Editor : Amethyst00



It was a temple made of ice.

Like a structure carved from crystal, the temple exuded a frigid cold.

So cold that an ordinary person could lose their life simply by breathing in.

Inside that temple stood figures dressed in pure white robes.

Each one had a beautifully sculpted face.

But their pale blue skin revealed the truth—they were not creatures of the surface, but demons.

These were none other than the Saints and Priestesses, loyal followers of Nyx, known as the Frozen Death.

The third Priestess, Phyry, turned to the one seated at the highest place—Acheron of Sorrow, the First Saint.

"O Acheron. Has the Goddess once again fallen into a deep sleep?"

To Phyry's question, Acheron silently nodded.

The Third Saint, Phlegethon, slammed his hand down on the armrest of his chair.

Bang!

"How can this be? Wasn't the Flame of Calamity supposed to be dormant?"

He looked genuinely confused.

Ever since Nyx, the Frozen Death, had resurrected—not as a mere fragment of Erebos, but as an evil god with a will of her own—the demons of Styx, awakened from their long slumber, had come to realize one thing immediately:

The Flame of Calamity, Erebos, no longer existed in this world.

Realizing this, the Saints and Priestesses of Styx were convinced of Tartaros's destruction—and they rejoiced from the depths of their hearts.

Though the reason was unknown, if Erebos, the evil god of Tartaros, was gone, then there was no one left who could stop Nyx.

Though both were referred to as demons, Styx and Tartaros had been bitter enemies since the moment of their creation.

Their hatred for each other stemmed from the conflicting wishes of the evil gods they served:

Erebos, who desired to burn everything—including himself—into nothingness.

Nyx, who longed to freeze the world into an eternal stillness and meet death in an unchanging form.

Their ideologies were inherently irreconcilable.

And so, the demons who sought to fulfill their gods' wishes—Tartaros and Styx—were destined never to unite.

"This time, I truly believed we could burn every last one of those abominations to ash and purify them!"

The third Priestess, Phyry, shouted furiously.

Her pale blue skin momentarily turned orange, and the surrounding temperature spiked sharply.

The Saints and Priestesses of Styx were akin to the generals of Tartaros.

There were four Saints and four Priestesses, each paired together to lead one of Styx's four knightly orders.

One would command and lead, while the other wielded overwhelming power to bring death to their enemies.

Among them, the third pair—Phyry, Priestess of Fire, and Phlegethon, Saint of Blood—were special.

They led the Order of Purification, and it was Phyry who embodied the strength of the order.

Though her powers opposed her master's, Phyry's role was to burn the grotesque filth of the world in purification.

Then, with the ashes, Phlegethon would create rivers of blood to flow alongside the Order.

Nyx sought a frozen world of eternal death—a world she considered her perfect masterpiece.

Before freezing the world, she wanted all that did not meet her standard of beauty to be burned away.

From that desire, the third Saint and Priestess were born.

And so, the Order of Purification came to harbor the deepest hatred toward Tartaros—the embodiment of grotesquery.

In response to Phyry and Phlegethon's rage, Acheron spoke:

"The Flame of Calamity has been sealed. But the one known as the Lich King—a corps commander—has learned to wield his master's power."

"Hah. Reduced to lending his power to a mere creation after being sealed?"

"Truly the work of a vulgar evil god who only spawns grotesque beings. No sense of dignity."

Phlegethon and Phyry smirked with contempt.

Watching them, the Fourth Saint—Lethe of Oblivion—spoke up.

"O Acheron of Sorrow… has the Second Saint, Cocytus, awakened?"

"He has not."

The First and Fourth Priestesses had perished in the war against Tartaros before Styx fell into slumber. Their positions remained vacant.

Now, even the Second Priestess had vanished.

With her disappearance, the Order of Repose, tied to her fate, had been erased from existence.

Lethe fell into thought.

"So? What's so remarkable about this Hero Record and these so-called heroes?"

Phyry asked in a bored tone.

She had burned countless enemies and held absolute confidence in her destructive power. She never once took Acheron's warnings seriously.

'They're nothing but slave races.' she scoffed inwardly.

She let out a snide laugh.

"The Hero Record is just a relic the celestial gods once used, isn't it? Why take it so seriously?"

Phlegethon frowned.

"The Second Priestess was killed… by a human."

