As time passed, most of it had rotted away.

Books and paintings made from paper instead of special wood had turned to powder, and even metal was crushed or rusted beyond recognition.

Though he had come here to recall old memories, it was inevitable.

Only a tiny number of items made from rare materials that allowed permanent preservation remained, and the truly valuable ones were quietly hidden deep within the museum.

Bamal recalled old memories as he looked at a stone tablet that had retained some of its form.

‘These must have been created when civilization collapsed. It wasn’t easy to find paper back then.’

The engravings on each tablet varied.

Some contained poems about love, while others had simple greetings written in runes, perhaps messages meant to be passed on.

Of course, thanks to the translated placards, anyone could understand their content.

However, it seemed the runes hadn’t been completely deciphered.

Bamal approached a stone tablet whose explanation had been loosely paraphrased and narrowed his eyes.

『Those who show mercy. Because they gave, they remained in human form.』

Judging by the surrounding religious artifacts, it was clear that “they” referred to gods.

Bamal scoffed and quietly offered a proper interpretation.

『Those who bestow cursed abundance. Without it, mere illusions no different from humans.』

As far as Bamal remembered, gods weren’t beings worthy of high praise.

They, too, were born with bodies no different from humans and would bleed and die when pierced by a sword.

Though their lifespans were long, they were still living beings that could never escape death.

‘They’re merely those who achieve a task and awaken special power.’

Digging deeper into their essence, one might even say they resembled merchants.

They could share their divine power in the form of blessings.

Of course, many of them demanded something in return.

‘Some of them were complete scum.’

Some demanded bodies offered up for mere pleasure, others demanded kidneys as sacrifices—things meaningless to them.

Such beings were typically called evil gods, but the divine powers they bestowed were tempting enough.

“Hm?”

A piece of metal on display caught Bamal’s eye.

The label suggested it was merely an old music box, but it had several additional functions.

‘A lantern used to lull children to sleep.’

It was an object created at the peak of magical engineering, which could emit light in the dark and even record voices.

Though it had been made by a dwarf’s hands, it was not something they could have created on their own.

Because they lacked the inspiration that humans possessed.

‘Dwarves who only knew how to make clumsy things. Primitive elves who lived in overgrown bushes. They were soulless beasts. They could never have created such a civilization.’

Inspiration is creativity.

Creativity provides direction beyond the existing, contributing to the creation of concepts and tools no one ever imagined—from art to magic studies, aura cultivation, and more.

It was once the driving force behind humanity’s dominance.

‘The things made these days are, in some ways, better than back then, but in many ways also lacking.’

Bamal turned his gaze away from the exhibits.

It was then that a voice echoed from deep within the museum.

“This energy… Bamal, is it you?”

It was a strange tone, like scraping rusted iron.

He looked around, but no one else seemed to react.

‘If I’m the only one who can hear it…?’

Bamal began walking toward the sound.

He climbed stone steps and passed through an open entrance, arriving at a spacious exhibition hall.

Artifacts far more valuable than what he’d seen earlier were lined up here.

But oddly enough, there was no one present.

It didn’t take long for him to realize why.

‘So it was an evil god after all.’

They exuded a strange aura that made humans uncomfortable simply by existing.

Even if they didn’t consciously notice it, people instinctively sensed it, and thus probably didn’t linger here for long.

“Why did you call me?”

When Bamal asked, a loud voice burst forth.

“How insolent! Show proper respect!”

The source of the voice was a mummy beside a coffin.

A lifeless corpse had just spoken to him.

“Oh, right. I used to show respect and worship you lot. But… who were you again?”

“I am Artus, your master. You wouldn’t dare say you’ve forgotten, would you?”

Only then did Bamal remember.

Taxidermied Artus.

‘A wretch introduced by that Gillum fellow.’

A god who delayed death at the cost of draining blood.

“Ah, right. You were one of those.”

Bamal had always thought the Pathfinders had brought back something useless.

Just as he was about to ignore it, Artus spoke.

“Give me your blood, Bamal.”

What the god needed to awaken his body was the blood of a worshipper.

Bamal carried that blood in his veins.

“Why should I?”

He asked in a firm tone, which further agitated Artus.

