Chapter 222: ‘Grace’ Algar

The moment the World Tree’s colossal canopy tore through the stratosphere, the global war effectively ended.

It wasn’t a negotiated peace settlement brokered on the bloody frontlines. It was an absolute, overwhelming route dictated by a higher power.

The massive, sprawling army of Demi-humans laying siege to Bark’s borders felt the divine suppression before they even saw the light.

Bark’s ascension released a shockwave of golden mana that cascaded across the battlefield like a torrential tidal wave.

To the human defenders, the holy energy felt like a warm, revitalizing breeze that sealed their wounds and restored their depleted stamina.

But to the invading beast-kin, the divine light was absolute poison.

Their hardened scales cracked under the atmospheric pressure. Their incredibly dense muscle fibers seized and tore.

The sudden, violent shift in the world’s ambient mana turned the frontlines into a localized slaughterhouse of their own making.

The invading forces, who had spent the last grueling month believing they were an unstoppable tide, shattered completely.

Blind panic instantly replaced their feral bloodlust.

They dropped their heavy siege weapons and scrambled desperately for the borders.

Thousands were trampled into the bloody mud by their own retreating cavalry units in a desperate bid to escape the suffocating holy light.

The human Bastion didn’t just watch them run. They advanced with ruthless precision.

On that historic day, tens of thousands of elite Demi-humans were dragged from the dirt, stripped of their armor, and placed in heavy iron chains.

It marked a massive, foundational shift in the hierarchy of the Nether Realm.

For centuries, humanity had been the perpetual prey.

Human captives had routinely been dragged across the borders as slaves, forced into brutal labor camps with zero hope of escape or rescue.

Now, for the first time in recorded history, the cold iron collars were locked securely around furred necks and scaled throats.

The tables had completely and violently reversed.

Far away in the Demi-human territories, the news of the World Tree’s ascension reached the remaining beast-kin commanders.

Duke Ao had no choice but to bite down on his shattered pride and order a full, immediate retreat.

He absolutely couldn’t waste his remaining, fractured forces fighting a losing battle against a newly ascended God Almighty.

His own sovereign territories were already bleeding out from Ethen’s previous, catastrophic assaults behind enemy lines.

If Duke Ao didn’t pull back immediately to stabilize his borders, the beast-kin faction would be wiped from the continental map entirely.

By the time the sun rose the following morning, an uneasy, bitter peace had settled across the ruined land.

Both sides retreated behind their respective borders to lick their deep, festering wounds.

But the end of the active slaughter certainly didn’t mean a return to normalcy.

Far too much blood had been spilled in the dirt. The geopolitical balance of the entire world had been forcibly rewritten in a matter of days.

The consequences of this brief, apocalyptic clash would dictate the absolute fate of both territories for generations to come.

"You guys..."

Ethen stood frozen just inside the doorway of a small, quiet family hall located in the heart of Windgrave.

For a man who had just orchestrated the systemic slaughter of twenty million enemies to fuel his class evolution, the scene before him was absolute hell.

The cozy room was bathed in warm sunlight, completely disconnected from the ash and ruin of the outside world.

Ella and Hela sat side-by-side on a plush velvet sofa, both resting their hands gently on their slightly rounded bellies.

Neither of his beautiful wives looked particularly happy with him at the moment.

Standing directly in front of them, forming an impenetrable, unified wall of parental authority, were Arian and Liana.

They were currently taking turns aggressively lecturing him on his reckless behavior during the recent conflict.

Ethen had spent the entire war operating deep behind enemy lines as a lone operative.

He had bathed in blood, dropping world-ending catastrophes on fortified cities and erasing entire mountain ranges from the map.

He had actively danced on the razor’s edge of death, picking fights with Celestial Dragons and daring Tier 2 Gods to strike him down.

At the time, the extreme violence had simply been necessary. He had a massive kill quota to meet for his Cosmic Tyrant ascension.

But now, the reality of his impending fatherhood had been heavily factored into the family equation.

