Might of Players

---Third POV---

In the world of Aeltia, magic and swordsmanship coexisted, ancient legends and mysterious ruins covered the land.

Humans, dragons, elves, and dwarves lived together in this world, where magical creatures were as numerous as the stars.

The radiance of the gods once shone over all of Aeltia, but it faded away six hundred years ago.

In the central part of Aeltia lay the Frostwind Plains, a wasteland where monsters ran rampant.

Neither the Principality of Elise nor the Kingdom of Yoan desired to claim the development rights to this barren land.

The Frostwind Plains were most notorious for their brutal monsters and the relentless magic winds that lingered there.

More importantly... It was close to one of the sources of the periodic magical tides: the Great Oak Forest.

Walking across the plains was like gambling with your life, hoping you wouldn't encounter a small-scale magic tide.

And it was a place where you wouldn't normally see a single person for years. Yet today, more than a hundred monks in white robes appeared all at once.

With magical shields protecting them, they rushed through the raging winds.

Brother Marcus, leading the group, raised his hand to signal a halt as he noticed something in the distance.

"There!" he shouted over the howling wind. "The tracks are fresh! The Butcher can't be far!"

Brother Leon knelt beside him, examining the ground. "Look at the blood patterns—he's injured. We might actually catch him this time."

Finally, they stopped before a stone altar.

"We found it! The blood altar mentioned in the letter!"

The altar bore obvious signs of artificial construction, faintly visible under the overgrown weeds.

Mountains of monster corpses and human limbs were piled atop it. The blood had already congealed into a dark red-black color, carrying the stench of rotting flesh.

Those with weaker constitutions had already begun vomiting while covering their mouths. Brother Gabriel stumbled back, his face pale. "Dear Light preserve us... what manner of evil is this?"

"Focus!" Brother Marcus snapped. "Check for survivors!"

The monks, enduring their discomfort, searched through the pile of corpses and successfully pulled out two intact human bodies.

The bodies wore the same style of monk robes as the others.

"It's Brother Gunther and Brother Sebastian, who sent the message!"

"Gunther... Sebastian... What did he do to you?" Brother Gabriel muttered sorrowfully.

Marcus knelt beside the bodies, his experienced eyes narrowing. "These wounds... they're different from his usual work."

"Different how?" a young monk asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Too... purposeful."

The monks exchanged glances.

"We're late again..."

"Damn it! That Butcher can run faster than the rats in the Howling Swamps!"

"Wait! The bodies are still warm—this means the culprit hasn't gone far!"

"I found it! There's a trace of black magic here!"

"Hurry, let's pursue!" they shouted in unison.

The sound of footsteps echoed across the Frostwind Plains, spreading in all directions.

---First POV---

My name is Viktor, and I'm what they call a transmigrator—someone dragged from the comfortable life of modern Earth into this mess of a fantasy world.

You'd think after seven hundred years, I'd have gotten used to it. But some things just stuck with you, like that burning desire for a system.

You know the type—those convenient interfaces that other lucky transmigrators got, complete with levels, skills, and helpful tooltips.

But no, what did I get? A one-way ticket to Aeltia and an eventual transformation into an undead necromancer. Life had a twisted sense of humor, didn't it?

Beneath the blood altar, hidden by layers of magical runes, I blended into the dirt and gravel of the plains, looking as lifeless as a discarded skeleton left to decay in the wilderness.

As an undead necromancer being pursued, sometimes the best disguise was to simply look dead.

So many years, and they still hadn't learned to check below their feet. The church's finest, ladies and gentlemen.

My bones creaked slightly as I adjusted my position. You'd think being undead would make hiding easier. But no, these bones still creaked like a rusty door hinge.

"You're telling me you're the 'Divine Ascension System,' and the previous God of Light is dead, so you're here to make me the successor?"

I stared at the faint golden orb floating in my inner sanctum.

The orb, clearly sensing what it thought was hope in my voice, quickly replied.

"That's right! As long as you follow my instructions, I guarantee you'll become the next God of Light within a hundred years! The church that's chasing you now? They're my people—and soon, they'll be your subordinates. Isn't that amazing?"

"Think about it, Viktor," the orb continued smoothly. "No more running, no more hiding. You could be worshipped instead of hunted."

"Ah yes, because power always comes without strings attached."

The orb looked at me proudly, and at the same time, a glowing blue screen appeared in my mind.

