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Piote’s closed eyes snapped open, radiating a divine brilliance.
His shimmering silver hair floated gracefully, his lips became a deeper crimson, and his skin gleamed with an unblemished, almost ethereal whiteness. He looked as though the goddess herself had descended into his body, cleansing all impurities.
What had once been merely a "pretty" face now exuded an allure that was both enchanting and otherworldly.
Alfoy, upon witnessing this transformation, caught himself thinking:
“Is he... no! Focus, damn it!”
Grinding his teeth, Alfoy summoned more of his magic to withstand the overwhelming storm of divine energy. Even with his considerable power, he struggled to endure the sheer force emanating from Piote.
The spectators, already unnerved, began retreating further. No one could fathom how a simple game of odd-or-even had escalated into such a spectacle.
Piote, now connected to an immense, indescribable will, felt an ecstatic surge of mental elevation, as though he could accomplish anything. This overwhelming strength was born of nothing but pure, untainted prayer.
The immense will hesitated momentarily, as though recognizing Piote’s genuine desires. And then, it delivered a revelation.
A grand, sacred voice resounded within Piote’s mind—not in any earthly language, yet perfectly understood through their connection.
― Even.
Following this divine guidance, Piote spoke in a voice imbued with holiness:
“Even.”
“Urgh...”
Alfoy gritted his teeth. He knew it was even. But there was no way he’d let himself lose.
What is a mage, if not one who defies and twists the natural order of the world? If gods created laws, mages existed to bend or break them.
Summoning his resolve, Alfoy attempted to cast his foolproof magic to slip a coin into his sleeve.
“What... What’s happening? My mana isn’t moving!”
His magic refused to activate, as though frozen solid.
It wasn’t just him—every mage in the vicinity was similarly affected. Even Cain, another experienced gambler, found himself unable to draw upon his mana.
Those within the radius of Piote’s divine aura were rendered powerless.
“What the hell is going on?!”
“This level of power...?”
“Is this even possible?!”
Everyone stumbled back further, overwhelmed by the storm of holy energy that threatened to unravel them completely.
Alfoy, however, refused to back down. For all his arrogance and cunning, he was a man of tenacity.
He strained against the oppressive force, trying to wrest control of his own body. Yet even this effort was futile.
With eyes shimmering with unfathomable resolve, Piote fixed his gaze on Alfoy and issued an irrefutable command.
“Open your hand.”
Though his voice was melodious and gentle, it carried a weight that pressed down on the entire world.
Alfoy’s wrist began to twist against his will, his clenched fist slowly turning upward.
“Damn it! Do you think I’ll give up?! Just because you’re a god?! I’m Alfoy, the Blazing Gambler! I’m unyielding! I don’t lose!”
He clenched his teeth harder, his bloodshot eyes filled with desperation.
Rrrrnnnnnnnnn.
But Alfoy couldn’t fight forever. His wrist twisted further, and his fingers began to uncurl, despite his best efforts.
“No! I can’t lose!”
His body trembled violently, sweat pouring down his face. Blood trickled from his tightly pursed lips.
At that moment, Piote’s body began to falter as well. A trickle of blood ran from his nose, staining his pale face.
The divine connection, an overwhelming power reserved only for saints, was too much for him to handle. His body was collapsing under the strain.
The radiant light emanating from the heavens began to dim, and the holy storm gradually weakened.
“No... no... not yet...”
Piote’s voice quavered as he struggled to hold on. He only needed a little more time—just enough for Alfoy’s hand to fully open.
Both men poured every ounce of their willpower into this final confrontation.
As Alfoy’s fingers finally began to splay apart—
“Goddess... please...”
Thud.
Piote collapsed, unconscious, his connection severed.
In the blink of an eye, the divine storm dissipated, leaving the air eerily calm.
In that fleeting moment of reprieve, Alfoy regained control of his magic.
Whoosh!
With a deft movement, he successfully cast his spell, slipping a coin into his sleeve.
Piote, now unconscious, saw none of it.
Alfoy burst into wild laughter, his face contorted with manic glee.
“Odd! It’s odd! Look! I won! I won!”
His triumphant voice rang out as he reveled in his victory, defying even the divine will.
This wasn’t merely a win—it was an impossible feat. No archmage or dragon could have matched this moment.
Alfoy tilted his head back, screaming at the heavens. 𝓃𝓸𝓋𝓅𝓊𝒷.𝓬𝓸𝓂
“I, Alfoy, am the man who defeated a god!”
Claude, who had arrived to witness the commotion, stood frozen, his jaw hanging open.
He wasn’t the only one.
