Alex walked through the coliseum’s corridors with two Valkyries, pondering whether to re-establish his connection with Geirölul or to act as if nothing had happened, fully relying on Göndul, who was already explaining all the details of his plan for Ragnarök to Geirölul. Once again, gratitude toward Göndul for her help in calming the enraged Valkyrie flickered in his thoughts.

However, Alex’s greatest concern was that Geirölul might spill everything to Brunhilde. It wasn’t a matter of distrust—he simply wanted Brunhilde to see everything firsthand through Völundr rather than hear about it in advance.

Upon reaching the observation balcony, Alex leaned against the railing and lit a cigarette. The arena had transformed once more; now, it was an expansive area with a stone floor that seemed deliberately designed for an epic battle.

His gaze shifted to the stone gates on the side of the gods’ tribunes. Alex barely contained his irritation at the sight of the massive statues of Apollo, frescoes depicting his exploits, and the overall atmosphere of egotistical grandeur.

“Self-absorbed idiot,” Alex muttered, exhaling smoke through his nose.

Standing beside him, Brunhilde heard his muttering and detected a hint of concealed disdain in his voice. Curious, she decided to probe the cause of Alex’s attitude toward the sun god.

“So, why do you dislike him so much? I mean, aside from his narcissism,” she asked cautiously, trying to divert Alex’s attention from his irritation.

Alex kept his eyes on the gates, where Apollo was expected to emerge, wrestling with the urge to storm in and beat the god senseless before the fight even began.

“People like him annoy me,” Alex began calmly, masking his anger with a composed tone. “He’s weak but calls himself the Sun God. If he dies, the sun won’t go out—so he’s not really the Sun God, just another fool with an inflated ego. Other gods are no different. Even Poseidon, the ruler of seas and oceans… I didn’t notice the seas boiling or vanishing after his death. Controlling water or an element doesn’t make someone a god.”

Brunhilde opened her mouth to argue but stopped, realizing Alex’s words held truth. After Poseidon’s death, the oceans had remained calm, and after Hades’ death, people hadn’t stopped dying. These thoughts were a revelation to her—the gods were far less omnipotent than she had believed.

Alex, observing her reaction, simply shook his head. Everything he described had happened in just one universe—the world of God of War, where Kratos had killed the gods, and their deaths genuinely caused cataclysms. Here, however, things were different.

“Maybe it’s because there are many lesser gods with similar powers?” Göll suggested cautiously, glancing at him with uncertainty.

Alex turned to Göll and ruffled her hair, smiling slightly.

“It’s not quite like that. In the vast universe, there are millions of suns and stars. Even if you kill all the gods connected to the sun, the suns themselves won’t extinguish. Why? Because those gods didn’t create the sun. The sun is just a massive star, a dense ball of pure energy. Even if they all die, those stars will continue to shine until they eventually burn out on their own,” he explained calmly, as though stating an obvious fact.

Göll nodded, trying to process his words. To her, Alex’s reasoning sounded too scientific, though she sensed a certain logic in it.

Brunhilde gazed at Alex thoughtfully, pondering his words. They resembled a scientific explanation more than a supernatural one, completely overturning her conventional understanding of the world.

After all, the sun, sky, earth, and water had existed long before the gods appeared. These beings merely associated themselves with these concepts, but none of them had created them. Some had stronger ties to these elements, while others had weaker ones, but that was all.

Brunhilde again caught herself thinking that Alex knew far more than he let on. He usually shared knowledge in small portions, as if he was dosing out information. Even his stories about the mysterious Outer Gods, about whom none of the gods had ever heard, left her confused. Clearly, Alex hadn’t gleaned this knowledge from books. More likely, he had received it from someone… or something.

She studied him intently, wondering where he had gotten such information. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Alex was hiding much more than he revealed, and now she regretted refusing Völundr when he had offered it.

“I hope his sister doesn’t come running for revenge,” Alex suddenly said, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. He squeezed the cigarette butt in his palm, burning it with fire. “Otherwise, I’ll send her to the Moon. Then she’ll definitely become a lunar goddess.”

“Why would Artemis seek revenge for Apollo? She doesn’t just dislike him, she practically hates him—because of his egoism and narcissism,” Brunhilde replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, if you say so. But if she does show up, her new home will be the farthest moon in our galaxy,” Alex shrugged with complete indifference.

