Chilled Cola Cat

Karl awoke to find himself shockingly reduced to a crippled Evil God confined within a bottle.
The Fischer family had inadvertently become his favored members, sharing a fate connected by blood throughout the generations.
They established a secret clan, infiltrated the state, manipulated wars, ascended the God Pantheon stairway, and fought for the honor and future of the family.
They were assassins lurking in the shadows, beloved scholars, esteemed priests, powerful dukes, and legends in heroic epics.
From budding to robust growth, steampunk evolved; the Spirit Realm descended through dreams; witches and ancient gods stepped forth, and people listened to the lost whispers at their ears.
They were both the creators and the enders of stories.
Generation after generation, in a continuous succession, they marched forward.
"Step over my corpse and go on," he said.

From Secret Clan to the Divine Dynasty

The brawny squire came to the side of the dead squire.


He knelt on one knee and removed his helmet, revealing the beastly white tiger ears, and his half-orc's feline pupils glistened with a mournful sentiment.


"I will go back and tell your motherland that you were worthy of the knight's name, I will tell your mother that you fought bravely in battle, and I will tell your grown daughter that you always loved her."


The half-orc scooped up a handful of blood-stained snow and sprinkled it over his brother's face.


"Now, I will kill that man and avenge you."


The harsh and merciless wind blew, and the half-orc knight's white hair fluttered in the breeze, as he smelled the scent of blood from the bodies in his nostrils.


If only he were a pure-blooded orc, even if it meant facing more discrimination, the stronger sense of smell would have allowed him to detect the enemy's presence sooner.


Chapter 33: The Scent of Snow in the Blood