The Mage Who Devours Disasters - Chapter 19

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 19.
Heimdall sank into the plush chair, his body melting into its embrace.
A subtle smile played at the corners of his mouth.
‘He’s going to have quite the struggle ahead.’
The image was vivid in his mind.
That solitary figure abandoned upon the White Ground, vast as an endless sea.
100 Nectar.
With such a pittance of capital, decorating a floor would seem utterly hopeless.
“Hehehehe.”
A chuckle escaped his lips.
Not from malice.
It was a peculiar sense of anticipation.
Grade A.
While it sounded impressive, it was practically an impossible mission.
Elevating a floor’s grade required vast resources.
Buildings must be constructed, ecosystems established, magical concentration heightened.
Every single step demanded ‘Nectar’.
‘A minimum of fifty years.’
Heimdall raised his goblet.
No matter how talented one might be, the barrier of Nectar could not be breached.
One must gather believers, conquer dungeons, ascend floors, and accumulate Nectar piece by painstaking piece.
Those long years of perseverance would forge him into a true Deity.
‘Well, if it truly becomes unbearable, I wouldn’t mind lending a hand.’
Heimdall adopted an expression of magnanimity.
If Rag were to swallow his pride and cling to his robes, begging for aid.
He had half a mind to reluctantly provide some Nectar support.
Truthfully, it had been irritating.
The boy had boasted loudly of seeking him out first upon entering the Tower, yet after reaching Floor 2, there had been nothing but silence.
Yet somehow, even that arrogance was not entirely displeasing.
Most of all, watching him recognize his own position and prostrate himself was rather endearing.
‘The boy has sharp instincts.’
A stark contrast to his initial insufferable arrogance.
He must have only grasped Heimdall’s greatness after ascending the Tower.
Had he continued with such insolence, he would have been annihilated on the spot.
And yet.
…What cards does he hold?
Angargon, the Dragon of Calamity.
Archangel Abriel.
And an elf brimming with potential besides.
He appeared far more useful than initially anticipated.
Perhaps that was why I didn’t find him distasteful.
‘For a lesser deity, his power is more than he deserves.’
A lineup that even most intermediate deities couldn’t boast.
Evidence that his vessel was exceptional.
His aptitude for calamity being zero was a flaw, but that could be remedied in time.
After all, he had already proven capable of withstanding my typhoon.
There had to be hidden talent within him.
Heimdall took a sip of nectar.
The sweet fragrance slid down his throat.
Then, a curious thought suddenly crossed his mind.
‘An Apostle Deity.’
If he truly achieved Grade A.
Then perhaps taking him as my apostle wouldn’t be a bad idea.
An Apostle Deity.
A successor who assists a superior deity and inherits their power.
A kind of ‘chosen disciple.’
The highest-tier deities each had outstanding apostles under their command.
But Heimdall had never taken a single apostle until now.
His standards were simply too high.
He had never found a vessel capable of handling his typhoon.
‘Perhaps Rag could manage it.’
I would nurture him and make him my right arm.
Not a bad picture at all.
It would solidify the Nature Faction’s power and become a stepping stone toward greater heights.
Heimdall lost himself in pleasant imaginings.
Fifty years hence.
He envisioned the grown Rag, now Grade A, kneeling before him and displaying his layer.
He leaned back leisurely against the armrest.
Time was abundant.
To a deity, fifty years was but a fleeting moment.
Just as he was about to close his eyes for a brief rest.
Ding!
A clear notification chimed through the void.
A System Message.
Heimdall opened his eyes with an air of annoyance.
‘Which lesser deity has died now?’
Obituaries had been frequent of late.
First Kartal, now even Caligo.
Who would it be this time?
He indifferently pulled up the message window.
But.
“…Pfft!”
I spewed out the nectar I’d been holding in my mouth.
I choked, and a coughing fit erupted.
He rubbed his eyes with a flushed face.
Looking again, the text remained unchanged.
Instead, it blazed with golden light, striking his optic nerve with force.
[Congratulations!]
[The crystal grade of Tower Floor 2 has been elevated.]
[Grade: F → A]
[Time Required: 23 hours 3 minutes 42 seconds]
[A miraculous pace!]
“…!”
Heimdall’s thoughts came to a complete halt.
