The Mage Who Devours Disasters - Chapter 71

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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 71.
Twenty-three times.
A lesser deity, shackled in chains.
Had defeated twenty-three mid-tier and high-tier Apostle Deities pouring down upon him in succession.
There was no respite.
He did not retreat.
He merely staggered through pools of blood and designated his next opponent.
Silence reigned.
Even after the duel had concluded, the Garden Deities could not muster any response.
All they could do was stare blankly at Rag standing upon the Platform.
“Haa, haa….”
Rag exhaled ragged breaths.
With each inhalation, the taste of iron flooded his mouth.
His lungs burned as if they might tear asunder.
His condition was far more dire.
His entire body was quite literally in tatters.
From wounds where flesh had been carved away and bone lay exposed, dark crimson blood flowed without cessation.
Even for a divine body, survival at this point bordered on miraculous.
His legs trembled violently.
He barely maintained his weight using Abriel as a staff.
It was far too unseemly to be called the form of a deity.
It resembled the wretched, pitiful, and contemptible visage of a defeated wretch.
And yet.
“Next.”
Rag lifted his head, spitting out blood-tinged phlegm.
“Come forth, the next one.”
His eyes had not dimmed.
Though even breathing seemed beyond his capacity, Rag’s gaze burned with a vicious killing intent as he glared at the Apostle Deities.
“….”
“….”
No one stepped forward.
Not even the high-tier Apostle Deities who had been snarling moments before about tearing him to shreds.
They were overwhelmed.
Fear was taking root in their hearts.
That such venom could persist—wielding a blade in a body reduced to rags, on the very precipice of death—was nothing short of awe-inspiring.
Why, exactly?
What could possibly drive that creature to move in such a manner?
‘Coveting the Priestess?’
Nonsense.
The deities shook their heads.
It wasn’t desperation born of intoxication with high-purity Nectar.
That monster was simply.
‘A creature mad with combat.’
A lunatic whose reason had collapsed entirely.
A malevolent spirit that craved struggle itself more than life, more than pride.
With his entire being, from within that grotesque pool of blood, he spoke to them.
—If you dare challenge me, be prepared to see it through to the end.
—If you would take my head, come with the resolve to forfeit your own life.
It was a dimension apart from the arrogant warning Heimdall had spouted so carelessly.
Rag’s visage, like that of a malevolent specter, was driving the very emotion of fear directly into their skin.
The Superior Deities swallowed hard.
They could win.
He was weakened enough that a single tap would topple him.
But what if.
In his final moments, that demon-like creature aimed for mutual destruction?
Not a single Deity wished to wade into that filthy quagmire.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Slow but distinct applause cut through the void.
“Enough.”
All eyes turned upward.
The 12 Thrones.
From within the pitch darkness, Hod, the God of Darkness, clapped his hands and spoke.
“Is there more to see?”
Hod’s voice pressed down heavily upon the Banquet Hall.
“Stop here.”
“…!”
The Deities flinched in surprise and bowed their heads.
Hod leaned his body at an angle, gazing down at Rag.
“If this continues, Rag, you will surely face defeat.”
He assessed coldly.
An undeniable fact, given Rag’s current state.
“However.”
Hod’s lips curved into a grotesque smile.
“With that spirit alone, you have already overwhelmed every Apostle Deity in this hall.”
His gaze swept across the Apostle Deities.
“By that measure alone, Rag, you are no different from the victor of this Divine Banquet.”
The Twelve Sovereigns had spoken their judgment.
No one could raise an objection.
It was then.
The man seated beside him nodded his head.
“The Dark Deity speaks truth.”
Ares, the War Deity.
His eyes gleamed with fierce determination.
“It has been long since a deity of such remarkable spirit emerged.”
His body trembled with barely restrained energy.
He clenched his fist as he spoke.
“As the War Deity, I acknowledge it. Today’s battle is Rag’s victory.”
Consecutive praise from two absolute beings among the Twelve Sovereigns, both embodying martial might.
With this, all room for dispute was utterly extinguished.
“…I understand.”
Even Aigis upon the Platform could only nod in acceptance.
