Wearing his new identity, Hexin flexed his fingers. The black silk gloves clung snugly to his hands, smooth and cool against his skin. The exposed sliver of his pale wrist was like a forbidden glimpse into sacred ground—dangerous, elegant, almost provocative.

The wind from the cliff tousled his ink-black hair, and he absently attuned himself to the immense power surging within this new vessel. In the depths of his dark eyes, a sliver of amusement flickered.

Then, at the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned—unhurried, deliberate—and asked a simple question:

“I’m looking for the sun god.”

The two who met his gaze froze on the spot.

Xia Zie stared at the unfamiliar youth, a stranger whose presence triggered something deep and primal within him. There was something uncannily familiar here—and to date, only one person had ever made him feel that way.

Yet compared to the gentle warmth of the golden god in his memory, this youth radiated a brazen, unchecked aura. From the moment you laid eyes on him, it was obvious—he did not belong to this world. His energy was mocking and indifferent, as if observing a lesser plane from far above.

He didn’t even try to hide it.

Black and crimson. Arrogance and strangeness. They collided into a striking, almost overwhelming impression. To the ordinary mortals who glimpsed him, it was enough to paralyze them with awe.

—This was a god.

Xia Zie’s instincts screamed it before his mind caught up. And after hearing that one question, he was even more certain.

But this wasn’t just any god.

His thoughts kicked into overdrive, clarity slicing through the storm in his head. This man knew the sun god—and not as a follower or subordinate. No, he spoke as an equal. More than that, as a friend. He had the air of someone passing by an old companion’s house and casually dropping in. His tone carried a familiarity that was effortless, even cheerful.

…Who was this man?

Or rather, who else could it be?

The answer was already on the tip of his tongue, but glancing at Rog beside him, Xia Zie swallowed it back down.

He stiffened, forcing his face into stillness to stop himself from screaming internally:
This—this is the war god!!
The very one he’d spoken about not long ago—the dream, the legend, the supreme god.
And again—on Baihe Star.
And again—it’s ME who sees him first!!

The storm of emotions flooding through him couldn’t be understood by anyone else alive.

“You… you’re…”

The silence shattered—Rog spoke, voice raw and dazed.

Unlike Xia Zie, whose nerves had been tested and trained, this was Rog’s very first encounter with a god. He was completely overwhelmed. He couldn’t even remember what the god had asked—he’d heard the sound, but it hadn’t registered in his mind. His brain had simply stopped.

Whether that was a blessing or a curse, who could say.

But Xia Zie had no time to clarify things for his stunned friend. He was still carefully watching the god before him. His knowledge of the war god came only from a few brief comments by the sun god, but he knew the two shared a close bond.

—And this, this was the figure he’d idolized since childhood.

The stories came flooding back—those vivid memories, the fierce battles, the silhouette wielding a silver spear… Until, gradually, those fragments aligned with the man now standing before him.

Xia Zie closed his eyes briefly, reining in his emotions.
“That lord has already returned to the Divine Domain,” he said.

“Oh? Already gone?” Hexin murmured, studying the young man’s face. A moment later, he added casually, “Among all the stars, this one shone brightest. Seems he lingered here for quite a while.”

“This… Baihe Star is just an ordinary planet,” Xia Zie replied carefully, gauging the war god’s expression.

But the god immediately caught his gaze and smirked.
“What are you afraid of? You think I’d skewer something he likes?”

Xia Zie: …I’m not touching that line.

He was starting to understand—this god was the blunt, direct kind. The kind that acted first and rarely explained later. His presence was overwhelming, impossible to resist.

Xia Zie could only pray silently that the sun god would suddenly show up to take control of the situation.

If Hexin could’ve heard that prayer, he would’ve grinned and told him plainly:

Not a chance.

Hexin had appeared before Xia Zie on purpose.

It was his first time switching identities, and there were things he needed to test—things that would be crucial when even more character cards came into play.

First: would people realize his face hadn’t changed?

After all, it was still him. Same face, different costume. He could tell the difference easily. But from Xia Zie’s reaction… it was clear he hadn’t noticed. To him, the war god and the sun god were two entirely separate beings.

Hexin figured this must be the work of that so-called great cosmic logic—just like in TV dramas, where a thin veil over someone’s face made them unrecognizable to everyone. It was a setting. And once the setting was in place, everyone simply accepted it.

So long as god of gods stated there were nine different supreme gods, then no mortal could possibly link them.

Confirmed.

That was one box checked. And the next?

He’d also just learned something crucial about faith points:
The same person could contribute multiple sets of faith points—as long as they believed in different identities. Xia Zie’s faith in the sun god had already reached its limit, but if he now developed faith in the war god—that counted as a separate source.

That was… fantastic news.
It meant Hexin had a new revenue stream.

But there was one final, most important test—

Hexin lifted one hand, and a silver spear appeared in his grip.

As his power poured into it, blood-red lines lit up across the shaft like living veins. They pulsed and surged, breathing as if alive, forming ancient patterns along the surface.

The spear thrummed eagerly, vibrating with excitement in his hand. After thousands of years, it had once again been summoned by its god. Its entire frame quaked with joy, and a tide of energy roared out around them like a crashing wave.

Every hair on Xia Zie’s body stood on end.
Beside him, Rog had already frozen like a rabbit facing a lion. His instincts screamed do not move. Any shift, any sound might shatter what little composure he had left.

The god, meanwhile, laughed freely. He gave the spear a lazy flourish and cast a glance at it.

“Don’t get clingy. It’s not your turn yet. Just open the door for me.”

Then, with a sweep of his arm—he struck the air.