F to A?
23 hours 3 minutes 42 seconds?
‘What is this?’
It made no sense.
It was simply impossible.
To elevate an F-grade Wasteland to A-grade required a minimum of 500,000 nectar.
It was only possible by constructing buildings, raising Divine Temples, envisioning a perfect ecosystem, and pouring in premium materials.
But what?
23 hours 3 minutes 42 seconds?
Yet the System, as if mocking his thoughts, displayed messages in rapid succession.
Ding!
[A new record is registered in the ‘Hall of Deities’.]
[Fastest achievement of Layer A-grade.]
[Record holder: Rag]
[Contribution: 100%]
“…Ha.”
Heimdall stared blankly into empty space.
The thoughts he’d harbored just moments before.
That it would take fifty years, that he’d make him an apostle, that he’d offer assistance.
All of it became laughable in that instant.
That creature needed no help.
‘Where on earth did he obtain the nectar?’
Wasn’t 100 nectar his entire fortune?
Even selling every sacred artifact at the exchange would make it difficult to procure that much nectar.
It was utterly incomprehensible.
‘Could another deity have sponsored him?’
My thoughts had reached that far.
But I shook my head.
Contribution rate: 100%.
It meant I had achieved it through my power alone.
My pride swelled, yet simultaneously a chill ran through me.
A being who shatters common sense.
A being who defies expectations.
That audacious Seed who blocked my typhoon and dared speak the name of the Absolute Deity.
It was certain now.
That creature is a “thing.”
Perhaps far more so than I had ever imagined.
Heimdall adjusted his attire.
A promise is a promise.
A Deity cannot speak with a forked tongue.
“Very well. Let me see for myself.”
He turned toward the spatial transfer gate once more.
His pace quickened.
Floor 2 of that creature who had transformed into A-rank.
He needed to witness with his own eyes what form it had taken.
Whoooosh!
The gate opened.
Heimdall threw himself through without hesitation.
And upon arriving at Floor 2.
He could only gasp in astonishment once more.
“…This is Floor 2?”
The Wasteland was gone.
A blindingly radiant Golden City greeted him instead.
Heimdall squinted.
The brilliance was so intense it stung his eyes.
Gleaming golden tiles.
Pillars carved from the finest marble.
At the center of the layer, a colossal Golden Temple stood in magnificent splendor.
It was not mere gilding.
The entire structure was composed of high-purity mana stones and gold.
‘This is absurd.’
Heimdall is a Deity.
Yet he had never witnessed such crude extravagance.
He looked down at his feet.
A meticulously maintained promenade stretched endlessly before him.
Along the path, flowers of every hue bloomed in profusion.
Magic Grass bloomed like weeds across the landscape, each flower worth dozens of Nectar.
“Insane….”
The curse escaped my lips unbidden.
I moved forward as if entranced.
The air itself was different.
More than refreshing—it felt as though my lungs were being cleansed by an invigorating coolness.
Lifting my gaze, an artificial sun hung suspended in the sky.
It warmed the Ground to a perfect temperature while providing flawless illumination.
Whoooosh!
The refreshing sound of cascading water echoed from somewhere.
A Waterfall.
Water plummeting from the void had formed an enormous lake.
White steam rose gently from the surface.
‘A Hot Spring?’
Heimdall sniffed the air.
The subtle fragrance of medicinal herbs mingled with the concentrated scent of divine power.
This was no ordinary hot spring water.
The pool was filled with premium Holy Water—the kind that restored divine power.
“Heh.”
I was speechless.
This was literally a resort.
But the real problem lay elsewhere.
‘Where are the defenses?’
Heimdall surveyed the surroundings.
Each Layer of the Tower is fundamentally a fortress.
Traps to bar intruders.
Ferocious monsters to tear challengers apart.
Mazes designed to confound the lost.
Such things should be standard.
Yet there was nothing.
No matter how carefully I searched, there was not a single element that could pose a threat.
Chirp chirp.
A blue bird flew overhead.
Crickets sang from the grass.
Butterflies fluttered, and squirrels nibbled acorns.
It was peaceful.
Excessively so.
“This is supposed to be an ecosystem?”
Heimdall’s face twisted in disbelief.
