wasteland like waves. Saved souls stood up, bowed, cried, laughed, clutching those items as if clutching life itself.
But not everyone gave.
A few gods still stood motionless, clutching their piles of treasures, refusing to let go.
A young god, face pale, shook his head hard when souls approached:
"No! Go elsewhere! I have nothing for you!"
But he did have. A pile of treasures knee-high sitting right beside him. The souls saw, pleaded. But he turned away, wouldn't look.
Another tall god, face cold as ice, drew his sword pointing straight at the souls:
"Come closer and I'll strike!"
The souls frightened, backed away, didn't dare approach.
And Mammon.
He stood amidst his pile of treasures, looking around.
Saw the other gods giving. Saw souls being saved. Saw smiles, tears, thanks.
Then he looked down at his pile of treasures. Twenty-four items. More than most other gods.
Around him, thirty souls still knelt there, looking at him, waiting.
He knew he should give. He saw everyone doing it.
But...
He looked at the thunderstone sword. If he gave it away, he'd be weaker.
He looked at the black armor. Giving it away meant being more vulnerable.
He looked at the blue jade. Giving it away meant losing his power source.
In his head, two voices argued fiercely:
"Give it away. They're dying."
"But if I give everything, I'll die too."
"You won't die. You're stronger than them."
"But later? If I face danger? What will I do?"
"Worry about that later. They need you now."
"Why? Why must I sacrifice for them?"
Mammon clenched his fists, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Then he reached down, lifted an item.
Not the thunderstone sword gleaming blue. Not the black armor shining like a mirror. Not the blue jade containing pure life force.
But a small silver bracelet.
Carved with intricate patterns, had some power, but not much. Among the twenty-four items, this was one of the least valuable.
He held it up, examined it. Silver light glinting under the gray sky. Light. Small. Not worth much.
He held it out to the nearest soul, a woman skeletal thin, hair all fallen out, skin wrinkled:
"Take it."
His voice not warm like the other gods. Cold. Stiff. As if giving because forced, not because wanting to.
The woman tremblingly received it, put it on her wrist. Gentle light radiated from the bracelet, seeping into her body. Flesh filled out a bit more. Very little. But enough to breathe easier.
She looked at Mammon, eyes wet:
"Thank you... Thank you..."
Mammon nodded curtly, didn't look at her anymore. He turned to the next person.
A middle-aged man, cheeks sunken deep, eyes hollow in sockets. Mammon looked down at his pile of treasures, picked up an iron gauntlet. Also not an important item. Just a regular gauntlet, with some defense.
He held it out:
"Take it."
The man received it, put it on. Light strength radiated, helping him stand steadier.
"Thank you... I..."
"No need to speak."
Mammon cut him off, voice cold. He didn't want to hear thanks. Because the more he heard, the more he felt... something wasn't right.
He continued.
Third person, a child. He gave a small medicine vial.
Fourth person, a warrior. He gave a small shield.
Fifth person, an old person. He gave a roll of bandages.
He gave like this, person by person, item by item. But only small trivial items. Items he could let go without regret.
The truly important items, he didn't touch.
The thunderstone sword still lay in the pile. The black armor still neatly arranged. The blue jade still in the wooden box. The parchment scrolls with powerful magic still bound tight with red silk.
He gave until the tenth item, then stopped.
Looked around. Ten souls had been saved, standing up, thanking him then backing away. But still twenty more souls knelt there, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
Mammon looked down at the remaining pile of treasures. Fourteen items.
If he gave more, he could save more people. But he would lose more.
He hesitated. Hand placed on a silver ring, lifted it, then put it down. Lifted it again, then put it down again.
Give or not give?
An old soul, skin wrinkled like old tree bark, crawled a bit closer, didn't dare get too close, just stopped a few inches away, voice trembling weakly:
"Please... I also... I also need... just a little... anything..."
Mammon looked at the old one. Then looked down at the silver ring. Not too important. He could give it.
But... if he gave, then others would also ask. Then he'd have to give more. Then more. Until nothing remained.
He bit his lip, clenched his fist.
Then he picked up the ring, held it out:
"Take it. But this is the last one."
The old one gaped, eyes brightening:
"Last...? But... but there are still many people..."
"I've given enough."
Mammon's voice hard, unyielding.
The old one tremblingly received the ring, put it on their finger. Gentle light radiated, helping them breathe easier.
