Chapter 99: The Trickster god!

"Ahahahahah!"

"Ahahahhahahah!"

"Ahahahahahhaha!"

The maniacal laughter twisted through the air like barbed wire. It didn't just echo—it crawled across the broken walls of the arcane lab, ricocheting like a thousand mocking ghosts. It was the kind of laugh that could gnaw at your sanity if you listened for too long.

Then, the portal pulsed like a dying star, the center of the summoning circle warping with dark energy. A crack split the stone beneath Josh's feet.

Two hands—long, thin, and impossibly black—pierced through the tear. They were clawed, sharp as dragon bone, and shimmered with a darkness so pure it seemed to devour the light around it. Obsidian couldn't compare—this blackness was deeper, like it had swallowed every nightmare of mankind and made a home of them.

The air grew cold, then hot, then hollow.

At that moment, the generals stormed in happily to report their conquest to their leader. Their boots crunched over broken sigils and smoldering stone. Lola stood at the front, whip at her side, Amia's orb of memories glowing behind her. Conrad Stan, with his rugged glare, scanned the battlefield. A few others followed, blood-splattered but alive.

Most of the lab had been obliterated. Only skeletal walls remained, clawed and cracked from the clash with the golden toad. Prisoners had been freed, the guards either slain or bound and sobbing in corners.

All that was left now… was the unknown.

Josh didn't turn to them—he just raised a hand without looking back.

"Stay back."

They froze.

He could feel their presence, like stars aligned behind him. They weren't just comrades—they were bonded by something far deeper than war or friendship. Death-level loyalty. The kind that said: "If you fall, I fall too." This is deeper than blood relation that family shared or even those shared by sworn brothers.

Lola's smile had already melted from her face. Her grip on her whip tightened.

"What is going on?" she asked, softly. Her instincts screamed. The laughter was louder now, crawling up her spine.

Josh responded with quiet steel.

"The golden toad managed to summon the Trickster God. From the Fifth Dimension before I ended his pathetic life."

Gasps. Staggered steps.

Even the air paused.

Josh slowly removed the crude ceremonial mask from his face, revealing beneath it the gold-grade, high-level battle mask. That enchanted mask bore a extraordinary replacement for his face—it appeared unmistakable like a real face, and yet still his real face was hidden in plain sight.

This face would mark a new face that was going to be burned into the legends of the empire.

However, that won't happen, with the threat of the trickster god in sight.

Eyes widened at the sudden realization.

"Oh my ancestors…" Conrad Stan muttered, voice low. He stepped forward, fingers trembling slightly.

"Master… You mean to say… that thing in the portal… is the Trickster God?"

Josh didn't answer. The tension said enough.

"Fuck…"

Three of the generals cursed at once.

They all knew the stories. Anyone worth a damn in the empire had heard of the Trickster God—the madness between truths, the being that could twist memories into lies and shape lies into absolute reality.

A liar so perfect, he made reality question itself.

He could convince an entire city it never existed. He could rewrite love into hatred, trust into betrayal, life into death.

You didn't just fight him with swords. You fought with your soul—and most didn't win.

From the portal, a leg slipped through. It was tall, thin, clad in a black leathery robe that seemed to ripple with forbidden glyphs. His form was humanoid—tall, slender, graceful. But his skin shimmered like shifting oil. One moment pale, the next as black as the void.

A low hum rang out, vibrating through the ribs of everyone in the room.

Josh's knuckles clenched around the hilt of his gold-grade, high level sword.

Behind him, Lola murmured, "If the Scarlet Raven is a level 2 threat…"

Conrad completed the thought grimly:

"…then the Trickster God is at least level 7."

A second later, the portal cracked wider. His face emerged.

Handsome. Uncannily so. But wrong.

Too symmetrical. Too perfect. His smile stretched just a fraction beyond what was humanly possible. His eyes had no pupils—just pools of molten silver, swirling with galaxies of madness.

And still, he laughed.

"Ahahahahahahahahah!"

A sound that promised the unraveling of minds.

Josh stepped forward, blade in hand, body steady, heart ready.

The Trickster God tilted his head—smile widening.

