Thinking back on the later scenes where the black dragon was thoroughly “bullied,” Hexin had to admit—this persona of his was truly a savage.

He was reckless, arrogant, completely unrestrained. Paired with overwhelming strength, he drove everyone he provoked to the brink of madness—and left them utterly helpless. If he’d just offended all the primal beasts thoroughly, or even wiped them out completely, that might’ve been cleaner.

After all, the original idea behind the pantheon had been to push those wild and violent primal beasts off history’s stage—to make space for the new creations. And honestly, Hexin thought they were a lot like the war god himself: unruly, chaotic, terrible at teamwork, always going it alone.

If one day the primal beasts did go extinct, they’d have their own pride to blame for at least half of it.

But perhaps somewhere in the process of conquering them, he’d started to enjoy himself. Or maybe, watching those fierce beasts stubbornly resist even at the brink of destruction had stirred something in him. Whatever the reason, the executioner-god had a sudden change of heart—and spared the black dragon, who already had one foot in the underworld.

“You know,” he said offhandedly, pressing a hand that could tear any beast apart lightly against the trembling dragon’s eyelid, “your eyes are kind of pretty.”

Now, in those crimson eyes—eyes like blood and molten stone—there was only one reflection: the god.

The black dragon, now in humanoid form, stared at him. Maybe it was the chain tight around his throat, or maybe it was something else—but he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The god chuckled. “Red, huh… I like red.”
After all, red and gold were the colours of the sun. At the thought of his friend, his expression softened—just slightly. Like a blade, once fierce and sharp, sheathing itself to cradle a falling flower.

That moment of illusory tenderness made the dragon flinch. But when he looked again, those abyss-black eyes held only casual detachment and indifference. Maybe it was his injuries, but the black dragon suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe, his chest tightening unbearably.

The greatest beast of the sky found himself… listless.

He turned his head away, voice hoarse and low, “Kill me.”

The god raised an eyebrow. “Honestly? That was my plan.” He leaned in, lips curling lazily. “Taming the earth and sea would’ve been more useful anyway. I already know the sky too well.”

But then, sensing the tremor beneath his palm, he smirked.
“Now I’ve changed my mind. Exactly because I know the sky so well—every beast up here should be under my control.”

The primal beasts didn’t have concepts like loyalty or hierarchy. But the sky’s strongest creature still held a vague dominance over other flying beasts—natural selection at its finest. If Hexin took the black dragon, the rest would likely fall in line.

The dragon jerked his head back, baring his teeth. “In your dreams.”

“Oho, still got some fight.” The god remained perfectly relaxed, arms folded. “Then go ahead. Struggle a little.”

He tilted his head, expression lazy and knowing. “I haven’t used any force for five minutes. You could’ve slipped out of my grip any time. But you didn’t… Did you not realize it? Or did you not want to?”

Watching the sudden panic on the dragon’s face, he smiled.
“Admit it.” And then delivered the final blow—
“Your heart has already submitted to me.”

With that, the war god tossed the chain aside like it was trash. Something that could restrain even the strongest of beasts—reduced to scrap in his eyes.

He said,
“Swear loyalty to me. Serve me.”

Time froze.

The loose chain dangled from the dragon’s neck, clinking faintly in the wind. The god had let go—but somehow, it felt like the dragon had never been held tighter.

He reclaimed his silver spear. Blood-red patterns shimmered across its surface, singing with power.

Standing in the wind, his robe and long hair dancing in fierce arcs, the war god struck an unforgettable silhouette.

From this moment on, the black dragon thought, heart thundering madly—
In this world, this sky, he would see only him.

The memory ended here. Hexin sighed with mixed emotion.

So that’s the legacy of the divine era’s first beastmaster, the “rare-beast whisperer” war god.

Brutal? Absolutely.
Troublesome? No doubt.
But when he’d conquered the strongest beast in the skies, riding it like a mount, switching postures and styles—Hexin had to admit, it had been glorious.

But now… ten thousand years had passed.
The war god had abandoned the beasts he’d tamed for a full millennium.

Unlike the Celestials, primal beasts weren’t particularly loyal. They weren’t affectionate toward their creator or reverent toward authority. The war god had lost interest after taking down the sky beast—he hadn’t even bothered with the ones of earth and sea.

It was like trying a toy once, then growing bored when more of the same came along.

So when he had subdued the others, it had been done with even less care—and if those beasts didn’t hate him to their core by now… well, that would be the real surprise.

Truly, fate was unpredictable.

For the next few days, Hexin remained within the divine realm—partially to dig up whatever else remained besides the Four-Pillar Tower, and partially to get used to his new power.

Unlike the sun god—more of a long-range caster—the war god was a close-combat monster. And not just any fighter: officially ranked as one of the most lethal, technically skilled, top-tier martial gods in the entire pantheon.