"Thank you... But those others..."
"Not my responsibility."
Mammon turned away, wouldn't look anymore.
The old one fell silent, looked at the other souls still kneeling there, not yet saved. Then they sighed, crawled away.
Mammon stood amidst thirteen remaining treasures and nineteen unsaved souls.
He didn't look at them. Just turned his back, standing like a wall between them and the pile of treasures.
A young soul, small gaunt face, wide eyes looking at him, voice sobbing:
"Please... just a little... I'll die... please..."
Mammon didn't turn around. Just shook his head:
"I've already given eleven items. That's enough."
"But... but I'm still dying... I don't want to die..."
"That's not my fault."
His voice cold as ice.
The young soul looked at him a moment longer, then eyes slowly lost their light. She didn't plead anymore. Just lay down beside the crack, curled up, waiting for death.
Mammon heard the sound of her lying down. Heard weak breathing. Heard quiet sobbing.
But he didn't turn around. Didn't want to look.
Because if he looked, he would see. And if he saw, he would have to decide. And he didn't want to decide anymore.
He just stood there, hand resting on the remaining pile of treasures, as if wanting to protect them from everyone.
Around him, the unsaved souls slowly lay down. They didn't plead anymore. Because they knew it was useless.
They just lay there, breathing weakening, looking up at the gray sky, waiting for death to come.
Some cried quietly. Some closed their eyes accepting. Some still looked at Mammon, eyes not resentful, just... sad.
Inside Mammon, two voices still argued:
"You see? They're dying. Because of you."
"Not because of me. I didn't kill them. I just... didn't save them."
"That's also killing."
"No! I already gave eleven items! I've done enough!"
"But you still have thirteen items. You can save more."
"Then if I save everyone, I'll have nothing left. I'll be weak. I'll die."
"You won't die. You're a god. You're much stronger than them."
"But..."
The second voice interjected, sweet, gentle, as if soothing:
"You've done enough. Eleven items. More than some others. You don't need to give more."
"I... I've done enough... right?"
"That's right. You're smart. You know to keep for yourself. Not like those fools who gave everything away and have nothing left."
Mammon sighed with relief. The second voice was right. He'd done enough. He didn't need to sacrifice more.
He tightened his grip on the pile of treasures, as if wanting to merge with them.
Not far away, Karna was still walking among the souls.
He'd already given away the only sword from the treasury. Already given away the golden armor fused to his body. Already given away both golden earrings. Blood still flowing from his chest, from his ears, staining half his body red.
But there were still souls needing help.
Another warrior soul, deep wound in his stomach, intestines exposed, black blood flowing, lying curled on the ground:
"Please... it hurts so much... I can't bear it... please... kill me to stop the pain..."
Karna knelt beside the warrior, looked at the wound. Deep. Wide. Dangerous. Needed something powerful to heal.
But he had nothing left from the treasury. No armor left. No earrings. No weapons.
He only had... himself.
Karna looked down at his own hand. Then he brought his hand to his mouth, bit down hard on his finger, tore the flesh. Painful. But he didn't cry out. Just bit deeper until blood flowed bright red.
He held out his hand, let blood drip into the warrior's wound.
Drops of blood fell, soaked into the wound. A god's blood had power. It seeped inside, began healing from deep within the organs. The wound slowly closed. Intestines drew back in. Flesh reconnected.
The warrior gaped, eyes wide:
"You... you're giving your own blood...? But... but you'll become weaker..."
Karna smiled, voice gentle:
"Blood will regenerate. But your life won't."
He continued giving blood until the wound was nearly healed. Then he withdrew his hand, took a piece of cloth torn from his own clothes, wrapped his bleeding finger.
The warrior stood up, healthy again, touched his stomach, no wound remained. He looked at Karna with indescribable eyes:
"I... I don't know what to say... This debt... I will repay with my life..."
"No need to repay. Just live well."
Karna stood up, dizzy for a moment from blood loss. The world spun. He had to brace his hand on the ground to avoid falling.
But he still stepped forward. Because there were still people needing help.
Another soul, a small child, skeletal thin, lying curled up, shivering from cold:
"Cold... so cold... mother... I'm cold..."
Karna walked over, knelt down. He had nothing left to give. No cloth left to cover. No fire left to warm.
But he had body heat.
