The Death God reeled.

  In this dark, twisted realm, he thought he had complete mastery of everything—enough that he could expand his influence and become greater and achieve total omnipotence in both this realm and the realm of the living.

  Instead, when he sent his monstrous aberrations—demons—to take over the world of mortals, they replied in return and sent an army of weaklings. The Death God remembered laughing years ago in joy at the free food they gave him.

  And for a while, that was how it went. The weaklings died, and he won endless battles. But as the numbers of the weaklings dwindled, the survivors became more and more hardened.

  First, they could only kill thousands of his monsters.

  Then they killed hundreds of thousands.

  Then they killed a million.

  Then they killed tens of millions of his creations.

  Now that only one member of that dastardly army was left, the Death God had no minions left. All of his magic, the power he held over this realm, his domain, was tapped out, and he was looking at a single figure walking slowly toward him.

  He was a mere human being. A lowly mortal who managed to survive, yet…yet…

  Submit!

  The Death God tried to talk to him, but he didn't reply. The Death God once again tried to lay siege to the mortal’s mind, trying to take over, promising greatness, power, and everything.

  Take my offer, and you’ll be a god too! You shall gain mastery over death magic itself!

  He was both trying to parley while attacking the man.

  But the man responded with nothing but an empty gaze.

  He wasn’t even looking at the Death God anymore. Instead, he was just looking at the path ahead of him.

  He refused the Death God’s benevolence!

  Foolish mortal! Have you no ears? I can end all of this at once, and you’ll be—!

  “Hey, shitface. Will you shut up?” The lone soldier looked up at him, his face dead tired, as he narrowed his eyes. “For someone called ‘the Death God’, you sure squirm and squeal a lot.”

  The Death God gasped, thunder and tremors rocking the underworld.

  Y-you dare deny me—?

  [Absolute Blaze].

  Before the Death God could finish his words, a flash of red light struck him after the soldier swung one of his rapiers horizontally. His corporeal body was burned and destroyed, forcing the Death God to flee into his spiritual form.

  But he failed, and he found himself trapped inside.

  Without escape, he was smitten to death, his remaining thoughts flashing in his mind, screaming for revenge.

  You won’t end me here! My strength can never be matched, for I am the ruler of hell! I am the God of Death—the creator of demonkind—I cannot die!

  And then, there was nothing but ashes.

  A tired voice rang out.

  “...Finally. Silence.”

  “If you don’t fight, you’ll die! So fight! Fight—!”

  “I just want to go home. I don’t…I don’t wanna die…”

  “Lieutenant Marcus, you’re our last option, so I’ll leave my post to you. Win this one for us…will you?”

  “Captain…will my death make a difference? I…contributed, didn't I?”

  Marcus’s mind was assaulted by those voices as he walked toward a distant, green-colored portal. They were the last words of those who died in this bloody expedition. He didn’t know why he could even hear them now.

  So he tried to ignore them, even if he couldn’t.

  His full name was Captain Marcus Lieberman—and all he wanted at this moment was to get out of this hellhole.

  He took brief glances at his sides. The phantoms of his dead comrades seemed to follow him, but whenever he looked at them directly, they would disappear into the dust within seconds.

  He wondered if he was just hallucinating.

  It was a possibility. This walk was quite boring, after all. It was just him now. He had no one left to banter with, no one left to share a drink with, and no one to…

  Well, being alone sure wasn’t fun, even if he survived.

  Marcus was just a low-level [Scout] when he entered the underworld. The fact that he was now a level 100 [Hell Ranger], the final specialized class advancement of the [Scout] class for those who killed a lot of demons, had to be a lie.

  He wasn’t even an officer back then, but somehow, he was now a captain. It was a bit weird considering he now had no one left to even command.

  The point is, it was just impossible that he survived this far.

  But, well, this was it. He finished the mission bestowed upon him and his comrades two decades ago. Was it two decades? He didn’t know anymore; the idea of time and everything else was practically a blur now.

  Who knew how much time he spent in this dark, desolate place? All he knew was that he had to keep going, as they were all under orders to save the world by…well, fighting and dying here.

  It was hard. It was torturous.

  It was all…horrifying.

  But now, he was just numb. It was over. It was just him left, trying to go back home.

  As he reached the green portal, he looked back at the dark expanse he was about to leave behind.

  The phantoms were back.

  Marcus couldn’t count how many of them were out there; maybe a hundred thousand, maybe more.

  His friends, his old comrades, his underlings, and his superiors—they were all there too. They were right at the front even, where Marcus could see their faces clearly.

  It was strange. They were all watching Marcus, even when they all died in front of him while fighting against the Death God’s demonic horde.