When the Twelve Sovereigns so openly took sides, what authority could he as the moderator possibly wield?
“If such is the will of the Twelve Sovereigns.”
Aigis surveyed the assembled gathering.
“I shall declare the match officially concluded.”
The end of the battle.
What could this signify?
“The victor is Rag, Apostle Deity of Heimdall!”
Still, no cheers erupted.
Yet the proceedings continued.
“And as promised.”
Aigis raised his hand, gesturing toward the Priestesses trembling and bound in chains upon the Marble Table.
“All the Priestesses present shall become the sole property of the victor, Rag.”
Spoils of war.
Offerings of pure souls.
All of it fell to Rag’s share.
At that same moment.
The taut cord of tension snapped abruptly.
A sharp crack.
Rag’s legs gave way beneath him.
No strength remained to sustain him any longer.
The grip on Abriel loosened, and my body began to collapse onto the Marble Platform.
In that instant.
A fierce gust of wind howled.
Someone caught my falling form with steady hands.
A towering frame.
Solid hands.
It was Heimdall.
He supported my shoulders, gazing down at my blood-soaked form in silent contemplation.
He supported Rag’s shoulder, silently looking down at the blood-soaked Rag.
“….”
Heimdall’s gaze grew turbulent.
Pride, astonishment, and something ineffable—a profound contemplation swirled together in his expression.
He whispered softly.
“You have endured well, Rag. My… Apostle Deity.”
Heimdall placed his hand upon the cold iron shackles that bound Rag’s wrists and ankles.
Heavy fetters that had suppressed ninety-nine percent of his divine essence.
Crack!
With a single exertion of his grip, the shackles shattered into fragments and scattered across the floor.
Whoooosh!
Rag’s suppressed divine essence erupted forth, liberated at last.
Like a dam bursting, an immense torrent of divine power exploded outward, enveloping his blood-soaked form.
His wounds began to mend.
Torn muscle knitted together, shattered bone realigned itself.
An immortal body reclaiming its sanctity.
Though not perfectly restored, he healed with remarkable speed—swiftly reaching a state where his life was no longer in peril.
Heimdall watched this process in silence.
The turbulent contemplation and compassion he had revealed moments before, when supporting Rag, had long since vanished.
He lifted his head.
His expression shifted.
That familiar shameless and unparalleled arrogance had returned.
The supreme sovereign who looked down upon all creation with derision had come back.
Heimdall cradled the unconscious, limp Rag effortlessly in one arm.
Then.
He turned his head and began to slowly, deliberately sweep his gaze across the hundreds of Deities filling the Garden.
“Did you see?”
His stare pierced through each and every one of them.
Even.
His gaze reached boldly toward the Twelve Chief Deities’ Thrones suspended in the void.
As if.
-This is my Apostle Deity.
As though he were boasting.
Especially.
His eyes came to rest upon one figure.
A woman at the center of the Divine Faction, her lips pressed firmly together.
The Winter Queen, Skadi.
Behind her, the Apostle Deity Akan knelt trembling upon the ground in a pitiful state.
Heimdall’s lips stretched into a cruel smile.
He cast a mocking sneer toward Skadi.
Not only had he stripped her of the “Winter’s Flame,” but her Apostle Deity had been thoroughly and utterly defeated.
Unable to withstand that gaze, Skadi turned her head away sharply.
“Hahahaha!”
Heimdall laughed heartily.
And as if he had no lingering attachment to this place, he turned his body while cradling Rag in his arms.
Whoooooosh!
A colossal gust of wind swept through the Garden.
As the tempest cleared, Heimdall and Rag had vanished without a trace.
* * *
The Divine Banquet had ended.
Hundreds of lesser, intermediate, and superior Deities filed out of the Garden, their voices murmuring.
Only one name graced their lips.
Rag.
The Apostle Deity of Heimdall.
The monster who rewrote Asgard’s history this very day.
But.
Even after the Garden emptied, the 12 Thrones suspended in the void did not disappear.
Rather, in that space where only the Twelve Sovereigns remained, an even heavier silence descended.
The Chief Deity Council.
A clandestine hour where Asgard’s absolute rulers gathered to determine the fate of worlds.
