Becoming a God Starts with Acting

Everything gradually returned to normal. The starry expanse faded away, and they returned to the castle.

The god hovered in midair, his cloak and hair billowing in the wind as if he had no weight at all.

Before anyone could even process the system's announcement, Prophet's body suddenly collapsed to the ground.

"Thud!"

It was not a gentle landing.

Prophet curled up, rolling slightly, letting out a pained groan.

Everyone: "..."

What the hell was happening?

Ron and Fiona instinctively turned their eyes toward Drake.

Drake was standing there, mouth agape, gripping his blade tightly, unsure what to do.

His expression said it all—he looked like he was one second away from leaping forward and slitting Prophet's throat.

Just then—

Crack.

A sharp sound echoed, like a shattering mirror.

The massive monster began to stir, its enormous body trembling slightly as its countless writhing arms slowly came back to life.

"Shit! The monster's moving again!" Ron shouted.

Drake narrowed his eyes. He wanted to take advantage of the slow recovery from the time freeze and end the monster once and for all.

But then—

His shoulders suddenly dipped, weighed down by something.

Somehow—at some point—

Prophet had climbed onto his back.

Drake's eyes widened, his killing intent barely concealed.

"Go to the kitchen. You can't win against that thing right now."

Prophet's voice was hoarse, like someone who hadn't spoken in a very long time.

Drake ignored the first part entirely.

Instead, he snapped furiously:

"Who the hell do you think you are to say that?! There isn't a single monster I can't defeat!"

The moment he finished speaking, he lunged toward the monster, completely ignoring Prophet on his back.

After all, to an Esper like him, Prophet's weight was nothing.

But then—

"What the fuck?!"

Drake roared in pain.

Ron and Fiona's eyes widened in shock as Prophet suddenly grabbed a fistful of Drake's hair—

—And yanked it back.

Hard.

Drake's head was forced backward, and they could see strands of golden hair falling to the ground.

Ron & Fiona: "..."

Their hands trembled.

This god might be the weakest—

But he was definitely the bravest.

Drake's face contorted in a way that suggested he was seriously considering murder.

But Prophet remained completely unfazed.

Still gripping Drake's hair, he calmly said:

"If you don't want your teammates to die—go to the kitchen."

Prophet's words struck a nerve in Drake. He frowned.

He didn't want to listen to Prophet, but considering the current situation, he had no choice.

Fine.

If this so-called god's suggestion turned out to be useless, then he could kill him later.

Drake thought ruthlessly before dashing toward the kitchen.

Seeing this, Ron and Fiona immediately followed.

By now, the monster had regained full mobility and was lumbering after them.

Its massive body was slow—

But its arms weren't.

Ron turned mid-run, sweeping his hand through the air.

Whoosh!

A massive wind blade slashed through the monster's writhing arms, severing them in an instant.

Though the limbs regenerated quickly, the brief delay bought them a few extra seconds—

And right now, every second is precious.

They raced toward the kitchen.

The kitchen and dining hall were connected as one space.

At night, the dining hall's doors looked bizarrely eerie.

Having faced countless monsters before, Drake could tell one thing for certain—

Whatever was in that kitchen was just as terrifying as the monster chasing them.

He gritted his teeth and growled:

"This better be the right move."

Then, without hesitation, he raised his blade—

And split the doors in half.

The group rushed inside.

At that moment, the monster's arms were already mere inches away from grabbing them.

Drake gripped his sword tighter, preparing for a final stand-—

But then—

Something impossible happened.

Just as they reached the kitchen—

The monster's arms froze.

Then—

They suddenly retracted.

Like a car slamming on the brakes.

The monster's furious roar echoed through the castle, shaking the very walls.

It howled in rage, its voice reverberating over and over—

And then—

It left.

Silence.

A strange, eerie silence.

The only thing left was the group standing in the stench-filled kitchen.

"Ugh—why does this place smell even worse than outside?!" Fiona gagged.