He embraced the child, used his own body as a windbreak. Warmth from his body transferred to the child. Slowly, the child stopped shivering. Breathed more evenly. Eyes closed, fell asleep in his arms.
Karna sat there, holding the child, not moving. Blood still flowing from his chest, from his ears. He grew weaker. More tired.
But he still sat. Because if he let go, the child would be cold again.
The other gods saw Karna. They watched him sitting there, holding the child, blood staining half his body, but still smiling gently.
A god whispered:
"He... he's already given everything... Now he's giving even his blood... even his body heat..."
"He'll die..."
"Why does he do this...?"
No one could answer.
Mammon also saw.
He stood in the distance, watching Karna sitting among the souls, holding the child, body shivering from cold and blood loss.
Then he looked down at himself. Thirteen treasures still intact. He was warm. Healthy. Safe.
But in his heart... empty.
He looked at Karna. The one who had nothing left. But was regarded by ten souls with indescribable gratitude. Had the child sleeping peacefully in his arms. Had the warrior standing nearby protecting him like a benefactor.
And him?
He looked around himself. The eleven souls he'd saved stood far away, didn't come close. They thanked him, but didn't have the warm eyes like they looked at Karna. Just polite thanks, distant.
The nineteen unsaved souls lay around him, looking at him with eyes... sad.
Not resentful. Not angry. Just sad.
As if they understood. Understood that he was afraid. Afraid of losing. Afraid of weakness. Afraid of death.
And they accepted. Accepted that they would die in place of his fear.
Mammon clenched his fists, breathed heavily.
In his head, the sweet voice rang out again:
"You did right. Don't listen to that foolish conscience. You need to live. You're more important than them."
Mammon nodded slightly, as if trying to convince himself.
Right. He did right. He needed to live.
Then light blazed up from above.
Stronger than before. More blinding. Like a thousand suns burning together.
Everyone looked up.
Elyndo slowly descended from the sky, light from Him sweeping away all darkness, illuminating the entire wasteland.
His voice echoed, not loud but penetrating everything:
"Enough."
Everyone fell silent. Whoever was giving stopped. Whoever was pleading shut their mouths. Whoever was lying waiting for death opened their eyes looking up.
Elyndo hovered in midair, looked down, swept across each god, each soul.
"I have seen all."
He paused, letting the words sink into each mind.
"Who gave much. Who gave little. Who gave nothing."
"Who gave from the heart. Who gave from fear. Who kept from greed."
"Who gave until the last drop of blood. Who only gave what could be discarded."
His voice deepened, heavy as a mountain:
"Now... let Me judge."
The air froze.
No one dared move. No one dared breathe loud. Only cold wind blowing past, carrying the smell of ashes and heavy silence.
Elyndo hovered in midair, light from Him pouring down like a white curtain covering the entire land. In that light, everything was revealed. Nothing could be hidden. Nothing could be deceived.
He looked down, eyes sweeping across each god.
Then He spoke, calling the first name:
"Hephaestus."
The middle-aged god, the first person to give away all five items from the treasury, startled, stepped forward. He bowed deeply, didn't dare look straight at Elyndo.
Elyndo looked at him, voice not cold, but gentle:
"You had five items. You gave away all five. Kept nothing for yourself."
Hephaestus nodded slightly:
"Yes, My Lord."
"Why?"
A simple question. But heavy.
Hephaestus was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he answered, voice sincere:
"Because... because they needed it more than I did. I can find more later. But they... if they didn't get help immediately, they would die."
Elyndo nodded gently:
"You gave out of compassion. Because you understood their suffering. That is Charity."
Hephaestus sighed with relief.
Elyndo continued:
"But you also had some fear. You were afraid if you didn't give, I would punish you."
Hephaestus startled, looked up, eyes wide. How did Elyndo know? He hadn't said it. But it was true that deep in his heart, when deciding to give the last item, he had thought about Elyndo watching.
Elyndo smiled lightly, not angry:
"It's alright. Fear is normal. As long as you still gave. That's still Charity, though not perfect."
Hephaestus bowed deeply:
"I understand, My Lord."
Elyndo waved his hand, Hephaestus stepped back, stood to one side.
Elyndo called the next name:
"Tyr."
The tall god, who had given away eight items, kept nothing, stepped forward. Also bowed, didn't dare look straight.