It sounded like fabric tearing—sharp, abrupt.
Xia Zie and the frozen-stiff Rog could only watch as the world in front of them, once perfectly normal, split open with a jagged, gaping wound.

A violent wind howled out of the newly formed rift, slapping them in the face with such force it made them stagger.

Unlike the delicate slivers of dimensional fractures they’d seen before, this tear was different. It wasn’t opened—it was ripped, forcefully and completely, as if the space itself had no say in the matter. In mere seconds, it expanded from human-sized to something so massive it could rival the gates of Sun City itself.

Through the opening, a barren, familiar land was revealed.

—Large enough for a monster from the divine realm to crawl straight through.

Xia Zie steadied himself, and just as that thought flashed across his mind, he caught sight of the black-robed figure standing before the “gate,” clothes billowing in the wind—and suddenly understood:

But no one would dare.

Inside the rift, a beast stirred. Its vertical pupils snapped open at the disturbance and locked onto the tear. But the moment its gaze met the god standing in the doorway, it froze.

No one knew what went through that monster’s mind—only that in the next instant, it scrambled to its feet with a thunderous clatter and ran for its life, tail tucked, panic incarnate. Its massive tail accidentally whipped toward the gate, and the god—smirking—gave it a little nudge with his silver spear.

He didn’t even break the skin.

But from the other side came a scream like a sacrificial beast being dragged to slaughter.

—When the war god marches, no blade of grass remains.

Hexin flipped through the character lore in his mind. That persona had single-handedly annihilated nearly every divine-era monster. He sighed.

Sigh… when I was the sun god, everyone adored me. Now I switch accounts and suddenly I’m the terrifying menace. Fickle world, cold hearts~

Monster: I peed myself, dammit!!

The god, silver spear in hand, strolled casually into the divine realm. The spatial rift slowly closed behind him. And just before it sealed completely, Xia Zie saw a familiar golden city descending from the sky.

The war god walking the scorched earth paused, looked up, and smiled—carefree and wild.

Xia Zie’s heart skipped a beat. And in that moment, amid the roaring in his chest, he realized—

—That is the god of the sun, come to greet his friend.

Boom—

The rift snapped shut. The golden city landed with a resounding impact.

Within the divine realm, three enormous gates flung open, radiant with the brilliance of sunlight, blazing with warmth and celebration—welcoming the return of a supreme god.

This was the final thing Hexin had wanted to test.

He lifted his chin, watching as the golden god stepped down from his throne, each stride echoing power and light. Hexin slung his silver spear over one shoulder, tilted his head, and called out:

“Yo. Long time no see.”

The sun god’s smile touched even his eyes. The joy radiating from him made the entire city shine brighter, hotter—beyond what any mortal could endure. All beings instinctively pulled away from the overwhelming brilliance. And yet, in the centre of it all, the two of them remained unaffected.

The war god squinted lazily.
Comfortable. Very comfortable.

The sun god said warmly,
“From the moment I knew you were awake, I’ve been waiting for you, my friend.”

Hexin teased, “You missed me that much, huh?”

“I never stopped,” said the sun god, lowering his gaze with a soft sigh. “If the sunlight could no longer shine where you raise your spear… I would rather never rise again.”

Hexin: “…Noted.”

Yeah, no wonder they were canonically best friends. Even this AI version came loaded with drama.

Because no—this sun god wasn’t Hexin. He hadn’t reached split-personality levels yet.

This was Hexin’s latest experiment: a system-controlled version of himself.

In game terms, it was like letting an AI auto-pilot your character—controlling movements, dialogue, and interactions based on previous behavior.

This “autoplay” function only unlocked once Hexin held two or more character cards.

The system explained:

[Autoplay will mimic the host’s historical patterns in speech, gestures, demeanour, and logic when using a character card. However, three caveats apply:

1. Autoplay consumes a large amount of faith points.
2. Autoplayed characters possess no actual awareness.
3. The host may take manual control at any time.]

And by “large,” it really meant astronomical.

For instance, while the autoplayed sun god earned 1,000 points from the Celestials… the cost of autoplaying was 10,000,000. And that was idle. If he used any power or got into a fight, Hexin’s entire savings could evaporate in an instant.

Which was why this feature was not meant to be abused.

It was meant for myth-building.

As one of the nine highest gods in the pantheon, each supreme god’s interactions—their bonds, rivalries, loyalties, and betrayals—were key to forming a cohesive mythos. Think of the Olympians: messy drama, legendary feuds, and chaotic family trees… but it worked. It created a living myth.

So in god of gods, it only made sense that the supreme gods needed to appear together now and then—and faith points, being the high-cost currency they were, forced Hexin to script these meetings carefully.

Quality over quantity.

Circling the autoplayed sun god, Hexin looked curiously at what was, effectively, his own face. He couldn’t resist reaching out to poke it.

—And that action was not in the behavioural script.
The war god would never randomly boop the sun god.

So the system had no data. The AI froze.

The sun god just stared at him, blank.

With no one else around, Hexin got bolder. He tugged lightly on the golden hair.

His gloved fingers still sensed it: soft, sun-warmed strands.

This time, the AI responded—its programming trying to improvise. The sun god lowered his long lashes, looked at him with exasperated fondness, and said,

“You… really shouldn’t tease me like that.”

Hexin grinned, “What? I know every inch of this body. Just researching a little. It’s mine, remember?”

“…”

And then, with a pop—

The sun god vanished, turning back into a character card mid-sentence.

Hexin blinked. “Where’d he go?”

System:

[Function overload. Autoplay terminated.
Please refrain from harassing the autoplay.]

Hexin: …?