The Mage Who Devours Disasters - Chapter 49

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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 49.
“Ah….”
Thump, thump.
I could hear the sound of a heartbeat.
Not a hallucination.
Where the black death aura had lifted.
There stood a complete body, flushed with life and vitality.
Turan gazed down at his own two hands.
Rough, coarse skin.
Nothing compared to pale bone fragments.
Warm blood flowed through his veins.
This vitality could not possibly be false.
“This, this is….”
Turan’s voice trembled.
With the deep, resonant tone of a living, breathing human.
He turned hastily to look beside him.
Kalak, Barkan, Urk.
His three brothers were also running their hands over their own bodies.
They faced one another, eyes wide with astonishment.
Their expressions screamed disbelief.
It was only natural.
They had returned from death.
They had severed the chains of undeath that had bound them for eons.
It was a miracle.
Those who witnessed the spectacle were frozen in place.
Seria’s eyes trembled with profound shock.
The Frost Tribe Elves were no different.
No one dared to open their mouth.
All stood in stunned silence.
Magic that commands the dead as undead is commonplace.
But complete resurrection?
To restore flesh to decayed bone and return the soul itself.
This was the divine domain—something only the Creator could accomplish.
They were once again acutely aware of the greatness of the master they served.
But my perspective was somewhat different.
This was not the time to indulge in sentiment.
I gazed silently at the System window hovering in the void before me.
Information visible only to my eyes.
The status window of the Barbarian Four Brothers appeared.
Ding.
[Retainer: Turan (Ancient Barbarian)]
[Status: Incomplete Resurrection]
[Special Effects: Bitter Frost Spirit, Unbreakable Flesh]
[Title: Adversary of the Last Season]
[Strength: 800 Vitality: 600 Agility: 500
Intelligence: 300 Mana: 400]
-※ The Divine Throne is not yet complete.
-※ With each sealed clan member rescued, their original power is restored.
I dragged my hand across my jaw.
‘Incomplete resurrection.’
Just as I expected.
The Divine Throne itself is still half-formed.
I must clear the Quest.
One hundred Barbarians sealed somewhere in Asgard.
Only by rescuing all of them trapped within Skadi’s Territory would their true power awaken—such was the structure of this trial.
Yet I felt no disappointment.
If anything, my lips curved upward.
‘Even now, this is insane.’
Even in an incomplete state, Strength reaches 800.
Vitality has hit 600.
This is a monster.
Kusan, Cryos’s gatekeeper, was called a calamity even among the lesser deities.
Yet I had just gained four beings overwhelmingly stronger than him.
At least among the lesser deities of Asgard now, there was not a single one who possessed power greater than mine.
‘How reassuring.’
My Floor 55 had become an impregnable fortress.
No one would dare lay a hand upon it so easily.
That was when it happened.
Thud.
The sound of knees striking earth echoed.
Turan collapsed to the ground once more.
This time, his head bowed low as his shoulders trembled.
“Hngh… hnngh…”
“Waaaahhhhh!”
The massive men wept like children.
Turan, Kalak, Barkan, Urk.
All four brothers beat the ground in anguished sobs.
Millennia of accumulated sorrow poured forth.
The long years spent beneath Cryos, stripped of self and wielded as instruments of slaughter.
Freed at last from that terrible hell that had seemed eternal.
That was not all.
I restored their lives and returned their pride.
I even raised the Divine Throne and gave them the chance to reclaim their fallen brothers.
How could they not have faith?
How could they possibly refuse to follow?
To give one’s all to one who has given everything is the natural order of things.
And when that gift came without condition, the Barbarians were prepared to sacrifice everything in return.
Turan lifted his eyes, glistening with tears of blood, and gazed up at me.
The emotion dwelling in those eyes transcended blind faith—it was something far deeper.
Of course, I had already sworn.
For all eternity, until this soul crumbles to dust, to follow only my liege.
But.
Even so.
Even that was not enough.
“My liege!”
Turan’s voice tore through the air.
“This blood and flesh are nothing but the miracle you bestowed!”
Boom! Boom!
Four warriors struck their chests in unison.
It was the ancient and absolute oath-ritual of the Barbarians alone.
“We brothers shall now become your spear and your shield!”
Turan’s roar shook the very sky of Floor 55.
“Command us! If you point the way, we shall gladly charge into the depths of hellfire itself!”
“Command us! Should your enemy be a deity, we shall tear out their divine leash with our teeth!”
“We shall grind our bones to dust and fortify your throne!”
“Speak the word, and we shall march this instant into the frozen Northern Territory to claim Skadi’s head!”
The fervent cries continued without pause.
Desperate oaths mingled with tears of blood.
The intensity was almost overwhelming.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Whoa, whoa. Calm yourselves.”
I waved my hand to temper their fervor.
“I have no intention of commanding you to charge into hellfire or grind your bones to dust. Rest assured on that account.”
It was a light jest meant to ease the tension.
Yet the four Barbarians remained solemn.
If anything, they seemed ready to shed tears anew at my compassion.
I could only shrug helplessly.
In any case.
I had concluded one major act.
It had been a breathless war, fought at a relentless pace.
I successfully devoured the Frost Deity, Cryos.
By absorbing his territory and resources, I claimed the vast expanse of Floor 55.
The greatest prize, however, was the spoils of war themselves.
I obtained Heimdall’s protection and became his Apostle Deity.
In that process, I seized one of Heimdall’s most dormant powers from the Abyss—”Creeping Chaos”—into my own hands.
‘Though I cannot wield it yet.’
I do not know precisely what this power is.
But it is undoubtedly Heimdall’s most secret and formidable authority.
And as a bonus, the Barbarian Four Brothers tumbled into my grasp.
