At Alon’s words, everyone’s jaws dropped in disbelief.

Even Wise Ashgul, with wrinkles folding over his eyes, was stunned.

So was the swift Syrkal, who still looked at Alon with cautious wariness.

Even Evan, who had been curiously examining one of the giant monster masks in the corner of the tent, froze.

Reinhardt, who had been casually surveying the surroundings with disinterest like Evan, was no exception.

All of them were left gaping.

The words that had just come out of Alon’s mouth were utterly incomprehensible to anyone present.

Among them, Reinhardt, in particular, stared at him with an expression that screamed, ‘What in the world did he just say?’

Though Reinhardt currently looked unkempt, having spent long stretches training in the jungle and moving between camps, he still recognized the being Alon had spoken of.

The Receiver, Basiliora.

A savage and massive serpent, it was both the ruler of the eastern region and the deity worshipped by the Thunder Serpent Tribe.

Many expedition teams avoided conflict with the Thunder Serpent Tribe precisely because Basiliora stood behind them.

Yet here was Marquis Pallatio, boldly declaring his intention to subjugate Basiliora in front of the very tribe that revered it as their god.

‘Is he out of his mind?’ Reinhardt thought, staring at Alon with a genuine sense of disbelief.

Of course, he already knew Alon wasn’t ordinary.

He had heard the rumors and witnessed some of Alon’s extraordinary feats firsthand.

But no matter how extraordinary, the idea of subjugating Basiliora felt like the height of absurdity—something beyond mere arrogance.

‘That monster…?’

Reinhardt recalled the one time he had seen Basiliora.

Its massive tail had casually swiped through the jungle, snapping dozens of trees like twigs.

Its enormous body towered over the treetops, leaving an impression so indelible that Reinhardt could never forget it.

And yet, as Reinhardt stared incredulously at Deus, who stood beside Marquis Pallatio, calmly nodding in agreement, his disbelief deepened.

“…What did you just say?”

For the first time, Wise Ashgul frowned, abandoning his usual calm demeanor.

“Those are words, no matter how esteemed you may be, that cannot be taken lightly,” Ashgul said, his voice tinged with undisguised hostility.

But Alon was unfazed.

He had already anticipated this reaction.

Alon spoke the words he had prepared in advance.

“Then will you keep living like this?”

“…What are you trying to say?” Ashgul asked.

“I’m asking if you will continue offering your people to that god,” Alon said bluntly.

“How… How do you know about that?”

Ashgul’s shocked expression gave him away, a silent admission of the truth.

But Alon didn’t pause, continuing his argument.

“Remember this, Ashgul. The god you worship will never stop demanding human sacrifices—not until the Thunder Serpent Tribe is utterly destroyed.”

“And how can you be so sure of that?” Ashgul challenged.

Without hesitation, Alon replied, “There’s no need for certainty. You already know, don’t you? You know it won’t stop.”

Alon’s next words were even sharper.

“If the Thunder Serpent Tribe aids me, I’ll get rid of it for you.”

Ashgul fell silent, unable to respond.

Alon said no more.

Not because he had nothing to add, but because there was no need to.

His purpose here was twofold: to force the Thunder Serpent Tribe’s chief to confront a truth they had long ignored and to offer them a chance for change.

After a moment of tense silence, Ashgul finally spoke.

“…Will you give me a day to consider this?”

“I’ll wait,” Alon replied.

And with that, their first meeting ended, leaving the promise of tomorrow hanging in the air.

As Alon left the tent with his companions, he glanced back momentarily to see Syrkal’s pupils trembling uncontrollably.

Without further hesitation, they exited the shrine.

Shortly afterward:

“Marquis.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“…Are you really planning to capture that so-called god?”

Upon returning to the lodging assigned to them by the Thunder Serpent Tribe, Evan immediately asked the question.

Alon nodded calmly.

“Yes.”

“…Wait, you’re serious?”

“I am.”

“Sometimes, I really don’t understand you, Marquis. But… are you sure you don’t need to explain yourself more? Judging by their reaction, they didn’t seem particularly pleased with what you said.”

Alon responded nonchalantly.

“They’ll likely accept.”

“And why is that?”

“Because they probably don’t want to keep offering human sacrifices anymore.”

