Chapter 223: Angels

"Apologies. We haven’t had the time to brief the young ones on the new situation."

Martin Martel spoke with a deeply embarrassed look on his lined face.

He stepped gracefully through the shimmering, magical gate that connected the royal palace to the newly formed divine realm.

His foolish son had just made a complete mockery of himself in front of a newly ascended Angel, and the old patriarch could only pray the incident wouldn’t sever their family’s fragile ties to Ethen.

Tywin’s entire reign had been a calculated farce.

He had been placed on the heavy steel throne strictly as a puppet, a political placeholder in case the global war ended in humanity’s total defeat.

The ancient, cunning elders of the Martel family had deliberately positioned the boy as a disposable pawn in their grand, sweeping schemes.

They used the gleaming crown to test his actual competence, tossing him into the deep end of the political abyss while keeping the family’s true foundational interests safely hidden in the shadows.

It was a standard, brutal crucible among the hidden elite.

These silent tests were specifically designed to filter out the weak and determine which royal descendants actually possessed the sheer, uncompromising potential to become Angels.

Raw combat power was never enough.

To ascend to the Angel realm, one had to possess a conceptual vision. You needed the ability to see through thick webs of deception, instantly recognize hidden killing intent, and inherently understand when a superior force was using you as a shield.

These were the absolute, non-negotiable qualities for anyone hoping to survive at the highest echelons of the Nether Realm.

Unfortunately for Tywin, he had failed the test completely and miserably.

The boy had been entirely blinded by his own artificial authority.

He hadn’t even managed to recognize the suffocating, divine gravity of the person standing directly in front of his throne.

"It’s fine."

Ethen nodded dismissively, his dark eyes already entirely detached from the fate of the young, foolish king.

He stepped fully through the rippling gateway, his senses immediately adjusting as they crossed the threshold into the World Tree’s Domain.

The transition was jarring, even for a Cosmic Tyrant.

The air inside the newly forged Paradise was incredibly dense, saturated with a pure, overwhelming ambient mana that smelled faintly of ancient sap and ozone.

Following the brutal conclusion of the global war, countless factions had immediately swarmed toward the borders of Bark.

They were all desperately hoping to secure an audience and congratulate the newly ascended God Almighty.

Representatives, envoys, and hidden masters arrived in droves from every corner of the vast human territories.

They brought caravans of priceless, legendary artifacts and sent their most lethal, respected members to establish early relationships with the new deity.

This massive gathering was far, far more significant than a simple victory celebration.

The sudden birth of a Tier 2 God Almighty was a cosmic earthquake.

The established, stagnant balance of power across the human territories was guaranteed to violently shift in the coming months.

Every single faction wanted to cement its position on the new board before their bitter rivals could gain an insurmountable advantage.

Those minor factions who had previously been neglected or oppressed were especially desperate.

They practically clawed at the gates, eager to formally swear absolute allegiance to Adam and firmly anchor their bloodlines to his expanding domain.

Some arrived with entirely sincere, devoted intentions, genuinely awed by the holy light that had ended the beast-kin invasion.

Others were simply pragmatic, cold-blooded opportunists. They just wanted to ensure they wouldn’t be violently purged when the inevitable power struggles began.

Angels from wildly different factions were scattered casually throughout the sprawling region.

They lounged in the shade of colossal, miles-wide leaves, openly enjoying the pristine, untainted atmosphere of the paradise land.

The World Tree’s Domain was a conceptual sanctuary that even incredibly ancient beings rarely had the privilege to visit.

Now, with a God Almighty actively residing at its core, the grand gathering had evolved into something truly extraordinary.

"You know, now that His Grace Almighty is a God Almighty, you can safely swear allegiance to him."

Martin smirked slightly, making the casual, highly calculated suggestion as they floated along a massive branch.

"You could do it without fearing any political repercussions from Karth."

With a new God Almighty firmly established, it was entirely natural for factions to scramble for favor.

Those who had previously kept a cautious, neutral distance from Ethen would absolutely reconsider their stances now that his ally sat on a divine throne.

Other factions would aggressively try to bind Ethen to their ships before their enemies could make an offer.

But the true, ultimate prize in this political scramble wasn’t the blind loyalty of mortal armies or ordinary guild members.

What the major powers truly needed, above all else, were Angels and minor Gods.

Minor Gods weren’t particularly difficult to attract to a new Paradise.

Many were already permanently stationed in various entrenched camps. With the blinding appearance of a new God Almighty, they would naturally gravitate toward his protective influence like moths to a roaring flame.

Some would migrate out of genuine, theological admiration, while others would view it as a strict, necessary survival tactic to shield their vulnerable domains.

Angels, however, were an entirely different breed of monster.

They stood at the absolute, bloody peak of existence just below the Gods.

Unlike minor deities, who were rigidly bound to their specific territorial domains and believers, Angels possessed complete, unfettered freedom.

They could effortlessly cross borders, choose exactly where they wanted to lay their heads, and decide precisely which sovereign they wanted to serve.

They were the apex predators. The primary, devastating fighting force of the Gods.

Securing the formal allegiance of an S-Rank Angel like Ethen could permanently alter the destiny of a faction.

It was especially critical when the individual in question possessed the sheer, apocalyptic firepower to single-handedly dictate the outcome of a continental war.

"I cannot," Ethen replied flatly.

His tone was freezing, absolute, and left absolutely zero room for further diplomacy or debate.

Martin glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his smirk fading slightly, but he didn’t push the issue.

