I Founded a Pantheon
I Founded a Pantheon – Chapter 19

The beasts stared at him, stunned.

Hexin smiled, eyes sweeping across the crowd, and let out a dramatic sigh.
“Look at this mess,” he said, glancing over the land, which had long since stopped being land and turned into a full-blown battlefield. “If anyone’s to be pitied, it’s this planet. How’d it end up like this?”

He looked genuinely troubled, his brows drawn together—not accusatory, not sharp.

And yet, for some reason, every beast shivered, their bodies instinctively tensing.

“You showed up…” The sea-walking beast king—Tide Si—ignored everyone else, staring at Hexin with eyes like cracked glass. His voice trembled, like he was holding back something unbearable. “You really… came back.”

Hexin tilted his head, easygoing.
“Yo. Isn’t that you, Tide Si?”

Now was absolutely not the time to admit that he’d actually been spectating the whole time. The war god persona had to keep its cool. This needed to look like he’d just happened to pass by this planet, and happened to drop in.

The moment he said that name, the Four-Pillar Tower flared with light. If anyone were inside, they would’ve seen the rune that meant “Tide Si” blaze bright on the massive stone column—radiant as a newborn star.

At the same moment, the named beast flinched, as though lightning had pierced his soul. The severed link between them abruptly snapped back into place.

—How many years had it been since someone called him by name?

The sea king’s entire body shimmered in deep blue light. He suddenly threw his head back and laughed.
“So this isn’t a dream after all! Ten thousand years asleep, and you really came back!”

But then the laughter stopped.

He bared his teeth. Voice low, slicing with malice:
“And yet you come back now? You didn’t come before. You waited for this? For this dumb rock?”

That was it, wasn’t it?

It was only when he messed things up, when he caused a disaster—that this man showed up. Just like ten thousand years ago.

Hexin gave it a thought, then nodded.
“That’s not… entirely wrong.”

“For a planet that has nothing to do with you… you’d go that far,” Tide Si muttered. Then suddenly, he snapped his head up, eyes blazing red.
“Ha. Then I’ll do the exact opposite. You want to save it?
Then I’ll destroy it.”

Hexin nodded again, understanding.

Then he raised his spear.

Sorry, big guy. But your mental state isn’t looking great.

Hexin wasn’t without sympathy—anyone forced to sleep for ten thousand years would probably wake up pissed. Over-rested, full of energy, nowhere to vent. Sure. That might account for… ten percent of this meltdown.

The other ninety?
Let’s just say it probably had something to do with being ghosted by the war god for a very long time.

If this had been a softer, more compassionate god, maybe they’d have sat him down, had a heartfelt talk. Healed some wounds. Talked about forgiveness.

But right now, Hexin was in full war god mode.

And if fists can fix it, why bother with words?

Why indeed?

Smiling wickedly, Hexin slung the silver spear across his shoulder.
“Alright then,” he said. “You think you can take me? Come prove it.”

He crooked a finger at the crowd.

Then, raising his chin with a careless, arrogant tilt, he added:
“Anyone else not convinced? Come on, all of you. Let’s go.”

Come at me.

That surging, thunderous battle lust awakened something in all the beasts watching. That same insufferable arrogance—he hadn’t changed a bit.

But the more outrageous he acted, the more their blood boiled.

Even the ones that had been afraid a moment ago seemed to forget where they were.
Forget the time, the danger.

Forget the ten thousand years.

Ohhhhh, yes. This is what we missed.

Just standing under that pressure, their whole bodies screamed. Their instincts shouted, run—but their hearts refused.

No. They wanted to face him.

To charge that silver spear.

This was the deepest, truest desire of a beast’s heart—to meet the strongest, to clash against the peak. In a world of eat-or-be-eaten, strength was sacred.

And he wasn’t a peak.
He was the peak.

If they could fight him—no, if they could even force him to draw his spear—what regrets could they possibly have?

That’s how they’d thought ten thousand years ago.
That’s how they thought now.

“ROAR——!”

It started with one beast going berserk.
Then, like a spark in a field of dry grass, every primal beast in heaven and earth exploded into motion, diving for Hexin.

Hexin threw off his robe with a laugh and swung the silver spear, his voice ringing loud and wild.
“Perfect timing!”

He’d been holding back this whole time. He was itching for this.

The silver spear blazed, lit up with crimson runes—and Hexin, cloaked in black and red, hurled himself into the beast tide like a comet.

And with one strike—he sent them flying.

Far away, Rog had expected Hexin’s appearance to stop the primal beasts.

Instead, he watched them all attack.

His brain short-circuited.

Around him, the soldiers were no better.

One of his subordinates tried very hard to stay calm as he stammered out a report:
“Th-the reinforcements from the Supreme Theological Council have arrived! They—they said they’re ready to land—”

“They’re useless unless they’re here to take minutes!” Rog snapped, cutting him off with the same words Mondo had used. His eyes never left the battlefield.
“Tell them to stay in orbit and stay out of our way.”

“…Sir, we don’t exactly have command over them.”