“Remember, Bamal. In return for the divine powers I gave you, you promised to do something useful for me!”

“You mean that pointless thing? If you want it back, then take it.”

Bamal had gained many divine powers.

Since divine powers were etched into the soul, such a thing was possible.

He had repeatedly lived and died, offering up his body, and by the time even his children and wife felt like lifeless dolls, he had sacrificed them too.

Among the countless powers he’d obtained, the worthless ones didn’t even feel like a loss.

“You dare defy a god?!”

“Even in that wretched form, you still think of yourself as a god? I’m too dumbfounded to even speak.”

Just as he turned to leave the exhibition hall, a sudden curiosity hit him.

‘Can humans of this era hunt something like that?’

Back when those beings ran rampant, humans were no better than ants.

But over time, they awakened aura, and even absorbed magic—once the gods’ exclusive domain—making it their own.

When they began to fight back, even average gods were reduced to prey.

‘I don’t really want to know, but I don’t want to remain ignorant either.’

Feeling only that vague sensation, the reincarnator bit his finger with a fang.

Drip!

Bamal let a few drops of blood fall to the floor and turned away.

Artus objected.

“Are you telling me to drink filthy blood spilled on the floor?!”

“If you don’t like it, stay buried down there. Wake up or not—I honestly don’t care.”

Bamal left the place.

Soon, Artus would cause a commotion trying to reclaim his original power by absorbing the blood.

Just as Bamal was about to leave before the museum became a madhouse—

Blonde hair was visible from under the stairs.

‘Hersel Ben Tenest.’

The man Gillum had said was concerning.

Recalling the vague reports of his exploits from Arkandric sparked some interest.

***

A dirt-covered jar hid my figure.

From a distance where we couldn’t see each other, I heard the voices of Lilot and Arshian.

“She said she wouldn’t come out, didn’t she, Dorosian?”

“Still, that girl does cheeky things from time to time, right? Just in case, we should be fully prepared.”

“Then I’ll just take a quick look and go back.”

Lilot may appear indifferent, but her personality is quite sharp.

She was only holding back because she was speaking to a professor—otherwise, she would’ve growled and glared as usual.

While I silently waited for something to happen, Bellman nodded as if he’d come to a conclusion on his own.

It seemed he had once again misunderstood something.

It was obvious.

Despite what I’d said earlier, he must have imagined I was actually here to scout out the enemy.

Even though I had no such intention at all...

At that moment, the surroundings began to stir.

“What’s that skinny thing?”

“Isn’t it some kind of event prepared by the museum?”

A corpse staggered toward us from afar.

Each time its feet touched the ground, a sound like wet mud squelched beneath them.

So it begins.

The ancient evil god Bamal awakened—Artus.

Calling him a god was a bit much, but after being preserved without sustenance for so long, he was a manageable opponent.

Of course, the ones to deal with him would be Lilot, who wielded a destructive staff, and Arshian, who would provide minimal assistance as part of training.

Most people watched Artus as if it were just some event.

“Let’s take a closer look.”

“Wow, it’s really well made.”

Some foolishly approached him, and their faces soon turned pale.

“Ugh!”

Artus, who needed nourishment, pierced one’s chest with a sharp finger.

The blood absorbed through his finger pulsed visibly beneath his skin.

The victim’s gaze soon faded cold, and Bellman hurriedly moved to step in.

“Bellman, there’s no need to interfere.”

When I stopped him, Bellman looked at my face and then shifted his gaze elsewhere.

He was drawn to Lilot, who was drawing a spell nearby.

“...Mana is enveloping her entire body. Is that physical enhancement magic?”

So you can see it.

Well, you did awaken your vision, after all.

“Something like that.”

“That’s just supplementary magic. If it were me, I would’ve used something more appropriate to the situation...”

Bellman then made a small sound.

“Wisdom wouldn’t make a mistake like that. It must be something different.”

He was right.

Lilot’s physical enhancement magic operated on a completely different scale.

With her unique mana absorption and heightened sensitivity, her body rivaled that of an aura-wielding knight.

That’s why, although unofficial, people called her a battle mage due to her direct, staff-based combat style.