"Now then," the trickster god purred, in a voice like a thousand voices layered into one.

"Who dares to tell me the truth…?"

His silver eyes gleamed like molten mirrors, pulling at the minds of everyone in the room. Every word he spoke felt like it was simultaneously whispered into their ears and etched across their bones.

Josh stepped forward, his gold-grade, high-level sword glinting in the ambient light of the summoning portal. His posture was solid—shoulders squared, blade poised above his shoulder like a silent warning.

"Go back to where you came from," he said, voice thunderous and controlled, "and we'll settle this amicably. But if you choose to stay and fight..."

He narrowed his eyes, "...I'll end you."

The Trickster God tilted his head like a curious child who had just seen his toy learn to talk.

"Ahahahaha..."

"Now… now…" he drawled, "Should I call you Prince? Or perhaps... Black Dragon?"

Josh's expression shifted. His grip on the sword tightened.

"Or—" the god's eyes flashed, "—should I use your real name?"

That stunned Josh. For the briefest moment, his expression cracked—not with fear, but confusion, and a dire need to shut him up.

"How the hell does he know that…?" he thought.

But he didn't wait for an answer.

He lunged, blade flashing in a downward arc, aimed clean for the Trickster God's throat.

It would have been fatal.

But fate, with the Trickster God, is always a lie.

The moment Josh's foot touched the glowing symbol beneath him, the illusion fell away—revealing a hidden sigil, a trap that had been carved into the floor with such precision that even Josh's Kingly Awareness hadn't seen through it.

A portal flared open beneath him. Ancient runes ignited in cascading layers.

It wasn't just any trap.

It was a dimensional trade seal—a cruel law of the multiverse that stated:

"A soul may only leave the Fifth Dimension when another soul takes its place."

The Trickster God hadn't clawed his way out.

He had tricked his way out.

He needed a worthy, alive, and conscious soul to switch places with him—and Josh, angry and righteous, had stepped right into the exchange sigil.

"Josh!"

Lola's voice tore from her throat—raw, desperate, louder than thunder.

She and Conrad Stan had diligently hidden his true name from even the other generals, however... For the first time, everyone heard her call his name without titles. No Captain, no Commander, no Lord… just Josh. She couldn't bear to lose him, the agony would compound over time.

It made the Trickster God pause, eyes glinting with amused malice.

"Ahhh... fascinating," he said as he stepped over the circle, free of its confines. "So… you do know his true identity."

Gasps rippled from the other generals.

Conrad clenched his jaw. Ralia Amia's grip on her orb faltered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

The other generals had long suspected that Lola harbored deep feelings for Josh—that much was obvious in the way her eyes lingered on him, the way she moved in sync with his decisions even before he voiced them. But what they didn't know—what none of them had dared imagine—was who Josh truly was.

And hearing Lola cry his name with such raw, unguarded anguish… it struck deeper than any blade.

There was only one Josh whose name had ever rolled off Lola's tongue with such urgency.

Josh Aratat.

The 8th Prince of the Nazare Blade Empire.

The son of the Emperor.

The one the world believed had died in exile.

Their hearts stuttered.

The realization landed like a thunderclap. The Black Dragon. The wandering warrior. The king-slayer prophesied by whispers and war songs… had royal blood.

But there was no time to unravel this now.

Their master was caught in a trap woven by a god. If they didn't act—didn't find a way to intervene—they could lose him. Not just to battle, but to another dimension, one from which few ever returned.

Within the portal, Josh grunted as the energy wrapped around him like chains made of time and thought. He sheathed his sword and pulled out something even older—his Kingly Staff, a relic of his heritage, glowing with symbols older than language.

"I'm not going down that easily," Josh growled.

The space inside the portal cracked with pressure. The Fifth Dimension was beginning to drag him in—but the rod blazed in defiance.

The Trickster God turned his back on the portal, now stepping fully into the realm of men. His body shimmered—one moment tall and graceful, the next hunched and distorted. His smile didn't fade.

He spoke again.

"Let the games begin."

Lola stepped forward, every hair on her body standing.

"Like hell they will," she hissed.