Chapter 82: The One Who Tricked Death.

Hel’s body trembled as the Heavenly Principles forced her unconscious burst of power down.

That word.

That impossible word.

Primordial Mark.

No mortal should have known about it—no mortal could have.

The laws of the cosmos themselves silenced such truths.

And yet the boy had asked it with a smile across his face as if he knew exactly what that meant.

Her still heart thumped with rage.

The boy had lied.

He had said that he wished only to lose, that the game was a formality and yet he had asked her a question she could never answer.

Because revealing her Primordial Mark was like handing over the key to her divinity… her very soul.

How does he know about it?

Did the Trickster share that knowledge with him?

Or had the Trickster’s chaos warped fate so thoroughly that a mortal could trespass where even gods were forbidden?

Her mind raged with questions but she had no answers.

No Gods should have been able to share that knowledge.

It wasn’t a matter of will… it was a fact enforced by Heavenly Principles themselves.

So, it didn’t make sense for a mortal to have that knowledge.

So, how does he know that?

No matter how much she thought, she couldn’t understand.

[The Seraphic Decree Has Concluded]

A commanding and mechanical voice echoed in her head as a system window appeared.

The crimson thread between her and the mortal snapped as she felt some of her power leaving her body.

She knew it was temporary due to the Decree being enforced by the Heavenly Principles.

“Why?” The words left her mouth unconsciously.

She couldn’t comprehend why the mortal would betray her.

She had accepted all his demands, all he had to do was tell her the information about Chalice.

… and yet, he betrayed her.

Hel raised her head to look at the mortal, but he didn’t have the expression of someone who won anymore.

No.

His expression had turned desperate.

Even his smile twitched as if it wasn’t going away even when he wanted.

“Hel…”

He called her name.

Not the overly respective and fake honorific name he called before.

She didn’t feel angry… instead she only listened.

“The Trickster…”

His words were fragmented as if he was forcing himself to even speak.

“He did something… I wanted to tell you the location.”

“I really wanted to… but I don’t know why I asked that last question. I don’t even know what that meant.”

He fell on his knees, clutching his fading body tightly.

“It was as if I lost control over my mouth for a few moments.”

His body started fading.

But he looked up one last time.

His smile looked sad now.

“I am really sorry.”

With those last words his body faded completely.

[Rael Von Ashborn Has Won the Decree]

[The Rewards Are Being Granted]

The world echoed as Hel herself started fading out of the True Heaven.

Her eyes narrowed.

The Trickster?

Was it truly the Trickster’s meddling, or had the mortal played her after all?

She didn’t know.

Who was he, really?

He wasn’t just a clever mortal with a spark of luck, that much was clear.

She replayed every moment in the True Heaven, searching for cracks in his mask, hoping, for once, to find answers where before she only found more riddles.

If the Trickster truly had interfered… What were his intentions?

Why choose this boy?

Why go so far to keep him alive?

For the first time in eons, Hel was left wondering… not about power or fate but about a single mortal smile.

✦✦✦✦✦

[Rael’s POV]

Phew…

Finally done with divine drama.

My body floated back into Limbo—the same cold and colorless space I had first landed in.

It was cold, but not Helheim-cold. More like the chill of a waiting room you can’t quite leave, no matter how much you glare at the clock.

I was being resurrected

I couldn’t tell if my little performance at the end had fooled Hel but I had to hope it at least planted a seed of doubt.

That was my last shot at dodging the full wrath of a goddess, after all.

And really, who better to blame than the Trickster? If anyone in this cosmos could be accused of meddling, it was that smug and unpredictable bastard.

Even as dead, he made a perfect scapegoat.

That’s why I saved the Primordial Mark question for last. If I had asked it first, Hel might’ve smelled a setup. But by pushing it to the final round, it looked like I had meant to lose until the dead Trickster somehow “hijacked” my mouth at the worst possible moment.

Not that he was alive to complain. If his ghost was watching, he was probably laughing his ass off.