Around the time Artus’s eyes were regenerating—

Just before all color drained from the victims’ faces, Lilot dashed forward in an instant and intervened.

Artus rolled his grotesque eyeballs and bared his decayed teeth.

His jaw dropped like a nutcracker, and his tongue shot out like a tentacle toward Lilot.

She reacted quickly but was grazed on her left forearm.

“Ugh!”

Blood spurted from the torn sleeve.

Lilot spun her staff around, and it glowed with a white light.

The end of the staff struck Artus’s chest with a thump!

Artus stumbled back, scattering rotten fragments.

“Professor.”

Lilot looked at the fallen and spoke, and Arshian used telekinesis to move them to a safe place.

Then, arms crossed, she asked Lilot with an evaluating tone:

“What’s the state of your left arm?”

“My left arm?”

At her words, Lilot checked her arm and her eyes widened when it wouldn’t move.

Arshian scolded her sharply.

“What did I tell you to do in situations like that?”

Lilot responded immediately.

“Assume it’s a curse or poison, preserve the area, and cast a bodily isolation spell.”

“Then do it.”

“But it’ll be hard to fight with just one arm.”

“Then use that.”

“...Everything here will be destroyed.”

Arshian scoffed.

“It’s fine. I’ll minimize the damage. Even if a few things break, our house will cover the compensation.”

Perhaps reassured by that, a wicked grin spread across Lilot’s face, and her staff began to glow red.

I said to Bellman:

“Set up the barrier, Bellman.”

“...You’re about to do something outrageous, aren’t you?”

Just then, Artus charged in.

Lilot waited until he was at the right distance.

As Artus’s legs began to regenerate, his speed increased so dramatically I nearly lost sight of him.

Lilot seemed a bit shaken, perhaps unsure she could hit such a fast target.

But she quickly regained her focus and directed her staff toward the ground.

The staff slammed down with all her might.

Boom!

With a thunderous roar, a pillar of fire engulfed Lilot and Artus.

As the flames expanded, Arshian swung her staff to suppress it.

Even so, the shockwave shattered every glass surface in the museum, sending shards flying.

The heat was so intense it passed through Bellman’s barrier and swept over us.

The flames slowly faded, along with the shimmering heat, and in the center of a scorched circle stood Lilot alone.

Artus had been reduced to ash, drifting through the museum air.

Bellman swallowed hard and murmured:

“That was absurdly powerful. The protection spell the professor cast must’ve been top-grade, and even that couldn’t fully block it...?”

It must have been a fresh shock.

Her physical prowess was unthinkable for a mage, and her destructive power was far beyond the norm.

Among all the playable academy characters, the only one who could fight her with magic might be Dorosian.

“Whoever ends up facing her is seriously unlucky.”

“Right?”

Whether they were from the knight department or the magic department, whoever faced Lilot was sure to suffer a traumatic defeat.

Of course, as long as it’s not me.

I prayed desperately that among the eleven, the one unlucky enough to face Lilot wouldn’t be me.

***

Most of the people in the museum had evacuated.

Bamal looked down at the glass-strewn interior and shook his head.

‘Foolish Artus. Even in your weakened state, you still look down on humans.’

To Artus, humans probably seemed like sheep—easy to slaughter without resistance.

Though humans’ combat abilities had drastically improved compared to back then, he wouldn’t have known, being preserved for so long.

‘But why is Hersel Ben Tenest just watching? I thought he’d take action.’

Perhaps it was the heroic tales told by Arkandric.

Bamal wanted to see Hersel’s skills for himself.

And with Gillum’s absurd suspicion that he might be an arrogant immortal added on, Bamal was spurred into motion.

‘Then I’ll just confirm it myself.’

Bamal suppressed his presence and wrapped silent aura around his legs, quickly approaching Hersel.

Maybe because he was so fast, Hersel noticed him a beat too late.

Bamal’s hand swung toward Hersel’s cheek like a blade.

A surprise attack meant only to leave a scratch.

Of course, that wouldn’t happen—but if, by some chance, his hand broke, then Gillum’s suspicion would be correct.

In that case, it would be right to dispose of him here and now.

‘If he’s the real deal, then he won’t be completely invincible. After all, we possess fragments of him.’

That meant he could be killed.