The immense power radiating from Piote had drawn a crowd, including Ghislain, who now observed the aftermath with narrowed eyes.
Everyone—mages, residents, and soldiers alike—gathered, their faces etched with disbelief.
After all, a calm day had suddenly been disrupted by dark clouds, radiant beams of light, and a divine spectacle. It was the kind of event no one could ignore.
Ghislain alternated between looking at the ecstatic Alfoy, who was howling at the heavens, and the unconscious Piote.
“What the hell is this? Why did that kind of power activate now, of all times?”
Channeling with the goddess wasn’t something even a saint could perform at will. It required absolute faith, overwhelming desperation, and unimaginable resolve to manifest.
In his previous life, Ghislain had only witnessed such an event when countless lives were being slaughtered right before the saintess’s eyes. That level of anguish had triggered her divine connection.
Channeling was meant for dire circumstances, not something as trivial as a game of odd-or-even.
Ghislain turned back to Alfoy, who continued to laugh maniacally at the sky.
“What did that bastard do? How did he drive Piote into such despair that it triggered the goddess's power?”
Ghislain couldn't fathom it. Even after pushing Piote to his limits in the past, he’d never seen anything close to this.
“I am—! The man—! Who defeated a god!” Alfoy declared, his voice echoing across the heavens as he continued his victorious outburst.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Ghislain looked at Piote, now returned to his original form, lying motionless.
“I always thought he was unique, but... I didn’t expect him to actually awaken.”
To be chosen by the goddess was to awaken as a saint. It wasn’t something one could train for or force. The goddess’s favoritism, once bestowed, elevated the chosen saint far above ordinary priests, endowing them with unparalleled holy power.
This divine blessing was a sign of Piote’s potential.
Even though Piote was male—a rare anomaly for a saint—Ghislain dismissed the peculiarity with a shrug.
“Favoritism doesn’t require an explanation.”
As a saint, Piote would now be capable of wielding the goddess’s authority. Saints aligned with gods of war could unleash devastating power on the battlefield. Since Juana, Piote’s goddess, was associated with beauty, his newfound radiance and ethereal transformation made sense.
However, to Ghislain, that ability seemed utterly useless in combat.
“Still, this will be useful during the calamity. He’ll become invaluable when the time comes.”
Piote’s divine connection might not manifest again under normal circumstances, but his body had undoubtedly changed to suit his new holy power. His growth in divine energy would accelerate, and as he deepened his understanding, he would become a force unmatched among priests.
Even if he lost faith or abandoned the goddess, the power within him would remain.
“If I ever need another channeling...”
Ghislain’s mind turned to contingencies. If a situation desperate enough to require divine intervention arose, he’d need to push Piote to his limits once more.
“Alfoy, maybe even Claude... those two together could make it happen.”
Ghislain imagined the perfect storm of stress, chaos, and despair those two could create for Piote. It felt oddly fitting.
“Perhaps this was just the trigger he needed all along.”
Piote’s divine energy had been growing suspiciously fast even before this incident. It was possible that all he needed was a minor push to awaken fully.
“Though why it had to be Alfoy of all people...”
Servants from the keep arrived and carefully carried the unconscious Piote away on a stretcher. No one paid Alfoy, who was still celebrating, any attention.
As Piote was carried through the estate, villagers cleared the way, bowing deeply.
“A true saint has appeared in our lands...”
“To witness such a miracle with our own eyes...”
“Goddess, bless us all.”
The villagers, unaware that Piote was male, assumed he was a woman based solely on his appearance. Given his history of selfless acts, Piote was already beloved. Now, word of his sainthood spread like wildfire.
The construction site where the odd-or-even match had taken place was immediately abandoned. Villagers flooded the area, transforming it into a site of worship.
Ghislain had no choice but to build a small shrine on the spot to appease them.
With the lord’s approval, the villagers pooled their resources to buy beautiful marble slabs and erected a commemorative monument next to the shrine.
The inscription read:
“The place where Saint Piote received the goddess’s revelation. Through odd-or-even.”
Though someone had defaced the last line with graffiti, the location became a sacred site for the people of Fenris, attracting a growing number of devout followers of Juana.
Later...
“So, what does the man who defeated a god want with me?”
Alfoy sat with a haughty grin, exuding an air of arrogance. Across from him, Claude stared in stunned silence.
“What is this guy?”
When Claude had first met Alfoy, he’d seemed like the ultimate pushover. Now, the man had fully adapted to life in the estate and carried himself with the confidence of a king.
“How did this fool survive a literal divine miracle and come out victorious?”
It was clear that Alfoy hadn’t become the Mage Tower’s successor by sheer luck.