Brunhilde stared at him, confused, trying to figure out whether he was joking or speaking seriously. She was even curious how he planned to send the Moon goddess… to the Moon. Göll was also intrigued by this, her youthful face glowing with a mix of surprise and admiration.

Meanwhile, Alex shifted his gaze from them and began surveying the stands. His eyes scanned the rows of spectators until they settled on the balconies reserved for the highest gods. There sat Zeus, Hermes, and Ares. However, Odin was nowhere to be seen. In the place where he should have been, only Loki sat, wearing an expression as if he had been dropped straight to the floor as a child.

Alex frowned, considering Odin’s absence. A possible scenario was already forming in his mind. If this one-eyed old man hadn’t shown up, it was likely he had decided to prepare an alternative plan in case the main one failed. Alex felt that there was something important behind this.

Meanwhile, in the center of the arena, Heimdall appeared in his usual eccentric attire: a long hooded jacket with no sleeves, puffy shorts, and massive boots. His appearance meant only one thing—the next duel was about to begin. All the spectators, both gods and humans, eagerly awaited the start of the battle.

From the gates of the gods, it was obvious who would represent them in the next round. However, the mysterious gates of humanity, adorned with the image of a serpentine dragon, gave no clue as to which fighter would emerge. The symbol raised more questions than answers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience! Who would have thought that yet another arena destruction would delay Ragnarök?” Heimdall loudly announced, beginning his proclamation.

The stands erupted with applause and cheers. From both sides—the gods and humans—sounds of jubilation filled the air. The anticipation had heightened the atmosphere to its peak.

“And here we go! The final battle of the gods versus humanity—Ragnarök! The ninth round! After the eighth round, humanity continues to lead with a score of 5-3! Who could have imagined that humanity would prove to be such a strong opponent?!” Heimdall continued, stirring the crowd with his energy.

From the human side of the stands, joyful cheers rang out. People, anticipating yet another triumph, had already begun celebrating in advance. The gods, on the other hand, watched the proceedings with grim faces. None of them could have predicted that humanity would be so strong, that their fighters would leave the gods with no chance.

Alex, sitting in his seat, stole a glance at Loki. The sight of his irritated face made Alex want to burst into laughter, but he held it in. The question already spinning in his mind was: which god would lose their patience first after Apollo’s defeat? Odin or Zeus? Or would Zeus finally lose control after losing yet another family member in this war?

“In this round, which opens the final five battles, you can expect something special!” Heimdall announced, raising the tension. “Our fighters will make you hold your breath and make their battle unforgettable!”

Alex smirked, anticipating the crowd’s reaction. He knew who would emerge from humanity’s side. And it was none other than the legendary Dracula, who, according to rumors, had long been dead.

The stone gates on the human side began to slowly open. From behind them emanated impenetrable darkness, a cold wind, and a dense, creeping mist. It seemed that something horrifying, not human but the very embodiment of a nightmare, was about to emerge from the human side.

“He was a great ruler. And a terrifying ruler. His cruelty to his enemies became legendary, his name instilled fear, and his actions turned into grim tales. Children were afraid to sleep after hearing about him. When the help of a God was rejected, he turned to the one who never ignores prayers. The ruler of Wallachia, who sold his soul to the Devil himself in order to save his people. One man standing against the Ottoman Empire. A monster from the legends…” Heimdall’s voice echoed across the arena, captivating the audience.

The mist grew thicker, and the tension in the air increased. All eyes were on the gates. The spectators, holding their breath, awaited the appearance of the mysterious fighter who was about to change the course of Ragnarök.

At first, the audience was confused, not understanding which ruler Heimdall was referring to. However, as Heimdall continued his announcement, it became clearer who this mysterious fighter was. Those who figured out his identity were even afraid to speak his name aloud.

The gods, upon learning the identity of this person, widened their eyes in astonishment. They watched intently as the stone gates from the human side slowly opened. Zeus briefly glanced at Brunhilde. He immediately realized that she couldn’t have been the one to bring this fighter. This could only mean one thing: there was only one person in the Coliseum capable of such a feat. Zeus’s gaze focused on Alex.