Evan clicked his tongue in frustration.

“As I thought, that’s what this is all about.”

“Exactly.”

“But still, do you really think they’ll easily go along with your plan? Sure, it’s a barbaric practice, but for tribes where human sacrifice is ingrained in their culture, they might not even realize it’s wrong.”

Evan wasn’t entirely wrong.

Human sacrifice was seen as an unspeakable act in any place governed by basic moral principles.

However, in isolated tribes like the Thunder Serpent Tribe, whose interaction with the outside world was minimal, it was plausible they lacked the moral framework to question the practice.

Still, Evan was mistaken about one thing.

“The Thunder Serpent Tribe wasn’t originally a tribe that offered human sacrifices. They’re being forced into it.”

“…Forced?”

Though Alon didn’t know every detail about them, he was certain of two things:

First, the Thunder Serpent Tribe had not practiced human sacrifice in the past.

Second, the one enforcing the sacrifices was none other than their supposed guardian, Basiliora.

“…Wait, then why wouldn’t they accept your proposal?”

Evan looked puzzled.

Alon didn’t answer right away, but Reinhardt did.

“Obviously, they’re afraid of what will happen if they fail. Isn’t it easy to imagine? If the tribe really is being forced into sacrifices, they’re probably doing it to avoid being annihilated.”

“That makes sense, but wouldn’t it be better for them to just escape to a place where Basiliora doesn’t exist?”

“They clearly can’t escape. There’s something stopping them, which is why they’re enduring this humiliation,” Reinhardt replied.

Alon gave Reinhardt a long look, impressed.

Despite his rough, bandit-like appearance, Reinhardt had accurately deduced the situation.

“Correct. The Thunder Serpent Tribe cannot leave this place. To be more precise, they’re trapped here. Basiliora is keeping them under surveillance, ensuring they can’t escape.”

“Oh.”

Evan let out a small exclamation of admiration.

Briefly puffing up at Deus’s gaze of approval, Reinhardt then frowned as if something had occurred to him.

“Wait a second. Why do you all look so surprised? Is it that shocking that I figured this out?”

“Well…”

“…Because your brain works faster than your looks suggest?” Deus quipped.

“Oh, that’s—cough—uh…”

Evan nodded enthusiastically, only to clear his throat awkwardly when he noticed Reinhardt glaring at him.

Quickly changing the subject, Evan asked, “Uh, anyway, why won’t Basiliora let the tribe leave?”

The urgency in his tone drew Alon’s attention.

“Because of their faith, most likely,” Alon thought.

Basiliora relied on the Thunder Serpent Tribe’s faith as a source of power, fully aware of how much it strengthened him.

To Basiliora, the tribe wasn’t just a protectorate—it was a precious supply of faith.

The problem, however, was that Basiliora had realized fear and human sacrifice could generate even more faith than protection ever could.

“And surely, the chieftain knows that truth as well.”

Alon recalled the bitterness in Syrkal’s voice during the game as she recounted the truth about the human sacrifices, a secret passed down from the previous chieftain.

“I don’t know the exact reasons myself,” Alon said, evading further explanation.

The full story would take too long to share.

“Anyway, let’s wait and see.”

With those words, he took his seat.

***

Three hours later.

“Is it really… truly possible to capture Basiliora?”

Alon looked at Syrkal, who had returned much sooner than expected. He had anticipated that it would take a day or two for the tribe to hold a meeting and reach a decision, but Syrkal came to him in just three hours.

“Yes,” Alon replied calmly with a nod.

“…My younger sister is the next sacrifice.”

It didn’t take long for Alon to understand why the decision had come so quickly.

“So that’s why the meeting ended so fast.”

“Yes. If we act now, we can still save my sister.”

“It couldn’t have been easy to convince the others.”

“The chieftain and I agreed to take full responsibility.”

Alon paused for a moment, considering the risk she and the chieftain were taking. Could she truly shoulder the consequences if they failed? He quickly dismissed the thought and nodded.

Given Basiliora’s nature, the Thunder Serpent Tribe was too valuable for the entity to simply annihilate. Their lives alone—hers and the chieftain’s—might suffice as compensation.

But for Alon, failure was never an option.