“Then show them what’s really happening down here—and ask if they still want to come.”

The subordinate understood. He opened a video feed and connected the channel.

Meanwhile, on a ship bearing the council’s emblem, officials were assigning squadrons and prepping for deployment.

Inside, a middle-aged man—clearly in charge—was speaking with two young men. His tone was overly friendly, bordering on flattery.

“With the aid of two knights of the Nine-Star Synod, this crisis will surely be resolved. Once it is, the council will personally offer thanks.”

“There’s no need,” said the calm young knight—handsome, composed, impeccable.
“The synod handles the martial side of the divine. The council, the theological. We are allies by design.”

The other knight—sharper, with a rebellious air—rolled his eyes.

The official tried again: “Such strength, at such a young age… your names will be remembered. When this is over, I’ll make sure your contributions are noted. Perhaps we’ll even call on you again.”

“Oh?” the second knight finally sneered. “You already think we’re going to resolve this? Already handing out rewards?”

The man froze, mildly offended, but held his tongue. “Surely, Sir Nanhe… as the war god’s devotee, I trust your strength implicitly.”

Nanhe chuckled darkly. “Do you?”

He gestured at the screen—where monsters the size of mountains surged through the sea.

“Let me break it down for you. Not a single one of those things—I can beat.”

“…What?”

“Second,” Nanhe pointed to his comrade. “Only those blessed by the gods may be knighted as Nine-Stars. I may believe in the war god, but I’ve never even seen him. How am I blessed? Think it through.”

He smirked.

“This guy’s the real deal.”

The official looked at the other knight—Dongyuan—whose smile was apologetic.
“My role is mostly support. Nanhe is stronger.”

So now the man understood:
Dongyuan < Nanhe <<<<<< any one of those beasts.

Nanhe grinned. “Get it now? We’re not here to help you. We’re here to protect the innocent.”

He leaned in, voice sharp.
“Spare me your ‘victory banquets.’
Start thinking about your funeral rites instead.”

Before the man could respond, Nanhe stabbed his spear into the wall beside his head.

“Don’t even think about retreating. You got that distress call. You’re staying.”

Dongyuan frowned. “Nanhe, tone it down. He’s with the council.”

Nanhe snorted. “Sorry, that’s just how us war god devotees are.”

Beep — new message. Incoming video request from Skyfall Planet.

Dongyuan raised his brows. “Must be the ground forces.”

Nanhe waved a hand. “Put it through.”

The video connected—but there was no voice, no face. Just footage.

But that was enough.

The council had already prepared for the worst. Even planned to destroy the planet, if needed.

The middle-aged official watched in stunned silence.

And then—he saw him.

That figure on the battlefield.

The one with the silver spear.

Nanhe stared too—at the weapon, at the stance. He’d modeled his whole life after those scattered fragments of myth.

Hexin didn’t know he was being watched. Didn’t know he’d just been seen by the highest power in the universe’s divine order.

If he had?

He wouldn’t have cared.

What could they do? Start a fight?

Hexin sidestepped a beast, grabbed it by the tail—this monster, bigger than a mountain—and casually tossed it into the swarm.

It hit like a bomb. Beasts fell like dominoes. The sea exploded upward.

The tremor even reached the nearby soldiers. Rocks tumbled. Troops scrambled to safety.

In the chaos, one voice screamed into comms:

“Hold the camera steady! Don’t blur the feed! I’m not missing my idol’s hero shot—AAAAAH!”

Everyone else: …is this guy serious?

But not even that could distract from what was coming next.

Because not even that monstrous shockwave could dampen the beasts’ hunger to fight him.

Not even close.

Hexin grinned, not the slightest pause in his movements—one clean strike per beast, like knocking down dominos. Of course, guided by some vague moral sense not to bully the weak, he held back. Mostly.

…Though holding back just enough to only seriously injure them wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

Blame the body—it was too damn strong.

The world roared as wind and clouds churned again. A silver arc cut through the sky, echoing with a clear cry. Everyone could barely see a thing, and yet they could see—glimpses of that silver gleam, like moonlight torn from the heavens, like the Milky Way slicing through the dark. It could be the gentlest breeze or the crashing of a tidal wave.

It all depended on who wielded it.

That figure in black and red stood alone, yet outshone entire armies. That was no mortal’s strength. No technique mortals could ever master. His movements were untraceable, free, and impossible—yet somehow lingered in every whisper of wind, every drop of water. When the spear caught wind or drank sea, it howled like a hurricane, surged like the tide.

Hexin was immersed in it. When he practiced alone, he’d held back. But now, in the heart of a battlefield, this sensation, this flow—it was different.

He felt like he was riding a wild, unstoppable chariot, flying through color-blurred landscapes, galloping free.

Who could stop him?
No one.

Beast after beast fell like wheat under a scythe. What remained were elite monsters and final bosses—the kind that, left unattended, could destroy entire star sectors.

These ones were smarter. They wanted to be remembered. Their pride wouldn’t let them swarm him in packs. No, they wanted one-on-one.

Hexin waited, composed, spear idling at his side, posture saying clearly: “Go ahead.”