Alex sat in his seat with an indifferent expression, though he had a hard time hiding his smirk when he noticed Zeus’s gaze. Meanwhile, among the humans, a commotion began. The believers from humanity’s side began crossing themselves, as if they feared the arrival of the Antichrist or the embodiment of the Devil. And then the silence was broken by the muffled sound of heavy footsteps in armor, coming from the depths of the gates.

“For centuries, his name echoed everywhere. He went by many names. They called him the Impaler, the Son of the Dragon, Dracula. Even his own people considered him a monster. And now he’s here to protect humanity! Meet—Vlad III Tepes!” Heimdall declared loudly, pointing at the gates, from where the footsteps were growing ever clearer.

From the dense darkness, a silhouette began to emerge, cloaked in shadow. In a moment, before the audience stood Vlad III Dracula. His crimson-black iron armor gleamed ominously, his long black hair fluttered in the cold wind, and his dark, tattered cloak trailed behind him. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to draw it at any moment.

The spectators from humanity were filled with a mixture of horror and awe. Before them stood the man they knew only from legends. The gods, on the other hand, were in a state of confusion: none of them had expected such a controversial and dangerous representative of humanity to step onto the arena.

Alex watched the crowd’s reaction. On the faces of the humans, fear and excitement were evident, while the gods looked bewildered. He merely smirked, anticipating the unfolding events.

“And now, against the very embodiment of cruelty and violence, from the gods’ side, comes HIM!” Heimdall continued loudly, pointing to the stone gates on the gods’ side.

The stone doors began to slowly open, and a bright sunlight streamed through the cracks. The light was so blinding that the spectators had to shield their eyes or turn away.

Alex frowned, thinking, “If I had a stone, I’d definitely throw it at that lamp!”

The light grew brighter until Apollo appeared on stage. His blinding radiance made Alex scowl in irritation. He could feel a strong urge to stand up and beat the sun god right there and then. But his attention was diverted by an unusual detail: his robo-dog, GIR, had already put on sunglasses.

“Seriously? Why does he need sunglasses?” Alex thought, trying to stifle a laugh.

Meanwhile, Heimdall continued:

“Why does this god emit such a bright radiance? Why do all the other gods admire him so much?” His voice echoed throughout the Coliseum.

Behind Apollo, the light shone so brightly that his silhouette was indistinguishable. However, the jubilation from the gods did not subside: they greeted their fighter with excitement.

“Maybe it’s because of his silver bow and golden arrows with which he slayed Python? Or the beautiful melodies he created with his lyre? No, no, and once again no! It’s all because of his stunning beauty and unmatched strength! Humans and gods alike called him Phoebus, the god of the sun, shining above the heavens! Meet—Apollo!” Heimdall exclaimed, finishing his announcement.

Alex, observing all this, merely smirked. Ahead of him lay a battle that promised to be not only spectacular but also very personal.

As soon as Heimdall announced Apollo’s entrance, the spectators from the gods’ side erupted in loud applause. The Sun God, as if basking in the rays of glory, stood in a dramatic pose, accepting the enthusiastic cheers. His appearance matched all expectations: Apollo was dressed in an exquisite outfit combining Greek style and Japanese motifs.

A laurel wreath crowned his golden hair, and his toga was adorned with floral patterns, while a belt (obi) added an elegant touch to his appearance. His chest was partially exposed, and numerous jewels—such as a sun-shaped necklace, a chain around his waist, and a decorative chain on his right leg—emphasized his status. Black gloves, partially covering his fingers, completed the look.

Alex, standing on the viewing balcony, struggled to resist the urge to jump down and beat Apollo right then and there. Sighing, he regretted not doing it sooner.

“I should have just dressed up as a member of the Flying Spaghetti Monster cult, beaten him with a stick, and then thrown him into the sun to see if he’d burn,” Alex thought grimly, watching the god’s dramatic performance.

On the arena floor, Vlad III Tepes and Apollo stood face to face. Being a clone of Alex, Vlad shared the same disdain for the self-satisfied god. Looking at the balcony where the original stood, Vlad caught Alex’s gaze, who traced his finger across his neck, clearly signaling that this narcissist should not be spared.

