In this world, most who worship the war god do so out of awe for his unmatched strength—but Nanhe was different.

Or rather, that wasn’t all.

He was the strongest candidate in the current synod for the Nine-Star title, and in terms of raw combat ability, he’d already surpassed many who officially held it. He was young, gifted—but stubbornly, foolishly loyal to a god who had never, and would likely never, give him any response. As a result, he had yet to receive divine favour, stuck perpetually just short of advancement.

The one who’d picked him up and raised him—the father figure and mentor who’d taken him under his wing—had tried more times than he could count to persuade him to switch faiths. “What about one of the secondary gods?” he’d said. “They serve the same lineage. And your chances of receiving a blessing are astronomically higher than clinging to some unreachable throne.”

The last time a human received favour from a supreme god? You’d have to go all the way back to the god era.

“What are the odds that would ever be you?”

“I don’t believe in the war god just for the sake of divine favour,” Nanhe had answered once, tone sharp. “If I want strength, I’ll train for it myself. Always dreaming that some god will swoop down and grant you a shortcut to glory—that’s no better than gambling your life away hoping to find a billion bucks in the street.”

“So you’re just that committed to the war god? Because he’s strong?”

“That’s shallow.” At the time, still newly inducted as a synod knight, Nanhe hadn’t yet learned to hide his feelings. The mere mention of his lifelong idol lit up his face with a fire that was impossible to interrupt.

“I like him because he’s lawless. Ever heard of the divine tribunal on the primal beasts? All the attending supreme gods were voting unanimously for total extermination—until the war god kicked open the doors and yelled, ‘I object.’ One against seven! Would you dare?!” Just imagining the scene made Nanhe tremble all over with excitement. “Search every god-era record you want—you’ll never find a god more unrestrained than him!”

“Sure, but he’s a god. The supreme kind. What do you think you’re doing trying to follow his example? Got a death wish? You’re gonna offend everyone and get yourself killed.”

“The war god follows his heart. Lives freely and proudly. If I could walk this world even once like that, I’d have no regrets. Dying would be worth it.”

To Nanhe, the war god wasn’t just a distant divinity, some abstract untouchable concept—he was real. A person. Someone who had once walked the world. Nanhe’s deepest sorrow in life was simply that he was born too late. If only he’d lived in the god era, when gods still mingled with mortals—then maybe, just maybe, he could’ve seen that person with his own eyes.

That regret had followed him for years, growing stronger with time. It was what led him to forge his current armour, design his weapons—every detail crafted to mirror him. All so he could stand a little closer. Just a little closer.

He’d thought he’d be stuck like this for life—longing, unfulfilled, drinking poison just to taste warmth.

But now—

Now Nanhe was dangling mid-air in the grip of a black dragon’s claw, frozen stiff, staring blankly at Hexin standing beneath him without so much as a twitch.

Down below, the ocean beast Tide Si sneered. “Froze up already? This is the one who wanted to hurt us? I say we eat him and be done with it.”

A chorus of agreement rumbled from the surrounding sea beasts.

They were creatures whose territory had just been invaded—and now, someone from beyond still dared to aim weapons at them. The threat kept their nerves stretched razor-tight. Were it not for Hexin’s silence, they would’ve stormed the stars by now.

“Easy,” said Dique, trying to de-escalate. “This kid probably wasn’t part of the attack. Don’t make a scene.”

Before Tide Si could snap back, Dique added coolly, “The war god’s still watching.”

Tide Si: “…Hmph. Whatever. Birds of a feather, I say.”

They hadn’t bothered to lower their voices. Nanhe heard every word. It was like listening to butchers debate whether to cook you or throw you away. What hurt more was knowing he couldn’t refute it. He didn’t even have the strength to resist.

It wasn’t the same as seeing them on a screen.

Just being caught in the sights of those inhuman vertical pupils—he knew. He didn’t stand a chance. It was an ancient, primal fear—the fear prey feels when cornered by a true apex predator.

Then, just as all the beasts grew restless, a voice rang out—quiet, but instantly silencing them all.

“He’s not an enemy.”

Everyone froze. All eyes turned to Hexin.

The god idly stroked the silver spear in his hand. “To be my enemy… he’s not even qualified.”

Hexin understood these beasts far too well. The moment he said that, not a single one stopped to think—they simply accepted. And with that, their fury evaporated. They lifted their massive heads just a little higher, the proud gleam in their eyes now completely restored.

Apparently, just the thought of Hexin’s praise was enough to clear their hearts of any grievance.

All those hostile vertical pupils now gazed down on Nanhe with cool disdain, as if to say, what a pathetic little two-legged creature.

Nanhe felt the shift. Suspended in the air, his fingers curled unconsciously. When he looked back at Hexin, his eyes were burning—hot, bright, like oil just hitting a boiling pan.