His wives were absolutely not going to let him forget his new mortal anchors.

"Do you have any idea how stressful it is to feel your mana signature vanishing into the darkest parts of enemy territory?"

Arian crossed his arms, his stern, patriarchal gaze locking onto Ethen.

"You are going to be a father now, Ethen. You cannot simply throw yourself into the jaws of a Dragon Prince on a whim anymore."

Liana added sharply, her tone leaving no room for debate.

Ethen sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in quiet defeat.

The suffocating pressure of a God Almighty was absolutely nothing compared to the combined, disappointed glare of his pregnant wives.

"I understand," Ethen said, keeping his voice carefully neutral and subservient. "I’ll be less active."

It wasn’t entirely a lie, though he was omitting the actual reason.

Having successfully evolved into a true S-Rank Angel, the fundamental rules of engagement had changed for him completely.

Mortal conflicts, territorial border disputes, and ground-level skirmishes no longer concerned him in the traditional sense.

If a being of his current, overwhelming rank casually intervened in a standard war, it would immediately trigger another apocalyptic retaliation from the hidden factions.

His sheer existence was now a walking nuclear deterrent.

Unfortunately, trying to explain the complex, high-level political constraints of the Angel realm to the angry women in front of him would only sound like a cheap excuse.

He smartly chose to keep his mouth shut, swallow his pride, and accept the scolding.

"Good. See that you do."

Liana nodded, her harsh, maternal expression instantly evaporating into a smooth, predatory smile.

She elegantly adjusted the cuffs of her dress and seamlessly pivoted the entire conversation without missing a single beat.

"Also... since you are meeting with the upper echelons now, you should be able to speak to the Dragon Council directly."

Ethen blinked, his cold, calculated composure faltering for a fraction of a second.

"Speak to them?" he echoed slowly, a terrible feeling creeping into his chest.

"On behalf of the Dracontis family, of course," Liana continued smoothly, completely ignoring his visible hesitation.

"The war took a heavy toll on our eastern trade routes. There are a lot of specific resources, rare minerals, and territories we want back from those scaled bastards."

Ethen could only stand there in absolute, stunned silence.

His dark eyes drifted slowly from Liana’s greedy, calculating smile to Arian, who had suddenly found the intricate ceiling architecture highly fascinating.

His expression slowly melted into one of deep, unadulterated despair.

The heartfelt lecture about his paternal safety and family responsibility had lasted exactly three minutes.

They had instantly, shamelessly tried to weaponize his new divine status for blatant political extortion and corporate gain.

He had survived an apocalyptic war. He had physically broken the pride of Long Ra. He had transcended mortal limits entirely.

Yet somehow, absolutely none of those impossible achievements had prepared him for the ruthless opportunism of his own in-laws.

Later that afternoon, Ethen left the quiet safety of Windgrave and stepped into the sprawling, opulent royal palace deep within Bark.

The towering stone halls were lined with golden banners and heavily armored royal guards, projecting an aura of absolute, undisputed victory.

Ethen bypassed the standard security checkpoints without uttering a single word.

His sheer physical presence forced the elite guards to instinctively step aside, their bodies reacting to his suppressed aura before their minds could comprehend it.

He easily navigated the grand, labyrinthine corridors until he reached the central throne room.

There, sitting upon a massive chair forged from enchanted steel, he found the newly crowned king.

Tywin Martel.

"Hmm?"

Tywin paused his hushed conversation with an attending military minister, genuinely stunned to see Ethen’s solitary figure strolling into his private hall unannounced.

The brief flash of surprise quickly vanished, instantly replaced by a wide, incredibly smug smile.

The Martel family had successfully anchored the primary entrance into human territory during the initial beast-kin invasion.

Fighting alongside the Bastion’s elite forces, they had held the defensive line against endless, suicidal waves of Demi-humans.

Their family name was currently echoing across every tavern, guild hall, and city square in the human domain.

They were being loudly hailed as the unbreakable, glorious shield of humanity.

And absolutely all of this monumental glory had been cemented during Tywin’s early reign.