The corners of Vlad’s mouth curled into a barely noticeable smile. This exchange of glances did not go unnoticed. The spectators—both humans and gods—quickly realized that Alex was clearly set against Apollo.

“It seems your friend wishes me death. Oh, how sad is the fate of such a beautiful creature like me,” Apollo said with a melancholic expression, striking another theatrical pose.

Alex involuntarily gritted his teeth, regretting that he hadn’t taken Vlad’s place in this duel. However, his mood quickly shifted when Vlad swiftly lunged forward. With incredible speed, he was suddenly in front of Apollo, throwing a punch.

At the last moment, the Sun God managed to leap back, and Vlad’s fist sliced through the air mere inches from his face.

“How rude of you to attack someone who wasn’t ready,” Apollo said, his voice turning cold, and his face lost its earlier lightness.

Vlad calmly lowered his arm and looked at his opponent, his gaze icy.

“This is war. Here, you’re either ready or dead. If you want to continue your theatrics, you should have locked yourself in your heavens and never shown up here,” Vlad replied, his voice just as cold.

Sparks seemed to fly between Vlad and Apollo. Vlad silently observed the self-absorbed god, contemplating how to get closer and finally teach this narcissistic “embodiment of the sun” a lesson.

“You’re rather grim,” Apollo began, his voice laced with false sympathy. “But what else would one expect from a man dubbed one of the cruelest rulers? The one who sold his soul and plunged into darkness. But I’m ready to offer you another path! How about turning away from the darkness and starting to pray to me, the great God of the Sun?” he finished, gracefully striking a dramatic pose as if performing a scene from a play.

Vlad remained unmoved. His face stayed icy, and in his mind, the persistent voice of Geirølul echoed, urgently demanding that he “shut up” Apollo with his fists. He sighed heavily, and steam escaped from his mouth as if his body were covered in frost.

“When I prayed to the gods, they didn’t listen. When I begged for help to protect my people from invaders, they remained deaf,” Vlad began coldly, his voice ringing like metal. “But as soon as it came to offerings and sacrifices, you gods were quick to rush forward, stuffing your bellies with wine and food. When my people starved, you just reveled in your immortality.”

He paused, locking eyes with Apollo.

“When I sold my soul to save my people, you didn’t come to my aid. When my soul was dying along with my body, the gods turned away again. But then he came. The one who gave me power. So, wipe that foolish expression off your face. Or you will die without ever understanding what happened to you,” Vlad finished, drawing his sword with icy calm.

Vlad pointed the blade at Apollo, then slowly moved forward. But his steps suddenly quickened, turning into a lightning-fast lunge. Leaping, Vlad swung his sword, aiming to deliver a crushing vertical strike. Apollo, already anticipating the attack, prepared to meet him with his divine weapon.

Vlad’s blade descended with force but was stopped by threads emanating from Apollo’s hands. However, feeling the resistance, Vlad immediately released the sword’s hilt and struck Apollo’s jaw with a powerful punch.

The impact sent Apollo flying to the side, but he quickly regained his balance, though the smugness in his expression had faded. Vlad effortlessly flicked his sword into the air with his foot and caught it as if nothing had happened.

“Well, that was a good hit,” Apollo acknowledged, adjusting his jaw with a deliberately casual air.

“Are you really the God of the Sun?” Vlad asked calmly, staring intently at him.

The question caught Apollo off guard. He blinked, clearly puzzled, and his theatrical demeanor briefly gave way to confusion.

“What a strange question. Can’t you see how I shine?” Apollo finally replied, striking another dramatic pose.

“I’m interested in this,” Vlad squinted slightly. “If you die today, will the sun go out? Will the world be plunged into darkness? Or are you just an impostor who calls himself the God of the Sun without true power or influence?”

Vlad’s words were spoken calmly, but their cold tone seemed to pierce to the bone.

Vlad’s words sparked a storm of indignation among the gods. Their cries and curses filled the hall, while Alex, watching from the balcony, couldn’t help but applaud his clone. The bluntness and precision of Vlad’s question truly deserved praise.

Alex narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, observing the gods’ reactions. He still didn’t understand exactly how divinity worked in this world, where there were so many gods it was impossible to count them all. However, one thing was clear: Vlad’s words had the effect of a bombshell. Apollo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised and puzzled by the question.