As absurd as the situation was, Claude saw an opportunity. If he could further inflate Alfoy’s ego, he might lure him into Ghislain’s next wager.
“You’re amazing,” Claude said, feigning admiration. “To overcome the goddess’s power... word of your triumph will spread far and wide.”
“Hah! That’s only natural. Even I didn’t realize I was this talented. Ah, the curse of being a genius...” Alfoy said with a theatrical sigh.
“Honestly, with that kind of reputation, you’ll be moving on to bigger things soon. No point staying in this backwater.”
At that, Alfoy’s smug demeanor faltered, his lips curling in irritation.
“Bigger things? Don’t mock me. Thanks to you dragging me into that wager with the lord, I’m stuck here as a slave for decades!”
“Oh? You didn’t hear the latest news?”
“What news?”
“The lord’s started another experiment. You know how these things go—another wild invention, bound to succeed. He said anyone interested in wagering against him is welcome to join.”
Alfoy immediately lost interest, waving his hand dismissively.
“Forget it. There’s no point betting against the lord. He always wins those stupid experiments.”
Claude smirked, sensing an opening.
“Hmm. So, the ‘man who defeated a god’ can’t beat a mere human lord? That’s disappointing.”
“What? Are you picking a fight with me?” Alfoy snapped, narrowing his eyes at Claude.
“No, no, just listen,” Claude said smoothly. “Sure, we’ve lost past wagers because we didn’t know what we were dealing with. The lord’s cunning misdirection always had us fooled. But this time? It’s different. You’ve proven how incredible you are—I honestly thought you’d win this one and leave.”
“Well, I am incredible... but what is it this time?”
Claude leaned in, his expression turning serious.
“Do you think a person can survive for an entire month eating nothing but powdered food and water?”
“Survive? Maybe. But keep their strength? No way. They’d barely cling to life, and their body would be completely wrecked. Only someone as extraordinary as me could maybe pull it off—but for regular people? Impossible.”
“Well, the lord claims to have made something that can do exactly that. He says even soldiers can last a month on it and still be ready to fight.”
“Maybe if it’s made from rare, expensive herbs or some kind of magical elixir,” Alfoy suggested, though his tone carried doubt.
“Nope. Just ordinary grains and herbs, ground into powder. Supposedly cheap and easy to mass-produce.”
“Eating just that for an entire month?” Alfoy scoffed, his disbelief clear. “Ridiculous. No way. Hunger drains your strength. How do you fight on an empty stomach?”
Alfoy was unconvinced. Hunger wasn’t just a discomfort—it was humanity’s oldest and most relentless enemy. A hungry person couldn’t think, work, or fight properly, and societies had risen and fallen based on the ability to stave off starvation.
But powdered food to keep soldiers nourished and battle-ready? Alfoy found the idea absurd.
Claude, sensing Alfoy’s skepticism, spoke again, this time in a low, coaxing voice.
“See? This is your chance to break free from this place once and for all. You’ve already built a reputation; now you can win this wager and end your ties to this estate. I’ll even help you prepare.”
“Hmm... but what if it does work?” Alfoy hesitated. He didn’t have much left to bet. Losing this time would likely mean becoming a lifelong slave, doomed to labor on construction projects until his death.
Claude sighed dramatically, raising his voice.
“Why are you hesitating? Do you really think the lord always succeeds? Do you think he’s a god? And even if he were, so what? You’re the man who defeated a god!”
“Hmm...” Alfoy wavered.
“Think about it! Does this even make sense? You’re a scholar, a man of reason and intellect! When are you going to stop letting this irrational, impossible man manipulate you?”
Alfoy’s head slowly nodded. Claude’s words made sense. It was insane to believe a person could maintain their strength on powdered food and water alone. That went against everything Alfoy knew about biology, magic, and the laws of nature.
“Alright,” Alfoy finally said, his eyes hardening with determination. “This time, I’ll bet on you.”
Claude grinned, giving Alfoy a friendly punch to the chest.
“Don’t just bet on me. Bet on yourself. Trust in the knowledge and experience you’ve gained. You’re the Mage Tower’s successor, the best magician in this estate, and the man who defeated a god. You’ve always been the best, bro.”
Alfoy straightened, his chest swelling with pride at Claude’s encouragement.
“You’re right. I’m Alfoy, the man who defeated a god!”
With his confidence restored, Alfoy raised his head arrogantly.
“This time, I’ll win. This time, I’ll be free!”
As Alfoy stood tall, wearing a look of solemn determination, Wendy, observing from a distance, sighed heavily and looked toward the sky.