In Tywin’s arrogant mind, it didn’t matter what he did from this day forward.

History had already written his shining legacy in stone.

He was the young, brilliant ruler who had stood firm against the greatest existential threat humanity had ever faced.

It was a massive, unprecedented achievement for a young Demi-God who had only just taken the throne before the bloodshed began.

"I want to see Bark," Ethen stated calmly, his dark eyes locking onto the young king.

He didn’t bow his head. He didn’t offer a polite, customary greeting. He simply made his demand.

Tywin blinked, leaning back casually against the plush velvet of his heavy throne.

His confident smile widened into a thinly veiled, mocking sneer.

"Oh? You must be joking."

Tywin waved his hand dismissively, addressing Ethen like a peasant asking for gold.

"He is a God Almighty now, Ethen. Securing an audience with him isn’t so easy."

The young king’s voice dripped with heavy condescension and unearned superiority.

Tywin simply didn’t understand the fundamental shift in the world’s hierarchy that had occurred during the war.

To the arrogant royal, Ethen was just a talented, violent young man who had gotten incredibly lucky on the battlefield.

He viewed Ethen as a sharp sword used by the Bastion, nothing more than a highly effective weapon.

Tywin had seen the official reports of Ethen’s kill counts, but his sheltered, political perspective couldn’t grasp the true gravity of the Cosmic Tyrant class.

He didn’t realize that Ethen was no longer a mere piece moving on the board. He was a player who owned the board.

Ethen didn’t react to the blatant mockery. His expression remained carved from solid ice.

"I’m not asking for your permission," Ethen replied, his voice dropping to a freezing, absolute register.

The ambient temperature in the massive throne room instantly plummeted, frosting the edges of the golden banners.

"I just want you to announce my arrival to the Angels so I can walk into the Paradise."

He gave Tywin absolutely zero room to argue, debate, or negotiate the request.

Ethen understood exactly what Tywin was in the grand scheme of things: a pampered, useless figurehead.

He was a political pawn who had been pushed around the board so many times he had delusionally convinced himself he was the one moving the pieces.

The utter lack of respect instantly shattered Tywin’s inflated, fragile ego.

"Insolent!"

Tywin barked furiously, his face flushing bright red with righteous anger.

He raised his hand high, fully intending to slam it down onto his heavy armrest in a dramatic display of royal authority.

But before his palm could make contact with the steel, an invisible, crushing weight wrapped tightly around his wrist.

His arm froze completely mid-air, entirely paralyzed by a massive surge of dense, heavy mana.

A slightly older man materialized directly beside the throne, stepping smoothly out from the hidden, magical shadows of the room.

"Stop making a scene, boy. He was invited."

The older man looked down at his struggling son with undisguised, bitter disgust.

It was the former patriarch, the man who had temporarily stepped back to let Tywin wear the heavy crown.

He didn’t waste another single word on his foolish, arrogant son.

He immediately turned his full attention toward Ethen, his harsh expression instantly softening into a polite, deeply respectful smile.

"Welcome, Grace Algar."

The old man remembered the very first time he had crossed paths with Ethen back in the murky streets of Black Water City.

Back then, Ethen had been a promising rogue, a dangerous variable, but still fundamentally bound by mortal limits.

Now, staring at the suffocating, contained abyss resting quietly behind Ethen’s dark eyes, the older man knew the undeniable truth.

The boy had actually done it. He had breached the heavens and claimed a seat at the highest table.

"Grace?"

To the left, Tywin’s furious, red-faced expression abruptly shattered into a mask of pure confusion.

The young king froze completely, the blood rapidly draining from his face as his mind desperately tried to process the title.

The word ’Grace’ wasn’t a casual honorific tossed around in noble courts.

It was a strict, religiously enforced title reserved exclusively for beings of supreme, unquestionable divinity.

It was the official title of an Angel.

Tywin’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror as he stared at the young man standing casually in his hall.

The young, arrogant king finally realized exactly who he had just mocked.