The best part? The Seraphic Decree had no loopholes, not like the soul contract I had with Duke Astravore. Hel couldn’t touch me now. No direct revenge, no subtle divine vengeance.

At least, that’s what the laws said.

Of course, I wasn’t about to relax completely. I had survived one underworld and a goddess’s attention, but I had learned better than to trust a contract to keep me safe forever.

That’s why, blaming the trickster was my insurance.

Now, all that was left was to watch my sweet revenge take shape.

Five whole minutes with the authority of death.

Just imagining it sent a jolt of euphoria through me—five minutes to make that scaly red bastard regret every smug breath, every smug word, every second he spent thinking he had already won.

He thought I was just a bug.

But he had no idea that even a bug can kill—if it’s poisonous enough.

✦✦✦✦✦

Meanwhile in the outside world, Ragnar stood beside the Pond Of Life.

His eyes focused on the [Card Of Arcana] which still floated above the lake as if waiting for something.

He had tried everything to take the Card back to the Trial space.

Nothing worked.

He couldn’t even touch it.

Every time his hand closed in on the card, it phased through, ignoring his will as if he were nothing more than a ghost.

Annoyed but unwilling to show weakness, Ragnar settled down beside the Pond of Life.

He closed his eyes and began to meditate, trying to draw in the energy of the card.

He was certain that, within five or at most ten year, he would completely absorb the divinity and finally surpass his peak to rise beyond this mortal shell… to claim the authority he deserved.

All he needed was time.

And the bug he killed would be nothing but a distant and irrelevant memory.

Or so he believed.

Engrossed in his meditation, he failed to notice the faintest twitch of the boy’s finger behind him.

But the very next moment, a violent surge of mana exploded through the air, making even the Pond of Life ripple violently.

Ragnar’s body froze, every survival instinct screaming at him to run away.

The [Card of Arcana] in front of him began to glow brighter and brighter as if in celebration…

… as if welcoming something home.

Ragnar forced himself to turn around slowly, ignoring every primal warning and looked towards the direction of the mana.

He would not bow or flee, not before the card or whatever power had awakened.

Pride and fear battled in his chest, but pride barely won.

And the scene he saw was unlike anything he had witnessed in all his centuries of life.

The bug—the boy—Ragnar had killed only moments ago now radiated mana so dense, so violent, it dwarfed even the peak of his own power.

The very air crackled with it, warping the light around the boy’s body.

Ragnar watched as the gaping wound in the boy’s chest, where his heart had been ripped clean out, began to close itself.

Muscle and bone regrew with unnatural speed. And in a matter of seconds, a new heart pulsed to life beneath the boy’s ribs.

The impossible was happening right before Ragnar’s eyes.

A resurrection that belonged in old myths.

For the first time in centuries, Ragnar felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Fear.

Without any hesitation, Ragnar lunged forward.

He didn’t know what miracle or madness was unfolding but every instinct told him a single truth:

He could not let the boy resurrect.

Power surged through his body as he aimed straight for the boy’s chest.

There was no time for doubt or any room for hesitation.

He knew that if he failed now, the consequences would be far worse than letting any bug escape.

But just as his claws were inches from piercing the freshly-beating heart, a violent wave of dark mana erupted outward from the boy.

It hit Ragnar, hurling his body backwards across the forest like a ragdoll.

He crashed into a tree.

His draconic body, tough as it was, barely had any scratch but an unease spread through him as he looked back at the boy.

This wasn’t the same bug he had crushed so easily.

The boy’s eyes were now bottomless pits of void, reflecting nothing and absorbing everything.

Even his already black hair seemed to absorb the very light around him.

The boy’s eyes locked onto Ragnar as a slow, cold smile twisted across his pale face.

“I told you, didn’t I?” The smile deepened even more as he spoke. “I will make sure you beg for mercy even after death.”

The smile sent shivers down Ragnar’s spine as for the first time, he realized, this was no mere resurrection.

Something far more dangerous had awakened.

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