Hexin: …What’s up with this guy?

Didn’t I just insult him? Shouldn’t a proper soldier be angry about that?

Nanhe: screaming internally oh my g—my idol is just as strong and dazzling as I imagined, and he even sincerely evaluated my strength!!!

Hexin didn’t look at him again.

The war god simply cast a glance at the drifting clouds above—just a glance—and in the next moment, he’d already locked on to a target. Those deep eyes seemed to pierce through countless miles, gazing straight through the stratosphere and out into the cosmos.

He raised the silver spear in his hand, and the curve of his lips gradually turned sharp.

Nanhe knew that motion all too well. Just earlier, a spear thrown with that very motion had sliced past him—he still hadn’t recovered from the bone-deep chill of its force.

—Where was he aiming this time?

Just imagining the answer made Nanhe shiver uncontrollably.

—They’ll be annihilated.

He knew exactly how powerful this spear was. But—setting everything else aside— Dongyuan was still on that ship!

Crimson patterns lit up along the spear’s body. Nanhe panicked, thrashing wildly, not even caring about the razor-sharp claw still hovering dangerously close to his throat. “W-wait! Please wait! This is all a misunderstanding!”

Hexin gave him a glance. “Misunderstanding?”

Nanhe had no way of reading the god’s expression. He couldn’t tell if that was a question, mockery, or simply contempt at a gnat daring to speak. But judging from everything he’d read in the scriptures, the war god—while wild and unruly—still followed his own rules. He wasn’t a mindless brute.

So Nanhe immediately started rambling, pouring out the entire story from the ship in one breath, afraid that if he slowed down by even a second, Hexin’s hand might slip and send that spear flying again.

For once, his habitual tendency to talk too much might’ve actually saved his life.

He finally ended with a summary: “That man acted without thinking. Dongyuan and I didn’t manage to stop him in time. Now the attack authority’s been transferred to the Supreme theological council headquarters.”

“What are you trying to say?” came another voice—cold and sharp. It was Mondo. “Whether that man’s as dumb as you say or not, the attack already happened. If it wasn’t the war god standing here, this planet would’ve been levelled. And the soldiers who stayed behind to protect the civilians? They’d all be dead.”

Hexin nodded slightly in understanding, then asked, “the Supreme theological council—what’s that?”

He didn’t sound like someone asking about the most powerful institution in the known galaxy. No, it was more like he was flicking dust off his shoulder. No one dared take offense.

Mondo, who had once roamed the galaxy under various aliases, answered calmly, “it started as a small group of like-minded believers. Over time, it expanded into the largest interstellar religious organization. The only force that can match it in power is the Nine-Star Synod. But the two have different functions—the council handles doctrine and scripture, the Synod deals with conflict mediation where faith is concerned. They split the duties.”

Dique crunched into a bamboo shoot he’d produced from who-knows-where. “Ain’t that just the priesthood from the god era? I remember those were all chosen personally by the gods.”

Only those blessed by divine favour could be chosen as priests. The especially lucky ones received gifts—powers—becoming what people called god-marked. Even back in the god era, priests and god-marked were highly respected roles.

Here, gods referred to the entire pantheon—even the lowest-ranked, near-forgotten tier-seven or eight ones. Their powers might’ve been unimpressive among the divine, but to mortals, they were still far beyond reach. Ironically, those were also the ones most active in the mortal realm—and the ones who left behind the majority of god-marked individuals.

The primal beasts quickly formed an impression of this so-called theological council—clearly just a shoddy knockoff of god-era priesthoods. Still, that explained their arrogance.

They didn’t fear the council. Back in the day, anyone who dared provoke them would’ve been crushed. But now, considering Hexin’s standing among the gods—even Tide Si, the most volatile among them, had gone quiet. It was obvious they’d taken Mondo’s words to heart, starting to weigh consequences before acting up again.

Hexin maintained a neutral face, but inwardly, he shed a tear of fatherly pride—at last, his chaotic children were learning not to trash the house!

Nanhe, however, had a strange look on his face—some mix of awkwardness and restraint.

Mondo glanced at him sidelong with a half-smile and explained to Hexin, “officially, they call themselves divine agents chosen by the supreme gods to act in their stead, spreading divine law and blessings.”

Before Hexin could respond, Tide Si exploded.

The ocean king let out a guttural snarl. He’d been timid just a moment ago, and now he looked like a fool—fooled, and pissed about it. “Who gave them that kind of gall?! When they say ‘supreme gods,’ do they include the war god?!”

Mondo’s answer was as expected. “Of course. To sound prestigious enough, they include all the supreme gods—war god included.”

Nanhe looked at the rising anger, now somehow worse than when they were almost bombed—and couldn’t help lighting a metaphorical candle for the council. After all this time waving a divine banner around, now they’d finally kicked the beehive.

Talk about getting caught flat-footed.