Elyndo looked at him:
"You had eight items. At first only gave six. Kept two. But in the end, you still gave the last two items."
Tyr nodded:
"Yes, My Lord."
"Why did you hesitate?"
Tyr swallowed:
"Because... because I was afraid. Afraid if I gave everything, I'd have nothing left to protect myself. But then I saw... saw them dying. I couldn't... couldn't let them die when I still had a way to save them."
Elyndo nodded:
"You fought with yourself. But in the end, compassion defeated fear. That is Charity."
Tyr sighed with relief, bowed deeply:
"Thank you, My Lord."
Elyndo waved his hand, Tyr stepped back.
Elyndo continued calling names one by one. Each person a story. Each person a decision.
Some gave much out of true compassion.
Some gave much fearing judgment.
Some gave little fearing loss.
Some gave little thinking they'd done enough.
Elyndo didn't praise everyone. Didn't criticize everyone. He just clearly stated their reasons for giving. He saw everything. Saw even what they didn't say, even what they hid deep in their hearts.
A few gods hearing Elyndo speak their secret thoughts, faces flushed red, bowed heads ashamed.
A few gods praised, smiled with relief.
A few gods whose selfishness was pointed out, stood still not daring to move.
Then Elyndo called Mammon's name:
"Mammon."
The voice not loud. But Mammon felt like lightning striking his ears.
He startled, heart pounding like drums. He stepped forward, legs trembling, bowed deeply.
Elyndo looked down at him. Silence stretched for several beats. The atmosphere heavy to suffocating.
Then He spoke:
"You had twenty-four items from the treasury. The most of all."
Mammon nodded, didn't dare speak.
"You gave away eleven items."
Mammon nodded again.
"Kept thirteen items."
Mammon swallowed, breathed heavily.
Elyndo continued:
"Eleven items. In quantity, you gave more than most."
Mammon raised his head slightly, hope sparking in his eyes. Perhaps... perhaps he would be praised?
But Elyndo continued, voice colder:
"But I ask you: What did you give?"
Mammon gaped, not understanding:
"My Lord... I gave... gave bracelets, gauntlets, medicine, shields..."
"Correct. Trivial items. The least valuable items among the twenty-four."
Mammon's face paled.
Elyndo pointed down at the remaining pile of treasures beside Mammon:
"The thunderstone sword. The black armor. The blue jade. The magic parchment scroll. The most important items. You gave not one of them."
Mammon bit his lip, didn't know what to say.
Elyndo continued, voice like a cutting knife:
"You gave what you could lose. But kept what you wanted."
"That's not Charity. That's calculation."
Mammon bowed his head low, face flushed red. Ashamed. But also somewhat indignant. He'd given eleven items. Why was he still criticized?
As if reading his thoughts, Elyndo said:
"You think eleven items is much. But compared to twenty-four, that's not even half. You gave less than half of what you had."
"While Hephaestus gave all five items. Tyr gave all eight items."
"They gave everything. You only gave... what was extra."
Mammon wanted to argue. Wanted to say he was also afraid, he also needed to protect himself. But he didn't dare.
Because deep in his heart, he knew Elyndo was right.
Elyndo looked at Mammon for a long time, then sighed lightly:
"I understand your fear. Fear is normal. But Charity isn't giving without fear. It's giving despite fear."
"You gave because you feared judgment. Not because you pitied them."
Mammon couldn't argue. Because it was true. When deciding to give, he thought about Elyndo watching more than thinking about the dying souls.
Elyndo waved his hand:
"Step back."
Mammon stepped back, stood to one side, head bowed low. Heart heavy.
:
"Give it away. They're dying."
"But if I give everything, I'll die too."
"You won't die. You're stronger than them."
"But later? If I face danger? What will I do?"
"Worry about that later. They need you now."
"Why? Why must I sacrifice for them?"
Mammon clenched his fists, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Then he reached down, lifted an item.
Not the thunderstone sword gleaming blue. Not the black armor shining like a mirror. Not the blue jade containing pure life force.
But a small silver bracelet.
Carved with intricate patterns, had some power, but not much. Among the twenty-four items, this was one of the least valuable.
He held it up, examined it. Silver light glinting under the gray sky. Light. Small. Not worth much.
He held it out to the nearest soul, a woman skeletal thin, hair all fallen out, skin wrinkled:
"Take it."