  “Hey. Did you all see that?” Marcus called out to them, briefly believing that maybe they were real instead of hallucinations. “This is what we fought for. We won.”

  For a hardened veteran, he sounded like a meek boy asking for his parents’ approval one last time.

  He didn’t even realize it, but his right hand suddenly saluted his comrades, and all of them returned his salute.

  Then, they all turned to dust, one by one.

  Marcus felt his tears going down his cheeks as they all fully disappeared, something that had never happened since he was a mere child.

  He supposed he could excuse himself this time, though, because he finished the pacification and conquest of the underworld.

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  Again, it was unbelievable. But Marcus had to accept that this journey was over.

  He soon lowered his hand and walked to the portal.

  It was time to leave behind the past and keep moving forward, the same thing Marcus did since he stepped into the underworld for the first time, and through all the death, carnage, and battle he witnessed.

  Onwards—to whatever lay ahead of him.

  Always.

  His eternal march against fate wouldn’t end here.

  Finally, I’m back home—

  [YOU PACIFIED THE UNDERWORLD!]

  [REWARDS: DUAL CLASS PRIVILEGE GRANTED!]

  [AVAILABLE CLASS OPTIONS: N/A]

  Dual class?

  So that was his reward after all that? Does that mean if he worked or studied something, like magic, he could be a [Mage] or whatever else on top of his [Hell Ranger] class?

  Interesting.

  His train of thought was suddenly interrupted.

  “My, my, my! Are you perhaps another Envoy of Death? How truly wonderful! I can smell the stench of death’s essence oozing from you!”

  Marcus’s eyes widened.

  “I was expecting the Death God himself after completing this ritual, but it seems something has gone wrong. If you are an Envoy of Death, may you perhaps answer an inquiry of mine? Tell us, oh blessed one! Is our diligence to awaken our great master still insufficient?”

  That tone. It was deranged, psychotic, and depraved. He looked around to find the source of that voice.

  All he saw were people in black robes, and they were everywhere. In the middle was the one speaking to him, his robe’s hood lowered to reveal a decrepit man with an unnatural smile.

  Marcus stepped into the green portal because it looked like the portal that led him here two decades ago, and he knew that meant it would lead back to his world. But instead of a green expanse, where trees and bushes grew, he was on the floor of a dark, ritual room.

  These people…they’re trying to summon the Death God.

  There was no other explanation. They must be a cult!

  They were not just any cult, but a cult trying to restore mankind’s greatest nightmare. Marcus and his comrades literally fought to hell and back just to kill that damned cretin, and now they’re trying to revive—!

  He couldn’t believe it. Enraged, he took out one of his rapiers, standing up. Then he counted his new enemies. These bastards, these people—they were dead men walking.

  The fact that they dared to betray mankind like this, right in front of him, meant they signed their death sentence. It was a bit strange that the first thing he would do when he arrived in the world they saved was to kill, but…

  He’ll do it.

  I’ll dispose of trash, as I always do.

  [Swift Blade], [Blink Step].

  Moving like a flash of light, Marcus swung his sword at each of them, all in the span of two seconds—or a second? It didn't matter. All that mattered was that in the blink of an eye, all of the cultists were cut in half, their bodies falling around him.

  He let their leader survive, as Marcus planned to ask the depraved cultist some questions. The panicked man pointed at Marcus with a panicked gasp.

  “E-envoy of Death, what is the meaning of this? No, no, no! My dear colleagues! I-it can’t be—you are no Envoy of Death!”

  “Why are you doing this? Speak, or you’re dead.”

  “Such arrogance! I have diligently devoted my life to the one true god. You may have defeated my colleagues, but I am a level 75 [Necromancer]! You will not stop our great master’s return. Die—!”

  Before the cultist fired off a spell from his palm, Marcus decided to end the farce with one powerful slash of his blade.

  And splat. The cultist was dead, cut in half on the floor.

  So this guy is a level 75 [Necromancer]?

  He seemed a bit too weak. Then again, Marcus was a veteran of the Glorious Expedition, so comparing him to this guy was a bit too much. He wasn’t going to deny the strength he had. Most people in this world were probably the equivalent of a harmless fly to Marcus.

  Well, it seems that you’ve been quite slothful, Mr. Necromancer. You forgot to factor me into your plan. Marcus mentally replied to the necromancer’s earlier question about their diligence. Now you’re all dead. Your diligence was insufficient.

  He revelled a bit as he looked at the corpses around him. Killing the Death God’s minions always felt so good, whether they were demons or not.

  Like some glorified janitor, it seemed like he had another filthy place to clean. He may have been just another forcibly conscripted soldier of the Holy Astrean Empire, but after seeing what they do to people, killing these types of garbage was now a hobby of his.