This wasn’t an ecosystem—it was a zoo.
No, it’s a botanical garden.
What’s the plan if an intruder breaks in?
Are they supposed to soak in the hot spring and relieve their fatigue before leaving?
Will they be healed while strolling along the walking paths?
“Rag!”
Heimdall’s voice thundered out.
The resonant cry shook the entire Golden City.
Blue birds startled and fluttered into the air.
Far in the distance, beneath the waterfall at the pavilion, someone was there.
It was Rag.
He wore a silk robe and held a glass of beverage in one hand.
Angargon was swimming belly-down in the hot spring water, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Welcome.”
Rag greeted him with a smile.
He looked like a man of leisure with the world’s greatest fortune.
Heimdall strode forward and nearly grabbed him by the collar before stopping himself.
Instead, he pointed an accusing finger.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“What’s the matter?”
“Do you really not understand why I’m upset?”
“Is it perhaps about the surrounding scenery? I’m unfamiliar with the other layers, but I did my best to create an A-rank floor in such a short time.”
….
Heimdall clicked his tongue.
He couldn’t refute it.
Well, if one didn’t know better, it was understandable.
Moreover.
‘It is A-rank, I’ll admit.’
A Divine Temple gilded entirely in gold.
A hot spring flowing with the finest holy water.
Even the density of mana drifting through the air.
This space clearly possessed the value of an A-rank floor.
The problem was its direction.
Not a Tower for combat and trials, but a resort for divine leisure.
Heimdall exhaled a deep sigh.
“…Very well, I concede. The rank is correct.”
He stared at Rag with piercing intensity.
His gaze grew sharp.
“But I must ask. Where in the world did you obtain this enormous amount of nectar?”
It was a scale that easily consumed a million nectar.
It was not a sum a mere fledgling who had just reached Floor 2 could possibly touch.
Heimdall’s eyes narrowed to slits.
Rag shrugged his shoulders.
His demeanor betrayed not the slightest hint of panic.
“I exchanged it for currency.”
“What?”
An audacious response.
Of course, it was the truth—yet utterly unbelievable.
To exchange such an abundance of nectar would require wealth beyond imagination.
‘He’s lying.’
Heimdall assumed Rag was concealing how he’d obtained the nectar.
As I furrowed my brow, Rag waved his hand dismissively and added:
“Ah, please, no misunderstanding. I swear I received no aid from another Deity.”
“….”
“The only one I follow is you, Heimdall. Would I dare dip into another’s coffers?”
Rag laughed with shameless charm.
Honeyed words.
Flattery, obvious to anyone—yet not unpleasant to hear.
Above all, there seemed to be no deception in Rag’s eyes.
I remained troubled by what he’d exchanged, but this creature had summoned Angargon and even tamed Abriel.
A being who transcended all convention—surely he possessed some alternative method.
I decided to set aside my suspicions for now.
“…Very well. Let us move past this.”
What mattered now was that Rag had kept his promise.
He had achieved the conditions I set with remarkable flair, and in the shortest span of time.
Proof that he had given his absolute best to the trial.
Rather than suspicion, praise and commendation were warranted.
Rewards must be given with certainty, and punishments must be delivered without fail.
“Take this.”
Heimdall drew something from the void.
An elongated form.
A staff crafted from a peculiar substance—neither wood nor metal.
Its surface was etched with whirlwind patterns, and at its crown gleamed a brilliant blue gemstone that rotated with fierce intensity.
Whoooooosh!
The moment the staff materialized, the air around us convulsed.
The surface of the hot spring rippled, and leaves thrashed violently.
“The Staff of the Tempest That Tears All Asunder.”
Even its name was savage.
Heimdall extended the staff and spoke with solemn gravity.
“It is one of the divine artifacts I hold most dear.”
Rag reached out and grasped the staff.
Heimdall spoke with a note of warning.
“Fair warning—you won’t be able to use it right away.”
“Why not?”
“Divine artifacts possess consciousness. They choose their masters. This one in particular is notorious for its volatile temperament.”
Heimdall’s tone carried the weight of his words.
“It took me a full decade to tame it. No matter how talented you are, earning this staff’s recognition will demand blood, sweat, and countless years of….”
Whooooosh!
“…?”
Boom!

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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