A horned dragon beast stepped forward.
“You… you broke one of my horns ten thousand years ago. I’ve never forgotten that disgrace. Today, I—”

Swish.

The wind passed.

The beast froze, feeling an odd breeze from above. Then it saw Hexin’s satisfied smile.

It realized, belatedly—it was bald.

Hexin looked at its teary eyes and offered, with genuine sympathy,
“Hey, don’t be upset. Look on the bright side—now it’s symmetrical!”

The beast choked. “M-my horn…”

Hexin tilted his head. “Oh, that half couldn’t grow back on its own? In that case, maybe go fish out the broken piece. If it’s still warm, you might be able to reattach it.”

The beast whimpered and ran back to the ocean, vanishing with a splash.

Hexin turned to the next beast, grinning lazily.
“Next.”

A shell-covered giant with a mouth like a volcano glided forward.

It opened wide. Deep blue energy began to gather in its maw, warping the air around it. From a distance, soldiers frantically checked instruments—only to watch them overload and explode from power readings.

Panic surged. Everyone shuffled back toward the Four-Pillar Tower, dragging gear and comrades alike. They looked like war refugees—because they were.

The energy blast grew stronger, more unstable. Hexin didn’t blink. He raised his spear and jabbed casually through the air.

The building blast collapsed like a balloon. The half-formed energy sputtered, reversed—and popped deep in the beast’s belly.

Some swore they heard a dull boom from inside.

Hexin: “Next time, charge faster. What is this, a magical girl transformation? Who told you that was uninterruptible?”

The beast let out a burp, blinked, and collapsed with a groan, sinking into the sea.

“Next,” said Hexin.

By the tenth repetition, the spectators were numb.

“Why… why are they lining up to get wrecked?”

“Maybe it’s… some kind of tradition?”

“…Could you handle this kind of tradition?”

“Pfft, who could? Even in the god era, only the war god could do this.”

“So you’re saying… you think he’s…”

“DON’T SAY IT! Let me live in the dream a bit longer, alright?! Maybe this is my one chance in this life—hell, in any life—to witness this. Let me have it!”

So they fell silent. Everyone thought the same.

There wasn’t even energy left to be shocked. Just watch. Breathe. Try not to blink.
This… this was once-in-a-lifetime.

Hexin got bored.

This was like stamping the same file over and over. Easy, too easy. Eventually, it dulled into tedium.

He hovered above the battlefield, arms folded, spear drifting beside him. Its red lines shimmered wet with fresh blood, beautiful and terrible.

The sea breeze tugged his robes, carrying away the stench of battle.

The remaining beasts—perhaps sensing his waning interest—charged all at once.

And somehow, they’d learned teamwork.

These ancient loners, born to fight alone, had formed a coordinated assault team.

Decoys, support units, frontliners, flankers.

“For once, we won’t let you look down on us!”

“We have changed! A thousand years of progress—watch us!!”

But… hadn’t they been asleep?

Hexin was touched. Encouraged.
Then skewered all of them in one elegant sweep.

He even looked upon their splattered, twisted poses with sincere praise.
“Nice. Let’s keep improving.”

The beasts lay crumpled, groaning—but oddly not angry.

If anything, they looked… relieved.

“You’re still… so…”
Strong.

They flopped over. Ded.

Still completely demolished.

And yet, deep down, beneath the pain—they felt something warm. Something proud.

This was the one who had defeated them. The one who still could, effortlessly.

Of course. Of course he could.

Hexin twirled his spear, then stood tall once more. Unruffled.
It was like he’d just stepped out of a banquet, not a massacre.

Somewhere, finally, someone said aloud what everyone had been thinking.

“…Too strong. He’s just… too strong…”

So strong that if they had been among those beasts—watching comrades fall one by one—
They wouldn’t have dared take even a single step forward.

So this… is his power.

And if the myths ever exaggerated, it wasn’t by much.

In fact, calling it a “clash of fates” might’ve been the only way to preserve some dignity for the beasts.

A whisper sounded on the comms.
“You see that, Dongyuan…”

“…Yeah.”

Outside, speculation and noise exploded.
Hexin didn’t care.

He simply let the power inside him settle.
Then turned.

Behind him, the black dragon floated silently.

It hadn’t moved the entire battle.
And it didn’t look like it was going to strike now, either.

Hexin studied him… then smiled.

“Mondo?”

The dragon jolted, as if shaken from sleep. Its golden eyes flickered in confusion.

Hexin reached out.

The dragon shrank back. Its pupils narrowed, tail tensed, breath ragged.

But it didn’t stop him.

So Hexin placed his hand on the dragon’s snout.

The breath that washed over him was hot, almost scalding.

He frowned.
“…Still stunned? Do you remember who I am?”

The dragon’s eyes froze—
Then flared.

Light burst within them, searing away the shadow of ten thousand years.

Its wings spread. Its body surged with new life.

Then it lunged
Straight for Hexin’s head.

Hexin: …What the hell??

EasyRead[Translator]

Just a translator :)

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