I’m the God and This World Is Doomed

The battlefield was quiet now, only the crackling of dying embers and the distant cries of the wounded filling the air. The students, who had once been laughing and chatting, now stood in grim silence. Some had collapsed onto the ground, exhausted and shaking. Others were tending to the injured, wrapping makeshift bandages around wounds. But the worst part was the bodies—lifeless, motionless forms of their classmates.

A heavy sigh came from different corners of the group. Some students wiped their tears in frustration, others stared blankly at nothing. They had always trained for this. They had always known this was a possibility. But reality was much harsher than textbooks and practice fights.

Then, the three instructors finally returned—Evan, lazily stretching as if he had just woken up from a nap, Aldric looking tired but serious, and Kael, as strict and unreadable as ever. Their presence was met with instant hostility.

One of the students, a boy with blood on his uniform and anger in his eyes, snapped. "Why did you leave us?! People died because of you!" His voice cracked at the end, grief laced in his words.

Kael sighed, rubbing his temples. "We trained you, didn't we?"

"Training and abandoning us are two different things!" a girl shouted, her hands balled into fists.

"You're students," Aldric said, crossing his arms. "But more importantly, you're soldiers in training. The world isn't kind. No one is going to hold your hand when the real war begins."

The words cut deep. No one had a comeback.

One by one, the students lowered their heads. Some bit their lips, holding back tears. Others clenched their fists. But no one argued.

Silently, they moved to collect the bodies of their fallen classmates. Some laid flowers on them, whispering prayers. Others just stood there, staring at the lifeless forms, unsure of what to say or do.

Serian stood a little apart from the group, watching with quiet curiosity. The way the students placed flowers on the dead, the way they whispered words to them—it was unfamiliar. He saw Edward and Sienna standing nearby, their expressions neutral, but their hands were gripping their clothes tightly.

Feeling a strange tug in his chest, Serian reached out and lightly tugged at Edward's sleeve.

Edward blinked and turned. "Huh?"

Serian pointed at the flowers. "Why do they put those on the bodies?"

Edward looked at him, confused at first, then sighed. "It's a way to say goodbye," he explained. "To honor them. It's tradition."

Serian nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He turned back to the bodies, watching as some students openly cried, while others tried to stay strong but failed miserably. Their grief was heavy in the air, but Serian felt... nothing.

No, not nothing. Something. Something small. Something unfamiliar.

His eyes drifted to the mutant corpse he had killed earlier. The one who had once been a father, a man who had sacrificed everything for his daughter.

Serian knelt down and, without hesitation, picked up a flower. He walked over and placed it gently on the mutant's still chest.

A hush fell over the group. Whispers started.

"What is he doing?"

"Why is he putting a flower on that?"

"Is he crazy?"

Some students scoffed, some frowned, but Serian ignored them all. He simply looked at the fallen mutant, his expression unreadable.

To him, this was no different. The man had once been human, just like the classmates they mourned. He had suffered, he had lost himself—but he had been human nonetheless.

Was this grief?

He wasn't sure. But for the first time in a long time, he felt something unfamiliar in his chest. And for once, he didn't push it away.

***

Serian sat by the crackling fire, the warm glow casting shadows on his face as his mind wandered. He thought about the mutant he had slain earlier—the man, the father. The memory of his sacrifice, his love for his daughter, lingered in Serian's thoughts. That pain, that desperation, had been so human, so raw. It made him think of Odin.

He closed his eyes, remembering the day he met the Allfather under the great Yggdrasil. Odin had been a towering figure—aged but powerful, his single eye gleaming with a wisdom that only centuries of sacrifice could bring. Odin's presence had been imposing, a mix of sorrow and strength.

"Why did you do it?" Serian muttered under his breath, the question lingering in the stillness of the night.

He remembered the story—the great sacrifice Odin made for knowledge. Hanging from the branches of Yggdrasil for nine long days, enduring unimaginable pain, all for the wisdom that would protect his children, his sons. It wasn't just for the gods but for the survival of the world itself.

Serian's fingers absently traced the worn edges of his book, the pen still in his hand. He didn't need to ask why Odin did it. The answer was in the love that radiated from every action the Allfather had taken. Odin's love for his children was so powerful that he had willingly given up everything.

Serian sighed, his breath soft but heavy. "I suppose... I kind of understand," he said to himself, though he didn't truly feel the pain Odin must have endured. He didn't know what it was like to love in such a way. He didn't know what it was like to sacrifice everything for someone else. But he understood the idea of it—the depth of the emotion, the willingness to endure unimaginable suffering for another.

But even as he reflected, a sense of loneliness washed over him. Unlike other gods in various mythologies who fell into slumber or disappeared into the stars, Serian was always there. He remained. He kept records. He remembered.

It felt isolating, in a way. As the world moved forward, as people lived and died, as kingdoms rose and fell, Serian remained a constant observer. The others, the gods, they had their time to rest or fade away, leaving behind only myths. But Serian... He never got to rest. He never got to fade away. He was always watching. Always recording.