“Why did you ask such a question, Dracula?” he finally asked, trying to maintain his regal tone, but his voice betrayed genuine surprise.

Vlad merely smirked.

“It’s quite simple,” he began, coldly eyeing Apollo. “After Poseidon’s death, the seas didn’t overflow. After Hades’ death, people will still die. And even after your death, the sun will continue to give light. So, you’re not really the god of the sun. You just call yourself that. Maybe it’s time to come down from the heavens and realize your true place in this world?”

Vlad’s dismissive tone sounded like a slap to Apollo, leaving him bewildered. A silence fell among the gods—none of them could provide a worthy response. Even among the humans watching the scene, whispers began to spread. Vlad’s words made them question the nature of the gods. If they couldn’t control the very forces they supposedly governed, then what kind of gods were they?

Brünnhilde stole a glance at Vlad, then shifted her gaze to Alex. Now she understood why the two had found common ground. She realized that Vlad harbored contempt for the gods—and the reason for it was obvious. As he had said, when he begged the gods for help, they let his people die. Only by selling his soul was he able to protect his people, but for that, he was remembered as a cruel ruler and a monster who destroyed an invading army with ruthless precision.

“So, you’re so disappointed in the gods,” Apollo said quietly, tilting his head slightly. “I can understand that. But what about worshiping me? I can help you find the light.”

“It seems you still don’t understand,” Vlad replied calmly, ignoring Apollo’s attempt to play the role of the savior. “So be it.”

In that instant, Vlad vanished from his position, as if his shadow dissolved into the beams of light. Moments later, he appeared beside Apollo, swiftly delivering a horizontal strike with his blade. However, as before, Apollo’s divine weapon—the gloves releasing strong threads—stopped the sword.

Alex, watching the battle, narrowed his eyes, examining Apollo’s gloves. The threads reminded him of an item from another universe, which had similar functions. Vlad continued attacking from various angles, but Apollo skillfully controlled the threads, preventing the blade from reaching its target.

“Hmm, interesting thing,” Alex said thoughtfully, propping his chin with his hand. “Maybe I should create something like that… for fun.”

“You’ve already figured out how his weapon works?” Brünnhilde asked, looking at him in surprise.

“In general, yes,” Alex replied nonchalantly, nodding towards the gloves. “I’ve seen something similar before. The threads aren’t just strong—they can also form objects.”

Alex kept observing Apollo, recalling the legend of him and his sister Artemis. This god was obsessed with his sister, and his fanaticism bordered on outright pathology. Alex grimaced, recalling these stories. Olympus seemed like a pantheon of degenerates, where the concept of honor had long lost its meaning.

Meanwhile, Apollo closed the distance, and his threads began wrapping around his fists, forming sturdy gloves.

“Well, as I said, nothing new,” Alex commented, lighting a cigarette.

His calmness only irritated the gods more, but Alex paid no attention to it. Everything happening around him was just another spectacle, where he played the role of an observer, ready to step in if his clone needed help.

Brünnhilde noticed Alex’s lazy gaze, which surprised her a little. She had expected him to want to acquire Apollo’s weapon for his collection, but it seemed he wasn’t even interested. However, Brünnhilde didn’t know that Alex despised everything Apollo touched. For him, anything belonging to Apollo was considered filthy and unworthy of attention.

“I thought you’d want to get that weapon, not decide to make something like it for yourself,” Brünnhilde said, her voice tinged with surprise.

Even Göll was looking at Alex in disbelief, clearly unable to believe what she had just heard. Alex just rolled his eyes, not wanting to explain why he considered anything related to Apollo repulsive.

Meanwhile, Apollo, eager to show off his skills, theatrically waved his arms, activating his threads. They wrapped around his fists, transforming into massive combat gloves. Of course, he did this with his signature dramatic flair, hoping to impress the onlookers.

“I think it’s time to go on the offensive. How can I shine in this fight if I’m just defending? Don’t you think so, Dracula?” Apollo said, striking a pompous pose.

“Do as you wish. Just remember, you choose how you die,” Vlad replied coldly, completely ignoring the god’s theatrical tone.

Apollo, realizing his dramatics hadn’t made an impression, scowled. Clenching his fists, he made a couple of broad movements to stretch, then instantly closed the distance, attacking Vlad with a series of punches.