His voice not warm like the other gods. Cold. Stiff. As if giving because forced, not because wanting to.
The woman tremblingly received it, put it on her wrist. Gentle light radiated from the bracelet, seeping into her body. Flesh filled out a bit more. Very little. But enough to breathe easier.
She looked at Mammon, eyes wet:
"Thank you... Thank you..."
Mammon nodded curtly, didn't look at her anymore. He turned to the next person.
A middle-aged man, cheeks sunken deep, eyes hollow in sockets. Mammon looked down at his pile of treasures, picked up an iron gauntlet. Also not an important item. Just a regular gauntlet, with some defense.
He held it out:
"Take it."
The man received it, put it on. Light strength radiated, helping him stand steadier.
"Thank you... I..."
"No need to speak."
Mammon cut him off, voice cold. He didn't want to hear thanks. Because the more he heard, the more he felt... something wasn't right.
He continued.
Third person, a child. He gave a small medicine vial.
Fourth person, a warrior. He gave a small shield.
Fifth person, an old person. He gave a roll of bandages.
He gave like this, person by person, item by item. But only small trivial items. Items he could let go without regret.
The truly important items, he didn't touch.
The thunderstone sword still lay in the pile. The black armor still neatly arranged. The blue jade still in the wooden box. The parchment scrolls with powerful magic still bound tight with red silk.
He gave until the tenth item, then stopped.
Looked around. Ten souls had been saved, standing up, thanking him then backing away. But still twenty more souls knelt there, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
Mammon looked down at the remaining pile of treasures. Fourteen items.
If he gave more, he could save more people. But he would lose more.
He hesitated. Hand placed on a silver ring, lifted it, then put it down. Lifted it again, then put it down again.
Give or not give?
An old soul, skin wrinkled like old tree bark, crawled a bit closer, didn't dare get too close, just stopped a few inches away, voice trembling weakly:
"Please... I also... I also need... just a little... anything..."
Mammon looked at the old one. Then looked down at the silver ring. Not too important. He could give it.
But... if he gave, then others would also ask. Then he'd have to give more. Then more. Until nothing remained.
He bit his lip, clenched his fist.
Then he picked up the ring, held it out:
"Take it. But this is the last one."
The old one gaped, eyes brightening:
"Last...? But... but there are still many people..."
"I've given enough."
Mammon's voice hard, unyielding.
The old one tremblingly received the ring, put it on their finger. Gentle light radiated, helping them breathe easier.
"Thank you... But those others..."
"Not my responsibility."
Mammon turned away, wouldn't look anymore.
The old one fell silent, looked at the other souls still kneeling there, not yet saved. Then they sighed, crawled away.
Mammon stood amidst thirteen remaining treasures and nineteen unsaved souls.
He didn't look at them. Just turned his back, standing like a wall between them and the pile of treasures.
A young soul, small gaunt face, wide eyes looking at him, voice sobbing:
"Please... just a little... I'll die... please..."
Mammon didn't turn around. Just shook his head:
"I've already given eleven items. That's enough."
"But... but I'm still dying... I don't want to die..."
"That's not my fault."
His voice cold as ice.
The young soul looked at him a moment longer, then eyes slowly lost their light. She didn't plead anymore. Just lay down beside the crack, curled up, waiting for death.
Mammon heard the sound of her lying down. Heard weak breathing. Heard quiet sobbing.
But he didn't turn around. Didn't want to look.
Because if he looked, he would see. And if he saw, he would have to decide. And he didn't want to decide anymore.
He just stood there, hand resting on the remaining pile of treasures, as if wanting to protect them from everyone.
Around him, the unsaved souls slowly lay down. They didn't plead anymore. Because they knew it was useless.
They just lay there, breathing weakening, looking up at the gray sky, waiting for death to come.
Some cried quietly. Some closed their eyes accepting. Some still looked at Mammon, eyes not resentful, just... sad.
Inside Mammon, two voices still argued:
"You see? They're dying. Because of you."
"Not because of me. I didn't kill them. I just... didn't save them."
"That's also killing."
"No! I already gave eleven items! I've done enough!"
"But you still have thirteen items. You can save more."
"Then if I save everyone, I'll have nothing left. I'll be weak. I'll die."
"You won't die. You're a god. You're much stronger than them."
"But..."
The second voice interjected, sweet, gentle, as if soothing:
"You've done enough. Eleven items. More than some others. You don't need to give more."