These monsters, once Skadi’s personal guard, are now my instruments.
With this formidable force alone, the defense of Floor 55 is more than sufficient.
My position in the Tower of Gods has fundamentally transformed.
The name ‘Rag’ will surely become an object of fear and reverence among the Deities.
Feeble lesser Deities or intermediate Deities dare not approach my territory.
With the title of Apostle Deity of Heimdall and my demonstrated might, I have entered a realm no one can easily touch.
My position in Asgard is secure for the foreseeable future.
Then only one thing remains.
‘Earth.’
The next episode approaches.
An even greater catastrophe will descend upon Earth.
And more divine avatars will emerge as prey.
It was time to fortify my foundation in preparation for the next episode.
* * *
The Eternal Winter Fortress.
Crack. Crackle.
The frozen earth screamed.
Spiderweb fractures began spreading across the beautifully carved ice pillars.
“….”
The Winter Queen, Skadi.
She sat upon her throne, trembling violently.
Not from the cold.
From uncontrollable, irrepressible fury of the most extreme kind.
Crunch!
The armrest of ice she gripped shattered into powder.
‘Cryos, that useless, worthless piece of garbage.’
It was incomprehensible.
He had been her Apostle Deity.
A pawn cultivated over millennia, the ruler of the Northern Territory.
And yet he lost.
He was defeated so utterly, so pathetically, so easily.
To a mere seventh-floor novice.
To a worm that had only just crawled into the Tower yesterday.
‘Rag.’
That contemptible creature had dared to devour my child.
He had hurled unspeakable filth upon my dignity as a supreme-tier Deity.
And what of that abominable Heimdall?
-Hand it over, Skadi. The Winter Flame.
His arrogant visage still burned before my eyes.
Under the pretense of a wager, he had seized even the divine essence that was my very heart.
Before countless Deities, he had trampled me utterly and mocked me without mercy.
He had pointed at me as though I were nothing but a defeated wretch.
“…Rag. And Heimdall.”
Killing intent seeped from between Skadi’s lips.
Her eyes burned crimson with fury.
“How dare you. How dare you inflict such humiliation upon me.”
ROOOAAARRR!
A savage blizzard tore through the entire Fortress.
The Queen’s wrath was freezing the very heavens of Asgard solid.
My pride lay shredded to pieces.
I could not let this stand.
If I yielded now, the title of Winter Queen would become a mockery.
I would never forgive them.
Not Rag. Not Heimdall.
I would tear them to shreds and cast them into the eternal frozen abyss.
Skadi drew ragged breaths.
Slowly, reason returned to me.
Mere rage alone could not achieve vengeance.
I needed to prepare.
I had to devise a plan—meticulous and flawless—to crush them utterly.
‘The Divine Banquet.’
Soon, the Divine Banquet would be held.
A gathering where all the greatest of Asgard would assemble—every supreme-tier Deity and notable figure.
If Rag had become the Apostle Deity of Heimdall, he would inevitably appear at that official gathering.
There, in that public forum, I would humiliate them thoroughly.
I would ensure they never dared raise their heads in Asgard again.
My confidence was absolute.
Heimdall is a solitary tyrant.
No matter how supreme his position in the Natural Faction, he stands alone, isolated.
His faction is small.
But my faction is vast.
Far more Deities followed in her wake.
Manipulating public opinion and overwhelming the atmosphere was child’s play.
Moreover.
‘Cryos is hardly my true Apostle Deity.’
Cryos was merely a chess piece I had hastily placed to govern the Northern Territory.
My genuine Apostle Deity existed elsewhere.
A true monster operating on an entirely different plane than someone like Cryos.
At the next Divine Banquet.
I would demonstrate it there.
The overwhelming gulf between true Apostle Deities.
I would etch into their very souls how the arrogance of a typhoon freezes beneath winter’s heel.
* * *
The catastrophe had receded.
Considerable time had passed since then.
The next episode had not yet begun.
Yet the world had already undergone seismic transformation.
Heroes had emerged.
Countless people had awakened.
Cities crumbled, but humanity did not falter.
Calamity that might strike at any moment.
To prepare for it, people had to grow stronger.
They hunted monsters.
They conquered Dungeons that erupted across the world.
They shed blood to raise their levels and ensure survival.
Park Ha-yan was no exception.
Her transformation was nothing short of miraculous.
Her paralyzed legs had been completely healed.
Rehabilitation concluded in an instant.
And she awakened as a Spirit Summoner.
The small luminous wisps that had once protected her.
Now she could commune with far more spirit companions.
Clear winds and warm light perpetually swirled around her.
Talent cannot be concealed.
Powerful cultivators who recognized Park Ha-yan’s overwhelming potential approached her.
“Would you not join us, Park Ha-yan?”
They extended their hands to form a Party.
Park Ha-yan did not refuse.
She could not settle for complacency.
She had sworn to live brilliantly, to prove her worth.
She had to become someone he would not be ashamed of.
She joined the Party and threw herself into dungeon raids with reckless abandon.
Her growth was nothing short of miraculous.
Merely two weeks.
In that brief span, Park Ha-yan had reached Level 30.
Her Party had ascended overnight into the ranks of Korea’s most formidable powerhouses.
The seeds of a Spirit Lord were beginning to sprout.
And today.
Park Ha-yan ventured somewhere other than a dungeon.
A shabby residential area.
An alley where sunlight barely penetrated.
Before a semi-basement room.
She stood before an old iron door, sealed shut.
“….”
Thump. Thump.
Her heart hammered as though it might burst from her chest.
The person who had saved her.
Her benefactor.
Kim Jung-seok—the man whose face she had never seen.
She stood before his door.

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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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