She had faced an entire horde of monsters out there, yet even they hadn't smelled bad enough to make her nauseous.

And then—

Thud.

Something heavy hit the floor.

Prophet had slid off Drake's back again.

Curled up on the ground, he clutched his chest, his lips pressed tightly together.

Drake stared at him before speaking up in an almost annoyed tone:

"What's wrong with you? Don't tell me you're dying already?"

Ron glanced at his captain and muttered:

"Maybe you ran too fast, and the god couldn't handle it."

Drake scowled.

"That's all it takes? That's weak as hell."

Prophet trembled slightly where he lay.

Blood seeped from beneath the cloth covering his eyes—

Dripping onto the floor like falling tears.

They all instinctively recalled the system's words—

[...the weakest god...]

Right.

Of course.

The weakest god.

Drake thought back to Cocona's warning—

That if he summoned trash, then it was his own bad luck.

Now, looking at Prophet's frail state—

Drake, who despised weakness, was already considering ways to send this god back to wherever he came from.

Even though Prophet had just saved their lives—

Drake didn't care.

At that moment, Prophet suddenly sat up from the ground. One hand clutched his knee as if that could make him feel safer while the other pointed straight at Drake.

"You… disrespect… a god…"

His voice was as weak as a mosquito's buzz.

Drake's brow twitched in irritation. He roared, "SPEAK UP!"

Prophet nearly jumped in fright, his lips pressing together. Fresh blood still streaked his face, making him look pitiful. Ron, knowing his captain's temper, felt a twinge of pity. Just as he was about to speak, Prophet's voice soft, cu voice through the air.

"If we don't leave in five minutes, we'll all die."

Silence. No one could ignore those words. And then—more blood trickled from Prophet's bandaged eyes, staining the white cloth red.

[Of course, he's Prophet. How does he always predict everything correctly?! Is he a god? No divine being has ever appeared before!]

[His name is Prophet. He has to be fabulous! There's no way he's the weakest god like the system said!]

[Come on, how can a god even be weak?]

No, I am weak. Prophet—no, Silvanus—silently thanked the extraterrestrial spectators watching the Dungeon for their misplaced confidence. Deep down, he was genuinely grateful. On the surface? His acting remained flawless.

Like a key turning in a lock, the atmosphere changed when Prophet finished speaking. The air grew heavier. A suffocating stench of blood filled the room. Drake turned, and his expression darkened.

The doors—the ones he had sliced in half just moments ago—were perfectly intact. They must have healed the instant they stepped inside. They just hadn't noticed.

Drake lunged forward, swinging his massive blade at the doors. The same doors he had effortlessly split earlier were now impenetrable. His brows furrowed. He took a few steps back and rammed his whole strength into them.

BAM!

The impact shook the entire room—yet the wooden doors didn't budge. Not even a scratch.

Drake's eyes widened. Ron and Fiona stared, unable to believe what they were seeing. Then, their gazes slowly turned toward the god sitting on the floor. A new thought flickered in their eyes.

The kitchen's air grew even heavier. The shadows—those twisted, flickering forms—began to solidify. The room, the walls, the ceiling—they were everywhere. Child-sized, but undeniably monstrous. As Prophet had warned when five minutes were up, they would become entirely tangible—and devour them whole like ants swarming over prey.

Drake didn't hesitate. He strode toward Prophet, grabbed his collar, and hauled him up so they were face to face. His voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

"How do we get out?"

Prophet's lips barely moved.

"This… is not the tone one should use when asking for help."

His voice remained soft, emotionless, just as before. Yet his stubbornness was apparent. If Drake didn't give him the response he wanted, they would all die here.

Drake's eyes narrowed. "You were the one who told us to come here!"

Prophet: "All of it was your choice."

Drake's jaw clenched. The veins in his forehead throbbed violently. His grip on Prophet's collar tightened. For a brief moment, he seriously considered strangling him.

Calm down, Drake. Hold it together.