The old patriarch knew the history.

Bark had heavily supported Ethen throughout his violent, chaotic rise within the human territories.

From Kang’s early interventions to the vast resources of the White Tower, and even his complex ties to the Dracontis family—all of it was deeply rooted in this specific region.

The connections that had fueled his bloody ascension to the Angel realm were all tied, in some intricate way, to Adam’s new domain.

But Ethen simply wasn’t the type of man to casually sever his foundational roots just because the political winds had shifted.

More importantly, his profound relationship with Karth went far beyond the standard, transactional bonds between a mortal follower and a God.

It was an anchor that Ethen himself often struggled to logically define.

Their connection had never been a simple, commercial exchange of blind faith for divine power.

Whatever strange, resilient thread existed between the Cosmic Tyrant and the God of humanity, it completely defied the usual, rigid rules governing divine contracts.

No matter how high Ethen climbed, no matter how much his cosmic authority expanded, that core connection remained fundamentally unbroken.

Faced with Ethen’s cold, immovable refusal, Martin could only offer a polite, understanding smile.

The seasoned politician immediately recognized a closed door when he saw one. Pressing the matter further would only breed unnecessary hostility.

The two men continued moving forward in silence.

They passed effortlessly through a massive, naturally formed archway in the World Tree’s bark, flying deeper into the luminous heart of the domain.

...

"Congratulations, Lord Tree Bark! May your leaves flourish for an eternity!"

"Haha! The wood really did touch the sky today. What is this, Jack and the Beanstalk?"

As Ethen and Martin fully entered the central gathering, a surprisingly cozy, relaxed atmosphere immediately washed over them.

Several dignified, conceptually heavy figures were spread casually across a sprawling, emerald-green plaza formed entirely from interwoven vines.

They were chatting comfortably among themselves, sipping from crystalline goblets and openly enjoying the peerless hospitality of the World Tree.

The plaza was absolutely packed with walking legends.

It was a dense gathering of supreme entities, many of whom Ethen had only ever read about in highly classified Bastion reports or encountered briefly in passing.

Some wore the ornate, glowing symbols of their ancient factions woven into their robes.

Others wore no obvious affiliations at all, wearing simple tunics. Yet, their raw, suppressed presence alone was more than enough to command absolute silence from anyone of a lower rank.

Despite the terrifying density of power in the room, the atmosphere wasn’t tense or hostile in the slightest.

Instead of a war council, it felt like an exclusive, high-society gala.

Most of these immortal monsters seemed perfectly content to exchange dry pleasantries, admire the impossible architecture of the World Tree, and offer their polite congratulations to the new sovereign.

Ethen, however, wasn’t paying attention to the lavish decorations or the expensive wine.

His cold, calculating eyes continuously swept across the plaza, his mind rapidly processing a completely different variable.

Why are there so many?

He stopped walking, genuinely taken aback as his cosmic senses swept over the crowd.

The sheer, undeniable number of Angels present in this single location was entirely staggering.

Ethen had personally attended high-level strategic meetings at the Bastion of Humanity during their peak wartime seasons.

He had seen massive auditoriums where nearly a thousand elite members would gather to coordinate continental defenses.

Even among the highest echelons of the military, such gatherings were considered incredibly rare, monumental events.

But those Bastion meetings had been diluted. They were heavily padded with lower-tier officers, strategic commanders, and standard elite combatants.

This plaza was different.

Every single aura radiating in this garden belonged exclusively to fully realized Angels and Demi-Gods.

There were dozens of them. Perhaps hundreds, casually mingling near the edges of the canopy.

How could humanity possibly possess this many hidden apex combatants?

"You’d be surprised to find out that the actual population of Angels far exceeds that of Demi-Gods in the human territories."

A highly familiar, completely relaxed voice suddenly drifted into his ear.

Ethen smoothly turned his head, his hand instinctively resting near the hilt of his heavy saber before he recognized the approaching figures.

Two distinct Angels were walking toward him through the crowd.

"Senior Ulric. Senior Mysteries."

Ethen immediately dropped his cold, arrogant facade. He sighed quietly, relaxing his shoulders as he offered them both a deep, highly respectful bow.

It was a rare display of genuine humility from the Cosmic Tyrant.

When Ethen had been young, fragile, and utterly inexperienced, these two ancient men had quietly stood in his corner.

They had actively protected him from the shadows, shielding him from the crushing weight of global politics while he accumulated the strength to survive.

Their subtle, timely interventions had played a massive, undeniable role in keeping him breathing during his most vulnerable years.

He didn’t owe them money or favors. He owed them his life, and Ethen always respected his debts.

"There is absolutely no need for that anymore, kid. You’re an Angel now."

Mr. Mysteries chuckled warmly. He tipped the brim of his strange, oversized top hat, looking at Ethen with a glowing expression that carried equal parts amusement and deep approval.

"Stand proud."

Ulric smiled faintly, his pale face lacking its usual color.

The First Warrior of the Dawn Faction stood tall, though one of his heavily armored hands rested firmly against his ribs.

A strange, persistent cosmic light leaked slowly from a deep, unhealed wound on his side—a brutal souvenir from holding the frontlines during the apocalyptic war.

Despite the obvious, agonizing injury, his expression remained perfectly calm and resolute.

He looked at the young, violent man who had carved a path through an ocean of blood to finally stand beside them at the summit.

Ethen straightened his posture, his dark eyes locking with his mentors.

He was no longer a piece to be protected. He was an equal.