"I wonder if I'm just... alone in all this," he murmured quietly, staring into the fire. "I see it all. I remember everything. But no one else will. No one else can."

He leaned back, his thoughts turning inward as the fire crackled softly in the night. The warmth of the flames did little to ease the emptiness he sometimes felt deep within. It wasn't about the battles he fought or the knowledge he gained. It wasn't even about the weight of being a god. It was about the endless solitude.

Maybe that was the price of being the one who remembers everything. The one who stays when all others have moved on.

"I suppose I'll never know," he whispered, closing his eyes.

*****

As the airship carried them back to the academy, silence hung over the students. Some were cradling their injuries, others leaned against their friends, exhausted. A few quietly sobbed, while others simply stared ahead, lost in thought.

When they arrived, the living were welcomed with warm embraces. Parents rushed to their children, gripping them tightly as if afraid they would disappear. Orphans, too, were not forgotten. Headmistress Emilia herself was there, offering hugs to those who had no one waiting for them.

Serian stood apart from it all, watching the scene with quiet indifference. He had no one to embrace him, no one to check his injuries. Not that he minded—he didn't need it.

A letter from the headmistress had already been sent out, stating that the real first trial had ended. Those who wished to drop out were free to do so, but a guardian's presence was necessary for further discussions.

And so, he found himself face to face with Adrian Elfheim.

Serian stared at the man calmly, expression unreadable. Adrian, his stepbrother, was already well-known—Guild Master of one of the top three organizations in the base. His presence drew whispers from students and teachers alike.

"That's Adrian Elfheim…"

"The Adrian Elfheim? What's he doing here?"

"Maybe he's here for one of the elite students?"

None of them knew that he was here for Serian.

Of course, people already assumed Serian had connections—he was always with Sienna, the granddaughter of the Red Magic Tower Master, and Edward, the youngest of the Rutherford family. Some called him a silver spoon kid, lucky to befriend the right people.

But even Edward and Sienna had no idea about Serian's own background.

Adrian's face was unreadable, his cold golden eyes scanning Serian from head to toe. He looked fine—no major injuries, no signs of struggle.

"You're alive," Adrian finally said.

Serian blinked. "...Yes."

A pause.

Adrian sighed, pulling out a pouch of money and handing it to Serian. "Here. Use this."

Serian looked at the pouch, then back at Adrian. His expression remained neutral as he lightly pushed it back. "I don't need it."

Adrian frowned. "Take it. You're still a student. Money's important."

"I'm fine," Serian replied simply.

Another pause.

Adrian studied him for a moment before exhaling tiredly. "...Suit yourself." He put the pouch away, clearly not interested in arguing.

With that, their conversation ended. No warm reunion, no unnecessary words.

Adrian never bothered him, and Serian never bothered Adrian. That was just how it had always been.

Vincent Rutherford had been talking to Edward, his younger brother, but the moment his sharp eyes landed on Serian, something shifted in his demeanor. He paused mid-conversation, his gaze lingering, unreadable.

Adrian, standing beside Serian, felt an odd sense of unease. He didn't know why, but something about Vincent's stare bothered him.

Vincent, as always, carried a cold and ruthless aura. It was fitting for someone of his status—an heir to the Rutherford family and a powerful executioner.

Serian, however, didn't react. To him, Vincent was just Vincent.

Edward, on the other hand, seemed tense. He stood behind Vincent, his usual relaxed posture stiff.

Adrian, never one for unnecessary interactions, gave Vincent a polite nod. "Vincent Rutherford."

Vincent responded in kind, acknowledging Adrian with a brief glance. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed Serian's wrist, pulling him away.

Serian didn't resist. He simply followed, his steps light and unbothered, as Vincent led him to a quieter spot away from the growing crowd.

Adrian frowned slightly but didn't stop them. Instead, he turned his attention to Edward, who looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.

Once they were seated, Vincent leaned back slightly, his piercing gaze settling on Serian.

"You're still alive."

Serian tilted his head slightly. "Yes."

Vincent huffed a short breath through his nose. "Figures." His voice was even, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Then, he added with a smirk, "Would've been a shame if the academy lost its best ethics student."

Serian blinked. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

Vincent chuckled lightly but didn't respond.

Serian turned his head slightly, watching Adrian and Edward talk in the distance. Adrian was mostly quiet, responding occasionally, while Edward looked eager, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke.

Vincent followed his gaze. "Edward admires hunters," he said casually. "Especially guild masters. To him, they're the backbone of the base—powerful, wealthy, respected. He probably sees Adrian as an ideal figure."

Serian looked back at Vincent. "But you serve humanity directly," he said simply. "Isn't that more amazing?"

Vincent's expression flickered, but it was gone in an instant.

"...You say strange things, Serian."

Serian didn't reply. He just watched as Vincent's cold hand reached out, ruffling his silver hair.

For some reason, the gesture felt… natural.

Serian, for once, didn't mind the coldness of Vincent's touch.