Inside my isolation chamber, we sat cross-legged on the smooth floor. The god's soul floated before me, glowing faintly with chaotic energy. I examined it closely, letting silence stretch.
"I see," I finally said. "There is definitely a way…"
I paused.
"But first—I need one hundred magic beast corpses, thirty-two lizard-type beasts of any level… and a ton of adamantite."
Gramps raised a brow. "That's it? Strange requisites, but nothing too hard."
He turned to Omin. "Give the boy what he asked for—and don't forget to add a gift. He's earned it."
I chuckled. "My old men are really pulling out all the stops, huh?"
Without a word, Omin pulled off a black ring and handed it to me. He paused, then did something I didn't expect—he hugged me.
"It's good to know you're safe, Dax."
I froze for half a step.
So he has that side too...
I said nothing, but a quiet smile curved in my chest.
We separated.
"Feed the ring with your blood," he said calmly.
I nodded. Then, without delay, I summoned Cil.
Her form materialized in a burst of energy. The room shifted instantly—pressure dropped, the air thickened. Her aura spread outward, dominant and alive.
Omin's was awestruck.
"This… this blade. It feels alive."
Gramps narrowed his eyes, stepping closer.
"That's no normal sword, my boy. It breathes. I can feel it."
"You know weapons aren't supposed to have breath," Omin muttered.
Of course he caught that. Nothing gets past this man.
"I won't lie," Gramps said slowly, his voice low with reverence. "Even I—a man who drank from a divine relic—feel envy for this blade."
"What's its name?" he asked.
I smiled. "This is Cil… my friend."
Both men paused, surprised at how casually I said it.
Gramps chuckled. "So, not just a weapon to you, huh? This sword must've walked with you in your past." Ohh this boy has more stories he hasn't told us.
He let out a loud, almost mad laugh.
Omin, however, kept his eyes on me—noticing something else.
Since Father laid eyes on him… he's changed. He's softer. Playful, even. This isn't how he treated me—or any of the other grandchildren.
This old fox… you're showing favoritism.
I stood and cut my palm without hesitation.
Suddenly, Gramps dropped to the floor.
"Father!" Omin rushed over and caught him.
"Relax," I said. "It's the god's soul. It's reacting to something."
I pressed the blood to the ring. The moment it absorbed the drop, my wound healed instantly.
Gramps sat up slowly, breath ragged. We helped him into a chair.
"We don't have the luxury of waiting." I said firmly.
I looked at him directly.
"You have two paths."
Gramps looked up, fatigue swimming in his eyes. Omin said nothing, watching me with unreadable focus.
"First option is to separate your soul from that of the evil god, and transfer its soul to vessels eternally bound to you."
I raised two fingers.
"Second… we purify the god's essence, stabilize it, and then fuse it with your soul completely."
They were speechless for a moment.
Gramps rubbed the back of his head. "And the requirements?"
"For the first—those thirty-two lizard-type beasts. I'll need them to form the foundation of the soul vessels."
"For the second… I need to break into the Recognition Realm. Once I'm in, I can purify its soul."
"Pick your poison, huh?"
I grinned. "Exactly."
He leaned back, eyes closed. "To command the soul of a god… or to become one with it…"
He looked conflicted.
Then he glanced at me. "Dax, which one would you choose?"
I shrugged casually. "They both have benefits. One gives you control. The other, permanence."
Omin stepped in. "Why don't you decide, Dax?"
They both stared at me now—waiting.
The god's soul pulsed slowly, its dark light flickering.
Their eyes latched onto me.
Then I smiled.