  If someone was trying to do nasty things with the Death God pipsqueak involved, Marcus would definitely cut them in half, no question.

  Now.

  Marcus looked around at the carnage he had caused.

  They should have records of everything around here. I need to investigate.

  They may be cultists, but this seemed like a professional lair, with well-stocked resources, records, information, equipment, and supplies.

  That was neat. Sure, being summoned by a cult was less than ideal, but…

  It sure was a good start now that he knew what was around him.

  “Time to get to work then.”

  Before that, Marcus stopped, looking down at his sword as he noticed something truly beyond displeasing. Blood dripped down his beloved rapier, and he felt an overwhelming urge to pull out his cleaning towel.

  In hell, cut off from their supply lines, diligence in equipment maintenance was paramount. He hated anything that would dull his weapons, and the disgusting blood on his rapier was one of those.

  Damned cultists…

  The [Saint], a silver-haired young elven woman known as Stella the Ashen Saint, was in tears. She was ashamed of her failure at stopping the Death God Cult from their plans to unseal the underworld and revive the Death God.

  When the Goddess of Life granted her the privilege of having the [Saint] class, Stella became someone who would defend the entire realm in her place.

  She was a mere fourth princess of her kingdom, practically a disposable child for the royal family, but she found her purpose—to be the heroine of the people and the church.

  She was so ecstatic and zealous about taking on that role.

  But she failed badly this time. It was such a simple task, and she had finished so many other tasks of unbelievable proportions in the past during her service to the Holy Church already, but she, the [Saint], failed against a bunch of cultists.

  The humiliation, shame, and fear that filled her were so deep that as she watched the ritual continue, all she could do was whimper weakly.

  If death was going to approach soon, then she probably deserved it. Even if she, a level 55 [Saint], was one of the most powerful in the world, she was beaten by this cult. Whether it was a mistake during the battle or her underestimating them—she failed.

  She was sloppy, and now, this was the consequence. Now, the Death God will return, and so will the legendary demon horde that razed mankind four hundred years ago, all because she was sloppy.

  I’m sorry…I’m sorry to all of you…

  She watched as they finished the summoning ritual, tears going down her cheeks. The magical chains keeping her in place, alongside the heinous injuries she suffered from battle and torture, meant she was unable to do anything. Her mana was gone, and she was on the verge of death.

  She had nothing.

  She lost, utterly.

  Her amethyst eyes could barely make out who they summoned. Indeed, he looked like a creature of hell to her limited vision, blurred by her tears. They tried to talk to him, but it was all for nothing, as she expected.

  A hundred screams filled her ears, and then, the cultists were dead.

  Even the [Necromancer], whom she found out was level 75—making her realize why she was beaten—lasted barely a second before he was cut in half.

  None of them had a chance to react.

  The Death God stood ominously on top of the corpses he casually created. As he looked around at his macabre art, his face remained impassive. Why would he care? He simply stomped a bunch of ants—nothing more.

  Stella cursed those fools. They should not have done any of this; now the world is doomed!

  But even her spite ran out, so she looked down in resignation. Like those cultist corpses, she was going to be eaten soon, and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

  That was why she was chained. She was the ‘pure saint’ who would unseal the Death God’s sealed powers once he ate her, according to the cultists. Thus, she would be the catalyst for the world's destruction.

  It’s all my fault. I should have at least killed myself when I was defeated! Shame on you, Stella! Shame on you! Shame on you!

  “Time to get to work then.”

  Something was off. Her ears finally picked up his voice with clarity, but it wasn’t disgusting or distorted, like what one would expect from the Death God. It was cold, yes—but it was human.

  Looking back up, Stella tried to blink in an attempt to wipe some of the tears that blocked her eyesight. Then, she managed to fully see the young man—no, not a god of death—a simple black-haired young man who stood on top of the corpses of those who defeated and tortured her.

  He wore a grey greatcoat over his shoulder, and there was an insignia on it. Underneath his coat was a full grey uniform too, military perhaps? To Stella’s mind, he now looked like some sort of a knight—a hero who came down here to save her.

  She felt her heartbeat rising, hope surging in her defeated soul.

  Yet he didn’t notice her. Instead, he looked down at his bloody rapier first, annoyed.

  “Tch, now it's all filthy,” he scoffed while wiping his rapier clean with a towel. “And this place reeks.”

  Unable to even speak, all she could do was tug her chains with a bit of force, and that finally took his attention.

  She wasn’t sure yet if she was mistaken, but when his lifeless grey eyes widened with grave concern instead of demonic malice while the two locked eyes, she knew that she—the current designated heroine of mankind—had somehow found her first hero.