“….”
Hod, the Deity of Darkness, broke the silence first.
His crimson eyes swept across the other Sovereigns seated upon their thrones.
“Did it seem like NONAME was among them?”
“No.”
“Not at all.”
The other Sovereigns shook their heads.
“Then it is fortunate.”
Hod chuckled softly.
Rag’s appearance was certainly bold enough, but that was all.
There was no possibility that his avatar could be NONAME.
NONAME’s movements seemed to string together episode after episode.
This was something only the ancient Deities who had experienced countless amusements could accomplish.
It was a path Rag, who had only just become a lesser Deity, could never display.
Of course, the Holy Sword of Kwon Cheonsa was quite intriguing.
The ability to promote an Archangel meant, in other words.
‘There exists the possibility of becoming a Sovereign.’
It suggested the possibility of ascending beyond the highest tier, all the way to the seat of a Sovereign.
All Twelve Sovereigns were those who had promoted from 8-tier Archangels to 1-tier Supreme Angels.
How could one not find it intriguing when a mere lesser Deity demonstrated such potential?
However, that was all.
Rag is not NONAME.
The same applies to the other Deities.
The Deity presumed to be the true form of NONAME did not appear.
It was solely for that single confirmation that they all descended directly to the Divine Banquet.
Hod leaned forward in his throne.
“Then, as promised.”
He gazed upon all twelve of the Twelve Sovereigns as he made his declaration.
“We shall consider it as the agreement of all twelve of us Twelve Sovereigns to generate ‘Avatars’ on Earth.”
Agreement.
No one objected.
‘There’s no need to reveal that I’ve already created one beforehand.’
Even Ares, the War Deity, who was already performing brilliantly as the Avatar Yamamoto on Earth, kept his mouth firmly shut.
Revealing the identity of an Avatar was taboo.
There was nothing to gain by stepping forward and boasting that he was Yamamoto.
Especially not in this World 400, on Earth.
“If everyone participates, the amount of Nectar being invested will transcend imagination.”
“The episode difficulty will rise dramatically.”
“The martial prowess of humans will also increase.”
“Ah yes. The scale of rewards will grow as well.”
If all twelve of the Twelve Sovereigns poured Nectar into their respective Avatars, the side effects could unleash monsters and calamities that Earth could not withstand.
But.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Hod snorted dismissively.
“Rather, it’s what we desire.”
The reason they had made such a mad decision was simple.
Mere amusement?
Idle entertainment?
No.
This Earth was special.
More precisely, it concerned the identity of NONAME, which lay at the center of all this chaos.
“An Avatar producing such scores consecutively in a world estimated to be merely B-level.”
Hod murmured while stroking his chin.
“In all the time the previous 399 worlds were perishing, an Irregular of this caliber has appeared only once.”
Only once.
In the distant past, in the remote ages.
Which is to say.
This was no mere whim of an ordinary Deity.
The heads of the Twelve Sovereigns turned upward simultaneously, as if bound by covenant.
To a place even higher than the thrones upon which they sat.
To the distant apex of Asgard, where neither light nor darkness could reach.
“‘NONAME’…”
A forbidden name that dwelled in the hearts of all, yet none dared speak aloud.
“It could be an avatar of ‘Irresistible Force’.”
Silence descended upon the chamber.
An irregularity that had appeared but once.
Irresistible Force had manifested an avatar only once in the 100th World.
Through that avatar in the 100th World, Irresistible Force had gained immense divine essence and divine rank, ascending to the very pinnacle of the Tower in a single bound.
And there, it had slaughtered every Deity, seizing the throne of the Absolute Deity.
Thereafter, it revealed itself only at the moment of annihilation, dwelling at the Tower’s apex.
Yet.
If their hypothesis held truth.
Then World 400, ‘Earth’, harbored something ‘extraordinary’ that even Irresistible Force coveted.
A secret or treasure so immense that the Absolute Deity itself had donned a mortal shell to descend.
Greed stirred within me.
Avarice surged and roiled.
And so.
‘I cannot remain idle.’
‘Whatever it may be, it shall be mine.’
The Twelve Sovereigns began to move in earnest.

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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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