"I... I've done enough... right?"
"That's right. You're smart. You know to keep for yourself. Not like those fools who gave everything away and have nothing left."
Mammon sighed with relief. The second voice was right. He'd done enough. He didn't need to sacrifice more.
He tightened his grip on the pile of treasures, as if wanting to merge with them.
Not far away, Karna was still walking among the souls.
He'd already given away the only sword from the treasury. Already given away the golden armor fused to his body. Already given away both golden earrings. Blood still flowing from his chest, from his ears, staining half his body red.
But there were still souls needing help.
Another warrior soul, deep wound in his stomach, intestines exposed, black blood flowing, lying curled on the ground:
"Please... it hurts so much... I can't bear it... please... kill me to stop the pain..."
Karna knelt beside the warrior, looked at the wound. Deep. Wide. Dangerous. Needed something powerful to heal.
But he had nothing left from the treasury. No armor left. No earrings. No weapons.
He only had... himself.
Karna looked down at his own hand. Then he brought his hand to his mouth, bit down hard on his finger, tore the flesh. Painful. But he didn't cry out. Just bit deeper until blood flowed bright red.
He held out his hand, let blood drip into the warrior's wound.
Drops of blood fell, soaked into the wound. A god's blood had power. It seeped inside, began healing from deep within the organs. The wound slowly closed. Intestines drew back in. Flesh reconnected.
The warrior gaped, eyes wide:
"You... you're giving your own blood...? But... but you'll become weaker..."
Karna smiled, voice gentle:
"Blood will regenerate. But your life won't."
He continued giving blood until the wound was nearly healed. Then he withdrew his hand, took a piece of cloth torn from his own clothes, wrapped his bleeding finger.
The warrior stood up, healthy again, touched his stomach, no wound remained. He looked at Karna with indescribable eyes:
"I... I don't know what to say... This debt... I will repay with my life..."
"No need to repay. Just live well."
Karna stood up, dizzy for a moment from blood loss. The world spun. He had to brace his hand on the ground to avoid falling.
But he still stepped forward. Because there were still people needing help.
Another soul, a small child, skeletal thin, lying curled up, shivering from cold:
"Cold... so cold... mother... I'm cold..."
Karna walked over, knelt down. He had nothing left to give. No cloth left to cover. No fire left to warm.
But he had body heat.
He embraced the child, used his own body as a windbreak. Warmth from his body transferred to the child. Slowly, the child stopped shivering. Breathed more evenly. Eyes closed, fell asleep in his arms.
Karna sat there, holding the child, not moving. Blood still flowing from his chest, from his ears. He grew weaker. More tired.
But he still sat. Because if he let go, the child would be cold again.
The other gods saw Karna. They watched him sitting there, holding the child, blood staining half his body, but still smiling gently.
A god whispered:
"He... he's already given everything... Now he's giving even his blood... even his body heat..."
"He'll die..."
"Why does he do this...?"
No one could answer.
Mammon also saw.
He stood in the distance, watching Karna sitting among the souls, holding the child, body shivering from cold and blood loss.
Then he looked down at himself. Thirteen treasures still intact. He was warm. Healthy. Safe.
But in his heart... empty.
He looked at Karna. The one who had nothing left. But was regarded by ten souls with indescribable gratitude. Had the child sleeping peacefully in his arms. Had the warrior standing nearby protecting him like a benefactor.
And him?
He looked around himself. The eleven souls he'd saved stood far away, didn't come close. They thanked him, but didn't have the warm eyes like they looked at Karna. Just polite thanks, distant.
The nineteen unsaved souls lay around him, looking at him with eyes... sad.
Not resentful. Not angry. Just sad.
As if they understood. Understood that he was afraid. Afraid of losing. Afraid of weakness. Afraid of death.
And they accepted. Accepted that they would die in place of his fear.
Mammon clenched his fists, breathed heavily.
In his head, the sweet voice rang out again:
"You did right. Don't listen to that foolish conscience. You need to live. You're more important than them."
Mammon nodded slightly, as if trying to convince himself.
Right. He did right. He needed to live.
Then light blazed up from above.
Stronger than before. More blinding. Like a thousand suns burning together.
Everyone looked up.
Elyndo slowly descended from the sky, light from Him sweeping away all darkness, illuminating the entire wasteland.
