To Command, To Protect

"Oh? Then tell me more about this quest."

| Quest Unlocked: Become the God |

| Objective: Gain 9,999 followers. || Progress: 0/9,999 |

"God, is it?" Feng Yun scoffed. "Believers alone? Sounds childish."

| Host is correct. This is only the beginning of your path to godhood. |

He reached into his robes and pulled out five jet-black seeds, pulsing faintly with a strange heat.

"I want to know about these seeds," he murmured. "The ones I received. What do they do?"

Before the system could respond, footsteps echoed.

"I greet the king."

Feng Yun looked up calmly.

The man entering wore court robes — slightly wrinkled, hurried. A scroll clutched in one hand.

Ah. This must be the finance minister... and supposedly, the best friend of one of those traitors. I have no memory of his face, but my instinct rarely lies.

Feng Yun's voice was firm and emotionless. "Do you know where your dearest friend is slacking?"

The minister blinked. "My friend? Ah… Yes, Minister Van and the general… they vanished yesterday evening after the tournament. I thought they returned home, but… I haven't seen them since."

Feng Yun's lips curled faintly. "I see. Then send a search party. If they're still missing by sundown, send letters to their families."

"Yes, my lord." The minister bowed low and quickly retreated.

Just then, a guard entered the chamber.

"My lord, the jailer from the underground prison seeks your audience."

Feng Yun stood without a word and motioned toward the door.

"Bring him in. I don't have all day."

But as the jailer approached, Feng Yun raised a hand, cutting him off.

"No need to waste time with words. Just show me the way."

The jailer hesitated at the sudden dismissal, but nodded.

And together, they vanished into the depths of the castle.

The descent into the prison was steep and suffocating. The air grew heavier with each level, thick with rot, blood, and old screams.

At the final landing, torches flickered along damp stone walls, casting eerie shadows.

The jailer stopped and turned.

"My lord, my name is Guru," he said, bowing low. "I am one of your most loyal subjects. May I ask why someone of your esteemed position would wish to enter a place like this?"

His tone was sweet. Too sweet.

Feng Yun's eyes sharpened.

"Shut your mouth before I shut it for you," he said coldly. "Just show me to Level Seven."

The color drained from Guru's face—not at the threat, but at the destination.

"M-My lord, forgive me, but... Level Seven is not like the others. The prison is structured by strength. Each level descends deeper, housing stronger monsters. Level Seven houses monsters, my lord. Stage Five, Awakened Path or worse."

He swallowed hard and added, "Entering that floor without a general—or someone stronger—would be suicidal. And I don't fear for myself… but for you, my lord."

Feng Yun didn't even blink.

"I didn't ask for your concerns. Lead the way."

Guru hesitated only for a moment before nodding and walking ahead.

As they moved deeper, Feng Yun glanced sideways, speaking to the translucent window that hovered quietly near his vision.

"Tell me—did you suppress my spiritual energy?"

| Affirmative. For the safety of the host and others, your current displayed realm is Mortal Path – Stage 5. |

| Would you like the suppression removed? |

Feng Yun smirked.

"No. Keep it as is. Let them wonder how I leap realms in days while they take years."

The stairs ended before a great black gate, sealed with layered enchantments and steel chains.

Guru stopped. His voice trembled.

"This is it, my lord. Level Seven."

He turned slowly, sweat glistening on his brow.

"If you tell me which prisoner you seek, I'll fetch their record. But please… do not step too close to the cells. These monsters aren't bound by sanity—or mercy."

He ignored him and stepped toward the gate of the cell where he wanted to go. His fingers curled into a fist."Open it," he said.

Behind the steel, something stirred. And laughed.

Meanwhile, far from the blood-soaked throne of Feng Yun...

In a field of wildflowers swaying under the sun, a white-haired beauty sipped tea at a delicate wooden table. Her features were noble, serene—yet shadowed by silent tension.

Beside her stood a man like a statue. Tall—around 195 centimeters—with pale skin, black hair, and piercing blue eyes. His frame was lean, his face handsome enough to halt conversation. A long sword rested against his back. He wore a simple white shirt and dark pants, untouched by the dirt of the earth.

 The beauty, setting her teacup down with a sigh, said, "Sir Asher, how long do you intend to stand there? You're not a guard, and I'm no helpless princess. I may be royalty, but I'm still only a daughter. Why did Father assign you of all people to protect me—when your sword is needed at the frontlines? Our people are dying… and the Hero of Eldoria watches flowers bloom."

But Asher did not move.

"I cannot leave your side," he said simply. "Not now. Not while we're still at war with Emberwood."

Ariel sighed, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear. "You're too stubborn."

Asher remained silent.

But his mind burned.

I can't leave you—not today. Not when I know what's coming. I watched you die in my last life… assassinated by your own sister. She blamed Emberwood, but I remember the truth. This time, I'll stop it. I'll catch her red-handed. I swore to protect you—even if it breaks the heavens.

Then, mentally, he called out:

"System. How long until my ability—Timebound Resurrection—is recharged?"

"Only one year remains until the Cataclysm begins."

| DING… Timebound Resurrection will fully recharge: Tomorrow. |

Asher's lips curled into the faintest smile.

"Good."