“Then let’s discuss what needs to be done.”

Alon began explaining the steps to Syrkal, whose expression was resolute.

***

Jenira.

The younger sister of Syrkal, the Thunder Serpent Tribe’s strongest warrior.

She had just turned sixteen and was set to undergo the coming-of-age ceremony, earning her tribal name alongside others her age. But now, she stood alone atop the temple roof, gazing at the rain as it fell in heavy drops.

Dark clouds, streaked with shades of gray, deepened as twilight approached. Jenira glanced down at her hands.

In her palm was an apple.

It was her last meal, a gift from her sister, whom she loved dearly. The apple had been handed to her by Syrkal, who, for the first time, had shed tears while pressing it into her hands.

Jenira stared blankly at the once-vivid red apple, now dulled like the gray sky above. Syrkal had told her to eat it, but Jenira hadn’t.

No, she couldn’t.

Despite her hunger, despite her love for apples, she couldn’t bring herself to eat it.

The moment she bit into it, she felt, would mark the end. Eating it would mean being alone. The fear of that final moment kept her from taking even a single bite. She knew this was her last meal.

It’s pointless.

Jenira wasn’t ignorant. She knew that holding onto the apple wouldn’t keep her sister by her side. She knew the inevitable end wouldn’t be stopped.

She wanted to run.

A sudden, overwhelming impulse flashed through her mind, but her body didn’t move.

Running would only make her sister the next sacrifice. She understood that too well.

So she stood still, watching the gray sky darken further into night.

Until—

“!”

Ku-gu-gu-gu—!

She saw it.

Something enormous, gliding toward her.

The great god she worshipped. The god she never wished to face.

…Death had come for her.

Smashing through the trees with its sheer size, the massive serpent—no, the Receiver, Basiliora—slithered effortlessly around the colossal altar. Its enormous eyes locked onto her.

The reptilian pupil, larger than her entire body, bore into her.

“Ah—”

Fear overtook her. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

The apple slipped from her hands, landing in the rain-soaked ground.

Her mind screamed for survival.

‘I want to live. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live.’

The thought repeated endlessly, burning in her mind.

But deep down, she knew.

No matter how much she begged or cried, no one was coming to save her. Her death had already been decided.

And so, all she could do was silently weep as she stood there, frozen in terror.

The Receiver, who seemed to savor her fear, opened its gargantuan jaws—large enough to swallow a house in one bite—to devour her.

But then—

“Arctic Freeze.”

A voice rang out.

Crack, crack, crack!

Everything atop the altar froze solid.

The ground.

The rainwater pooling on the floor.

Even the apple Jenira had dropped.

The rain falling from the sky froze, every drop suspended in ice.

And then—

From the edge of the altar,

Step, step—

A man walked forward, unfazed, his expression indifferent as the frozen rain brushed against him.

In one hand, he carried a swirl of grayish-white magic. Floating beside him was a rectangular mass of iron, roughly half his size.

As he ascended the stairs, he muttered something under his breath—too quiet for anyone to hear.

But immediately after—

CRAAACK!

The rectangular iron mass twisted unnaturally, reshaping itself into a massive spear.

The god, the Receiver, Basiliora, instinctively felt threatened. It tried to close its gaping jaws, but—

Its mouth wouldn’t close.

Within the cavernous, ash-gray expanse of its maw, bright violet threads crisscrossed wildly, forcibly holding the god’s mouth wide open.

The moment it realized this, Basiliora’s massive body, coiled around the altar, began to convulse.

RUMBLE!

With just one twist of its colossal frame, the entire altar shook as though an earthquake had struck.

Yet the man remained undeterred. He calmly climbed the remaining steps and passed by Jenira, who stood frozen in fear, before stopping in front of the god.

With another quiet murmur, he raised his hand, forming a gesture like a gun with his index and middle fingers pointed forward.

“Pierce.”

He spoke the final word.

BOOM!

A massive bolt of lightning struck.

The iron spear shot forth, shattering through Basiliora’s upper jaw with an earth-shaking impact.

And then, the god fell.

Basiliora, pierced and defeated, tumbled down the altar, its divine majesty shattered.

And Jenira, frozen where she stood, stared blankly at the man who had brought down such a “god.”