Hexin could feel the boiling power in this body.

He could pose in those dazzling, explosive moves—except now, they weren’t for show.

Back then, those choreographed fights were just for flair, made to thrill audiences with a perfect blend of strength and beauty.

But now—

Hexin casually spun the silver spear in his hand, then raised the tip and drew a line in the air—aimed at a mountain peak hundreds of meters away.

A silver arc flashed through the air.

A second later, with a thunderous rumble, the entire mountain collapsed like a slab of tofu sliced cleanly in half. The exposed cross-section was smooth and gleaming, cut so neatly it defied the idea that it was done by something as crude as a “person.”

Dust billowed skyward.

The recently re-settled wyvern, still adjusting to its relocated den, burst angrily out of the earth—ready to confront whatever fool was causing trouble again. But the instant it saw that spear-wielding figure, it immediately dove back underground, leaving only its head peeking out, whining yiiiing yiiiing in pitiful protest.

Hexin smiled faintly.

—He was, for real, the kill god now.
Gotta start controlling the showboating.
Any more stunts like that and he’d probably level the entire world by accident.

So this is the burden of the strong, huh.
Even the war god has his troubles.

Having fully adapted to this new power, Hexin was in high spirits as he examined his beloved spear, wondering if it was time to leave the divine realm and start raising hell elsewhere—when he suddenly felt a sharp, inexplicable jolt.

Not the first time.

It had started a few days ago—never painful, more like an invisible feather brushing across his scalp. Annoying, if anything. He could easily sever the sensation with a thought, but curiosity had kept him from doing so. This was his first time experiencing something like this, and it was… interesting.

Frowning thoughtfully, Hexin finally dug into the lore for the most plausible explanation.

—Someone was calling him.

And the word call covered a wide spectrum.

Sometimes, it was little more than someone tripping on a stone and muttering “may the supreme gods protect me.” Technically, that called all nine of them at once—but prayers that flimsy never reached their ears.

However, when enough people prayed together, and the prayer concerned something as grave as a nation’s fall or a world’s end… that kind of collective plea might be overheard by a subordinate deity. If it was serious enough, it could be escalated to a supreme god.

So, in ancient myth, when a supreme god actually heard a mortal cry—it always involved a chosen one, a sacred rite, and a momentous cause.

The chosen, the altar, the crowd.
Everything had to be powerful.

So, what was this?
Even in the interstellar age, someone dared call a supreme god?
And from the sensation, it wasn’t just one.

Was it another strange cosmic celebration like the Primordial Festival?

—

“Sorry, Xia Zie. I was supposed to stay longer on Baihe Star, but a sudden mission came up in the unit.” Rog pressed his lips together, his voice filled with regret.

At the transport port, crowds bustled around the boarding gates. Xia Zie gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“It’s alright. You can come back once things settle. Next time, let’s call up Mondo and the others too—they haven’t returned in years.”

“I’ll let them know once I’m back. If there’s another chance, I’ll drag them here myself,” Rog laughed, but then fell quiet. After a long hesitation, he suddenly drew a deep breath and said, “Xia Zie… I don’t know what’s going on between you and… that person? That god? I don’t know why you seem to know each other. But if he is really that lord…”

His voice dropped.
“I want you to ask him to look at the Four-Pillar Tower.”

…The Four-Pillar Tower?

The ancient divine-era structure that suddenly appeared on a remote planet?
That mural in the video earlier had been excavated from it.

Xia Zie blinked.
“To be honest, the time you saw him? That was my first time seeing him too. We don’t have any connection. If I ever saw him again, I’d probably have to be the reincarnation of some cosmic koi of luck.”

But instead of disappointment, Rog let out a slow breath—relieved, even.
Of course. What was he thinking? The idea that a mortal could casually know a supreme god… he must’ve been too overwhelmed by that encounter on the cliff. It had left such a deep impression, he’d started to fantasize. Foolish.

…It was too distant.
Too unreachable.

Seeing his friend finally start to calm down, Xia Zie asked gently, “So why the sudden mention of the Four-Pillar Tower?”

“It’s related to the mission. Something’s happened there.” Rog gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Command has already dispatched a unit to investigate. I’m one of them.”

Hearing that, Xia Zie, no longer part of the military, knew better than to press. He simply nodded and watched as Rog boarded the ship.

Once seated inside, Rog’s earlier easygoing demeanour faded away. He sat silently, brows furrowed, and opened his terminal with grave focus.

Shielding the screen from nearby passengers, he opened the encrypted channel—and pulled up the accompanying mission footage.

The video was short and chaotic. But in those few seconds, he caught a glimpse of something impossibly massive—rising from the sea. Something that didn’t belong to any currently known interstellar race.

Rog shut his eyes.

There was no mistaking it.

A creature not of this world—had awakened.