His voice echoed, not loud but penetrating everything:
"Enough."
Everyone fell silent. Whoever was giving stopped. Whoever was pleading shut their mouths. Whoever was lying waiting for death opened their eyes looking up.
Elyndo hovered in midair, looked down, swept across each god, each soul.
"I have seen all."
He paused, letting the words sink into each mind.
"Who gave much. Who gave little. Who gave nothing."
"Who gave from the heart. Who gave from fear. Who kept from greed."
"Who gave until the last drop of blood. Who only gave what could be discarded."
His voice deepened, heavy as a mountain:
"Now... let Me judge."
The air froze.
No one dared move. No one dared breathe loud. Only cold wind blowing past, carrying the smell of ashes and heavy silence.
Elyndo hovered in midair, light from Him pouring down like a white curtain covering the entire land. In that light, everything was revealed. Nothing could be hidden. Nothing could be deceived.
He looked down, eyes sweeping across each god.
Then He spoke, calling the first name:
"Hephaestus."
The middle-aged god, the first person to give away all five items from the treasury, startled, stepped forward. He bowed deeply, didn't dare look straight at Elyndo.
Elyndo looked at him, voice not cold, but gentle:
"You had five items. You gave away all five. Kept nothing for yourself."
Hephaestus nodded slightly:
"Yes, My Lord."
"Why?"
A simple question. But heavy.
Hephaestus was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he answered, voice sincere:
"Because... because they needed it more than I did. I can find more later. But they... if they didn't get help immediately, they would die."
Elyndo nodded gently:
"You gave out of compassion. Because you understood their suffering. That is Charity."
Hephaestus sighed with relief.
Elyndo continued:
"But you also had some fear. You were afraid if you didn't give, I would punish you."
Hephaestus startled, looked up, eyes wide. How did Elyndo know? He hadn't said it. But it was true that deep in his heart, when deciding to give the last item, he had thought about Elyndo watching.
Elyndo smiled lightly, not angry:
"It's alright. Fear is normal. As long as you still gave. That's still Charity, though not perfect."
Hephaestus bowed deeply:
"I understand, My Lord."
Elyndo waved his hand, Hephaestus stepped back, stood to one side.
Elyndo called the next name:
"Tyr."
The tall god, who had given away eight items, kept nothing, stepped forward. Also bowed, didn't dare look straight.
Elyndo looked at him:
"You had eight items. At first only gave six. Kept two. But in the end, you still gave the last two items."
Tyr nodded:
"Yes, My Lord."
"Why did you hesitate?"
Tyr swallowed:
"Because... because I was afraid. Afraid if I gave everything, I'd have nothing left to protect myself. But then I saw... saw them dying. I couldn't... couldn't let them die when I still had a way to save them."
Elyndo nodded:
"You fought with yourself. But in the end, compassion defeated fear. That is Charity."
Tyr sighed with relief, bowed deeply:
"Thank you, My Lord."
Elyndo waved his hand, Tyr stepped back.
Elyndo continued calling names one by one. Each person a story. Each person a decision.
Some gave much out of true compassion.
Some gave much fearing judgment.
Some gave little fearing loss.
Some gave little thinking they'd done enough.
Elyndo didn't praise everyone. Didn't criticize everyone. He just clearly stated their reasons for giving. He saw everything. Saw even what they didn't say, even what they hid deep in their hearts.
A few gods hearing Elyndo speak their secret thoughts, faces flushed red, bowed heads ashamed.
A few gods praised, smiled with relief.
A few gods whose selfishness was pointed out, stood still not daring to move.
Then Elyndo called Mammon's name:
"Mammon."
The voice not loud. But Mammon felt like lightning striking his ears.
He startled, heart pounding like drums. He stepped forward, legs trembling, bowed deeply.
Elyndo looked down at him. Silence stretched for several beats. The atmosphere heavy to suffocating.
Then He spoke:
"You had twenty-four items from the treasury. The most of all."
Mammon nodded, didn't dare speak.
"You gave away eleven items."
Mammon nodded again.
"Kept thirteen items."
Mammon swallowed, breathed heavily.
Elyndo continued:
"Eleven items. In quantity, you gave more than most."
Mammon raised his head slightly, hope sparking in his eyes. Perhaps... perhaps he would be praised?
But Elyndo continued, voice colder:
"But I ask you: What did you give?"