Vlad effortlessly dodged the attacks, stepping aside or blocking the blows with his sword. At one point, he swung his blade, trying to push Apollo back, but the sun god skillfully avoided the strike. Instead, he crouched, preparing to deliver an upward blow. His fist rapidly approached Vlad’s face, but Vlad raised his hand just in time to block the attack.

“So, this is the limit of the ‘great’ sun god?” Vlad said coldly, looking at his opponent with clear contempt.

Before Apollo could react, an iron fist struck his face. The blow was so powerful that Apollo staggered, but Vlad had no intention of stopping. He continued to strike until the sun god collapsed onto the stone floor.

Vlad released his grip on Apollo’s arm and looked coldly at the fallen body. However, giving Apollo time to recover was not his style. Lifting his foot, he aimed it downward, targeting the back of the god’s head.

Apollo managed to roll to the side at the last moment, and Vlad’s heavy boot struck the stone floor with force, leaving deep cracks. The entire coliseum erupted in loud cries as the spectators realized that the sun god’s head had narrowly avoided being crushed.

“Seems like your face is as tough as your ego,” Vlad coldly remarked, looking down at Apollo.

Apollo spat blood to the side, pretending as if nothing had happened. He dramatically straightened up, as if trying to erase the humiliation from the spectators’ memories. The gods, seeing his confident demeanor, began chanting his name, encouraging him with their noise.

“I hear their cries, I feel their support! They believe in me, and I will live up to their expectations! For such is the fate of the supreme being, the God of the Sun, the Unmatched Lord Apollo!” he said with pomp in his voice, striking a combat stance as if putting on another performance.

“Like most gods, you’re good with words. But actions are always secondary,” Vlad replied coldly, sheathing his sword.

His actions surprised the spectators, and even Apollo himself. Many wondered why he had sheathed his weapon at such a moment. In reality, Vlad had received a signal from Alex, who had asked him to only strike Apollo in the face.

Vlad clenched his fists, assuming a combat stance. Apollo, noticing this, became even more theatrical, shining so brightly it seemed as though he wanted to banish the darkness from the Coliseum itself. His body radiated a blinding light, and his posture was so exaggerated that it only elicited a short sigh of irritation from Vlad.

“Let’s break that smug face of his,” Geirölul’s voice rang out from behind Vlad in the form of a spirit.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Vlad replied calmly. “Alex and I are on the same page. And if you’re curious, this is the second Apollo to irritate me to this extent.”

Geirölul quickly reviewed Alex’s memories and discovered that Apollo from another world had been just as irritating and self-absorbed as this one.

The two opponents stood facing each other, assessing who would make the first move. Vlad slowly exhaled, steam escaping from his mouth. He took a step forward, confidently closing the distance to Apollo.

When the distance shortened, Vlad suddenly threw a punch at Apollo’s face. Apollo managed to dodge just in time, turning his head to the side. However, this was part of the plan. Vlad knew Apollo would evade, and he used the moment to grab him by the back of the neck and yank him toward him.

Apollo didn’t have time to understand what was happening before his face was on its way to Vlad’s knee. The Sun God instinctively raised his hands to defend himself from the blow. However, Vlad, anticipating this, changed his tactic. His fist came down with crushing force on Apollo’s neck, slamming his face into the stone floor.

Vlad wasn’t planning to stop. He lifted his leg, aiming to strike his opponent’s head again. But Apollo, sensing the danger, rolled to the side at the last moment. Using his hands for leverage, he forcefully kicked in Vlad’s direction.

Vlad crossed his arms, blocking the attack. Apollo, realizing his strike had failed, pushed off the ground, doing a backflip and landing in yet another dramatic pose.

The spectators, watching the unfolding scene, couldn’t contain their emotions. They saw Apollo hit the ground for the second time, once again taking blows to the face. Many started cheering for Vlad, especially the men, shouting loudly:

“Hit him in the face! Even harder, knock all that pomp out of him!”

Meanwhile, Alex watched the fight with a satisfied smile. His clone had once again performed brilliantly, and now blood was flowing from Apollo’s nose, left from the blow that had driven his face into the stone floor.

To be continued…

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep