Several days passed after that, and the ship’s operations finally settled into a routine.

In the corridor, a soldier carrying a weapon walked up to a sentry post. The area was near the room Hexin had been assigned as his “temporary lodging,” so their voices, not especially hushed, drifted naturally into earshot.

“Good shift,” said the replacement soldier, patting his colleague’s shoulder and taking over his position. “We’re making a short stop on planet B6 tonight—just an hour to resupply energy.”

The soldier being relieved stretched his limbs and blinked in surprise. “We’re already at B6? That means we’re pretty close to our base, huh?”

“Yeah, another three days and we’ll be back at HQ…”

They chatted idly. The mission to eliminate the research facility had been completed, and now they were returning to the front lines to face abyssal variants. From this planet onward, they’d officially be entering the combat zone—closest to the front, the battlefield they knew best.

Inside his room, Hexin leaned against the window, watching through the glass as the ship slowly descended from the clouds toward the planet.

The massive vessel hovered above the docking port. Galactic time read midnight, but the starport below was still brightly lit. Countless dazzling machines pulsed with data feeds, while semi-transparent screens floated midair and shuttles zipped across photon rails.

Based on his earlier assessment of the military unit, Hexin had assumed a force as capable as Red Wing would be well received among the public. If not loved, at least respected. But judging by the atmosphere, people seemed rather cold about the ship’s arrival.

He watched casually from the window. Below, the Red Wing captain was speaking to port officials about energy resupply, but the staff’s expressions looked uneasy. He couldn’t hear the words, but reading their lips, it seemed the official was struggling: “Apologies. Energy reserves are dangerously low. We won’t be able to fully recharge the ship tonight. Best case, by morning.”

“But we’re in a hurry to return. Doesn’t this port have emergency military reserves? Why can’t—”

“It’s fine.” The captain interrupted the agitated soldier behind him. He turned back to the staff calmly. “Just tell the others not to rush. We’ve been flying non-stop. A rest won’t hurt. We’ll stay the night.”

So a planned one-hour stop became an overnight layover.

Hexin lifted his gaze, peering farther into the port. There, a small crowd had gathered—bystanders who’d noticed the “red wing” insignias. They whispered among themselves:

“Isn’t that Red Wing? I heard they lost a battle recently, and because of them, planet C927 got swallowed up by variants! The higher-ups ordered a planetary purge bomb in the end—they wiped the entire place off the map!”

“That’s… monstrous! C927’s right next to us, isn’t it?”

“Exactly! Word is they were pulled from the front lines because of it. I thought Red Wing was going to disband. Why are they back now?”

“Why the hell did they land on our planet? I don’t want to be the next C927! Get them off our world!”

“……”

With their heightened senses, the Red Wing soldiers clearly heard the distant chatter. Several of them clenched their fists, their expressions strained with silent frustration. A few looked like they were ready to storm over, but the captain raised a hand to stop them.

“Captain, this is—!” a younger soldier protested, his voice shaking with anger.

“That’s enough. No trouble.” The captain patted his shoulder, face unreadable. “Let’s go back.”

If Hexin hadn’t seen it for himself, he wouldn’t have guessed from the ship’s rowdy, youthful atmosphere that these cheerful, laughing soldiers were carrying such heavy burdens.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

At that moment, the wall clock ticked over to 22:30. Departure was scheduled for 07:00. Time to sleep.

Hexin didn’t need sleep—but the dream god needed dreams. Since the last dream, his dull gray character card had begun to show a hint of color. Once it fully turned vibrant, that would mark his true awakening. Until then, dreams were how he trained and reclaimed his power.

These past few nights, Hexin had been dreaming consistently—and his overflowing spiritual power often dragged nearby people into his dreams without them realizing.

Yesterday’s dream? A house made entirely of chocolate, filled with endless sweets.
The night before? A pirate battle on the open sea.
Before that? Playing a lone hero rescuing the falsely accused from an interstellar prison.

Each night, he lived a new, ridiculous adventure—firestorms, sea monsters, absurd and vivid.

Tonight, slipping into the sleep pod, Hexin assumed it would be another whimsical tale.

Instead, he found himself in a memory dream.

He slowly opened his eyes within the dream—and saw an ancient, desolate scene.

A towering stone platform rose in front of a massive spired castle. Dry straw had been heaped high. Overhead, the sky was dim and brooding, as if a storm was about to break.

A crowd had gathered, torches raised, chanting loudly. Ashes drifted like paper snowflakes, thick as a funeral blizzard. The air was wet and heavy, and somewhere beyond the horizon, an unknown beast let out a deep, stifled roar. A creeping dread hung over the world like a shroud.

Hexin shifted. The roughness against his wrists told him he was bound. His ankles too—tightly wrapped in rope. He was seated atop the straw heap. All around him were children his age—boys and girls, at least a hundred of them.

“All for the glory of Fiorida! For the everlasting reign of our kingdom, let us offer these sacrifices to our great god! god, please accept our reverent devotion—hear our prayers!”

The nobles were manic, their faces twisted with fervour. Behind them, soldiers and commoners pressed close, gazes fixed on the children atop the pyre. Fear. Unease. Awe. Hope. Helplessness. Urgency. All those emotions melted into silent, crazed compliance.

The children cried in despair. Sob after sob gave way to wailing. “No! Please, let me go! I don’t want to be sacrificed to a demon!”

One girl was dragged down immediately, silenced forever.

The rest went deathly quiet. Some collapsed in terror, twitching at Hexin’s feet.

It was all too familiar. Hexin recognized it instantly.

If the interstellar era was his ten-thousandth tribulation, then this—this was number 9,999.

In that life, he’d been an orphan in the kingdom of Fiorida—a country locked in endless war with a neighbouring nation. When Fiorida began to lose, they turned to forbidden rituals, attempting to summon a god—written as “god,” but truly calling upon an abyssal variant.

“…Driven by their own desire, they sought to seize power that was never theirs to hold—daring to touch what should never be touched. And in the end, their kingdom paid the price.”

Hexin murmured the script’s closing line aloud.

In this dream, Hexin wasn’t strictly one of the characters. He existed more as an observer—a god’s-eye view watching the story unfold. He felt as though, with a single thought, he could reduce this entire world before him to dust.

But a pair of clear, startled eyes pulled him back from that impulse. One of the girls on the pyre had heard his whispered words. She stared at him, awe and disbelief mingling in her expression.

“You…!” she gasped.

Hexin, well-versed in the script, paid her little mind. He watched coldly as the nobles ordered the final preparations. They arranged crimson berries like blood around the victims, drew ritual markings in sludge and gore. One man chanted a strange melody, another murmured incantations from a forbidden tome.

“Ugh—”

A sudden tug on his wrist drew Hexin’s eyes downward. A brown-haired boy was biting at the ropes binding him, sweat beading across his brow, his expression fierce and desperate.

“Almost there!” the boy muttered between frantic pulls. “Hold on!”

“Why are you helping me?” Hexin asked, though he already knew the answer from memory.

“This isn’t the worst yet—but no one’s getting out alone,” the boy panted. “I’ve been watching you. Everyone else gave up, but you… you stayed calm. If we work together, we’ve got a chance! We can survive this!”

With one final jerk, the rope snapped. Hexin shrugged off the remaining strands and immediately bent down to untie the boy. Freed, the boy darted away to help others.

But the nobles had noticed the commotion. A signal was given. Soldiers rushed forward, and torches touched the hay.

Flames leapt instantly, curling upward with greedy tongues. The incantations grew louder. Sparks landed on the victims’ clothes, and panicked screams erupted around them.

The brown-haired boy led a few others, ripping off their jackets and trying to beat back the fire—but it was hopeless.

Down below, the crowd began to shift. From fear and silence to something flushed and wild. Their eyes sparkled with the thrill of cruelty, like spectators at a gladiator pit, eager for the final moments.

“Come on! Burn, burn—!!”
Someone howled with laughter, clapping madly.

Then—

Rain.

A downpour, sudden and drenching, hammered the earth. It hit the gawking crowd hard, stinging their eyes, turning gasps into chaos. The cruel laughter vanished.

“What the hell?! Where did the rain come from?!”

The nobles, clad in luxurious silks, were instantly soaked and furious. Servants scrambled to shield them with umbrellas, but the damage was done.

“Didn’t the priests say today was the perfect day for a sacrifice?! That nothing would go wrong?! Huh?!”

But the roar of the rain drowned them out. Thin sheets of water veiled everything—turning the scene into a kingdom submerged undersea.

A high priest stumbled forward, soaked and trembling, wiping his face with sodden sleeves. “My lords… I—perhaps the god is displeased with the offerings. It must’ve been that one sacrilegious girl who angered them! I recommend we dispose of the entire group to appease the god’s wrath. Then… select more fitting offerings another day…”

On the pyre, the children wept with relief—only for that hope to shatter at his words.

Why? Why won’t they let us go?!

The brown-haired boy hadn’t made it far. Soldiers raised their weapons, closing ranks around the children with brutal efficiency.

Trapped again, he ground his teeth and retreated to the pyre.

Hexin hadn’t moved. He still sat at the centre of the platform, untouched by flame or fear. While others flailed, sobbed, panicked—he remained utterly still. Even the nobles, enraged and scrambling, looked like puppets beside him.

The boy slumped down across from him. They stared at each other, two still points amid chaos.

“…Seriously,” the boy said, hair dripping. His voice, though calm before, finally cracked under the storm. “You’re not scared of dying?”

Hexin tilted his head. His clean, dry hair fluttered lightly.

“No.”

No what?
Not scared of dying…
Or simply not able to die?

For some reason, the boy suddenly felt a little lost. Maybe Hexin wasn’t calm—maybe he was just dense. Or weird. Or a fool.

But gods—was he beautiful.

More beautiful than any noble heir the boy had ever seen. No—comparing him to nobles felt like an insult. Hexin looked exactly how a servant of the divine should look: sacred, ethereal, distant.

In the boy’s short and sheltered life, a divine attendant was the highest form of humanity he could imagine.

Funny. Why hadn’t he noticed this person before?

He sneaked a few more glances, curious.

But the more he looked, the more his chest tightened—his instincts screaming that this wasn’t something he should be doing. Like he was being watched. And someone didn’t like what they saw.

The boy’s heart raced.

Someone… was watching this scene unfold.

His intuition was strong, even at this young age—strong enough to one day make him a legendary hero. But even now, it warned him loud and clear.

Lowering his gaze in a hurry, he tried to quiet his mind. And in that silence, something clicked.

He stared at Hexin’s hand—pure white and dry. Then his eyes traced over the rest of him. His robes. His hair. Everything.

“…Why aren’t you wet?” he whispered, voice trembling.

The downpour had soaked the world. But not him.

The illusion of rain and the glow Hexin gave off had made it easy to miss—but now that he saw it, it couldn’t be unseen.

Hexin gave a soft “ah,” then smiled.

“Maybe,” he said lightly, “the god who brought down the rain and saved us… likes me.”

After all, what older brother doesn’t like a well-behaved little brother?

Hexin’s smile deepened.

Especially if that older brother has… a certain weakness.

How unexpected. He hadn’t even used the beauty god’s card yet—and here they were, meeting in a dream, from this angle of all things.

How strange. How fitting.