"She was weak—tragically so. Surprising that she fell to a slave race, but… accidents happen, do they not?"

"She had received the Goddess's blessing before entering her slumber," Acheron said quietly.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

"She was granted permission to become 'immortal,' even if only briefly. And yet she was still destroyed."

"That's even possible?"

Lethe looked utterly shocked.

"A mere human defeating one blessed with the Authority of Immortality… That's unthinkable."

Even Nyx, once devoured by Erebos, had managed to return after countless years.

That alone showed how powerful immortality truly was.

"I couldn't believe it either. So I looked into the history of this era."

The other Saints and Priestesses looked puzzled.

What meaning could the history of lower beings possibly have?

"The Flame of Calamity, who devoured all evil gods, and Tartaros nearly burned the world to ash 5,000 years ago."

"He committed such blasphemy?!"

Phlegethon erupted in fury.

Lethe placed a hand on his shoulder.

In that moment, his rage vanished—forgotten.

"So? If he had devoured six evil gods, that should have been more than enough. Then why does the world still exist? Did he self-destruct, unable to control the power?"

Lethe asked calmly, and Acheron answered.

"No, the world was brought to the brink of destruction. And at that moment, beings known as the Great Heroes appeared."

"Great Heroes?"

"They were the champions chosen to represent the five races of the surface world."

"And what did these so-called Great Heroes do? Don't tell me you're going to say the five of them defeated the Flame of Calamity. That's not even a good joke."

"Acheron, I thought you had no sense of humor. Maybe I was wrong," Phyry and Phlegethon laughed aloud.

"Do you think I gathered you here to tell jokes?"

At Acheron's chilling voice, Phyry and Phlegethon fell silent.

Even Lethe looked at him in disbelief.

"That can't be true. The surface races were blessed with the Curse of Forgetting. Couldn't they have just made it all up?"

To Lethe's question, Acheron held up a fragment of the Hero Record.

"The deeds of the Great Heroes are recorded in the Hero Record. The surface dwellers may have forgotten—but the Record system does not lie."

This was a shocking revelation to the demons of Styx.

To beings who had existed long before the Age of Gods, the idea that mortals could possess the power to defeat an evil god was unimaginable.

While they sat in stunned silence—

"There's no need to be surprised. Those Great Heroes vanished 5,000 years ago."

Acheron said with a smirk.

"And even the gods disappeared completely, leaving behind this 'Hero Record,' into which they poured all their remaining power."

"What exactly is this artifact?"

"It's a kind of hero cultivation system. A mechanism that allows one to inherit the powers and experiences of the heroes recorded in it. And by achieving great deeds, new names are added, continuing the cycle. The system seems damaged now… but it's still operational."

Acheron placed the Hero Record on the table.

"Most likely, one of today's humans inherited the power of the hero who defeated Erebos 5,000 years ago. That must be the one who destroyed the Second Priestess."

"Inheriting power…"

"And so, this era is now called the Age of Heroes."

"The Age of Heroes?"

"Yes. After our slumber came the Age of Gods. Then the Age of Calamity, when the Flame of Calamity nearly destroyed the world. And now, since the defeat of that flame 5,000 years ago—this era ruled by heroes."

"Ha! Mortal fools leading the world? Ridiculous."

Phyry scoffed.

"I don't understand the gods' logic," Lethe said, bewildered.

Phlegethon sneered.

"Are not those celestials just ignorant beings who won't fulfill their duties unless it brings them pleasure?"

To that, Acheron responded.

"For us, this is good news."

The Saints and Priestesses turned toward him.

"All we must do is inform the surface dwellers—that their true master has returned."

Unlike Erebos, who reduced all to ash, Nyx had once ruled as a goddess.

Promising eternal stasis, she seduced the races of the surface.

Before the Age of Gods, during the height of Styx's power, all of humanity once worshipped Nyx.

"How shall we let them know? Surely they've forgotten our existence."

To Lethe's question, Acheron replied:

"No matter what they say about this Age of Heroes, they're nothing more than false champions chosen by the gods of the heavens."

Acheron looked deep into the inner sanctum of the temple.

"But we… we have the true heroes—those once chosen by the Goddess herself."

"Ahh…"

Lethe gasped.

"To defeat heroes with heroes… A most righteous decision."