Mammon gaped, not understanding:
"My Lord... I gave... gave bracelets, gauntlets, medicine, shields..."
"Correct. Trivial items. The least valuable items among the twenty-four."
Mammon's face paled.
Elyndo pointed down at the remaining pile of treasures beside Mammon:
"The thunderstone sword. The black armor. The blue jade. The magic parchment scroll. The most important items. You gave not one of them."
Mammon bit his lip, didn't know what to say.
Elyndo continued, voice like a cutting knife:
"You gave what you could lose. But kept what you wanted."
"That's not Charity. That's calculation."
Mammon bowed his head low, face flushed red. Ashamed. But also somewhat indignant. He'd given eleven items. Why was he still criticized?
As if reading his thoughts, Elyndo said:
"You think eleven items is much. But compared to twenty-four, that's not even half. You gave less than half of what you had."
"While Hephaestus gave all five items. Tyr gave all eight items."
"They gave everything. You only gave... what was extra."
Mammon wanted to argue. Wanted to say he was also afraid, he also needed to protect himself. But he didn't dare.
Because deep in his heart, he knew Elyndo was right.
Elyndo looked at Mammon for a long time, then sighed lightly:
"I understand your fear. Fear is normal. But Charity isn't giving without fear. It's giving despite fear."
"You gave because you feared judgment. Not because you pitied them."
Mammon couldn't argue. Because it was true. When deciding to give, he thought about Elyndo watching more than thinking about the dying souls.
Elyndo waved his hand:
"Step back."
Mammon stepped back, stood to one side, head bowed low. Heart heavy.
Then Elyndo called the final name:
"Karna."
Whispers rose everywhere. The gods turned looking toward Karna, who was sitting among the souls, still holding the child.
Karna slowly stood up, gently placed the child down, let it lie on the cloth he'd torn from his clothes. Then he stepped forward.
His body full of wounds. Dried blood stuck on his chest, on his ears, on his hands. No golden armor left. No gleaming earrings. Only bare flesh, weak.
But he still walked steadily. Still raised his head looking at Elyndo, unafraid.
Elyndo looked down at Karna. Prolonged silence. His gaze softened.
Then He spoke, gently:
"You only had one item from the treasury. One sword."
Karna nodded:
"Yes, My Lord."
"You gave away that sword."
"Yes."
"Then you gave away your armor. Armor born with you. Fused to your body. Separation was painful. But you still gave."
Karna didn't answer, just nodded.
"Then you gave away your earrings. Also born with you. Also painful when separated. But you still gave."
Elyndo paused, looked at the wound on Karna's hand:
"Then you gave even your blood. Gave even your body heat. Until you grew weak, cold, near death."
"Why?"
A simple question. But heavy.
Karna was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he answered, voice sincere:
"Because they needed it. And I... I could endure."
"You weren't afraid of death?"
"Afraid, My Lord. I was also afraid."
"Then why still give?"
Karna smiled lightly:
"Because fear of death is less than fear of watching them die while doing nothing."
Silence.
Elyndo looked at Karna for a long time. Then He nodded, voice warm:
"That is true Charity."
"Not giving much. But giving from the heart."
"Not giving what's extra. But giving even what's needed."
"Not giving from fear of judgment. But giving out of compassion for people."
Elyndo raised His hand, light radiating:
"Karna. You are worthy."
The surrounding gods whispered. Mammon stood in the distance, eyes wide.
Worthy? Meaning...
Elyndo continued:
"But..."
The whispers stopped. Everyone fell silent, waiting.
Elyndo looked at Karna:
"You now have nothing left. No strength left to protect. No armor to shield your body. Easy to wound. Easy to die."
Karna nodded:
"I know, My Lord."
"A Pillar must stand firm. Must exist long-term to maintain order. If you die early, who will bear Charity?"
Karna was silent, didn't know how to answer.
Elyndo turned to Mammon:
"Mammon. You gave less than Karna proportionally. But you still have strength. Still healthy. Can exist long-term."
Mammon raised his head, hope sparking.
Elyndo looked at both:
"One person gives from the heart but is weak. One person calculates but is strong."
"So who do I choose?"
Heavy silence.
Everyone held their breath, waiting.
Elyndo looked at Karna. Then looked at Mammon. Then looked at Karna again.
Finally, He spoke:
"I choose... Mammon."