[Would you like to bind to the system?]

Though I had expected this, seeing the familiar interface still made my heart tremble. The obsession never faded, even after all these centuries.

Looking back, my journey in Aeltia had been anything but smooth. The excitement of magic faded quickly as challenges in this backward magical world appeared one after another:

Bad food, poor clothing, no identity, language barriers... Even vastly different worldviews. The savagery and cruelty of this primitive magical world shattered my 21st-century values.

Fortunately, human adaptability and resilience far exceed expectations. With a little talent, a little wisdom, a little effort, and a lot of luck—ninety-six percent of it pure dumb luck—I managed to survive.

I even outlived many of the naturally long-lived races.

The price, however, was not small.

From a legitimate magic genius to a despised black magician, from living to undead, from respected to wanted by every church in Aeltia... Well, when you lived long enough, your story was bound to be a bit eventful.

Though my reputation was now far worse than notorious, I truly was a good person, I guess? Opposing the entire world came at a cost.

For instance: I was now cornered by the Radiant Church in the middle of this godforsaken plain. My life was hanging by a thread.

And yet, this glowing orb wanted me to recruit my pursuers as subordinates?

I would just use them as fertilizer for my Osseous Vitae.

Don't know what it is? Just a rare magical material—capable of regenerating the skeletons of long-dead undead creatures. The issue was—it required massive amounts of flesh and blood from sentient beings, making it an absolutely forbidden material.

"Hm... Let me guess—accept your power, become your vessel, save the world? Did you get this script from a bargain bin?"

The orb lowered its voice defensively. "This is a genuine divine—"

"Divine destiny? I've heard it all before. Usually right before something tries to kill me."

The orb tried again. "But y-your life force is fading rapidly. Only I can save you. You don't have to hold onto—"

Before it could finish, I shifted my inner sanctum and conjured an avatar to grab the orb. Raising an eyebrow, I asked, "I don't have to what?"

"You know what's fascinating about living so long? You learn to spot patterns."

"I don't understand what you—"

"Like how 'divine beings' always show up when I'm at my weakest. Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

The orb went silent for two seconds before screaming sharply. "Wait?! How can you enter here—and even grab me?!"

"This is my inner sanctum. Why wouldn't I be able to come in?" I said, kneading the orb, compressing it and reshaping it.

Seeing the orb's futile struggle, I quickly gauged its power level and felt visibly disappointed. "Could the tricks of the gods get any more outdated? The fake system trick was old a few hundred years ago!"

Oh, right—I had also made a small mistake a few hundred years back. I had somehow offended the gods.

The good news: All the gods had perished in the Divine War six hundred years ago.

The bad news: Gods were immortal. As long as their followers exist, a god could hope for resurrection.

Thus, every hundred years or so, some god on the verge of resurrection would try to possess my body. My obsession with having a "system" might have been my weakness, but trying to possess me? Using the same old trick?

Not happening.

"Times change, little orb. The age of gods is over."

"You can't possibly understand what you're doing!"

"Oh, but I do. That's what scares you, isn't it?"

"You need me! Without—"

"Enough. I'm done playing!" I declared.

The glowing blue screen shattered, and the facade of the system was torn apart. A surge of intense light burst between me and the orb.

The orb panicked as it felt its power draining rapidly. Its struggles intensified, and its voice trembled with fear. "W-What are you doing?!"

"Sending you back where you came from. Dead gods shouldn't dream of resurrection." I grinned wickedly. "We don't need gods anymore!"

"Think of the power you could wield! The glory of divine—"

"Yes, yes, divine this, holy that. Do you have any original material?"

"Your irreverence doesn't change the fact that—"

"That I'm dying? Please, I've been dead for centuries. You'll have to do better."

"And you know what's truly divine? The look on your face as you realize your trick failed."

With that, I tightened my grip on the orb and increased the flow of my power. The light grew stronger and stronger.

Three seconds later—a faint, transparent thread appeared between us.

Seeing the orb still firmly in my hand, my heart skipped a beat.

Something was wrong.

Oh no!

It wasn't the God of Light?!

I had originally arrived at the Frostwind Plains to experiment with a forbidden spell. However, midway through, I ran into two stubborn Radiant Church monks.

The two culprits died on the spot, and I was severely backlashed by the magic, leaving me half-dead.

This may have given the glowing orb its opportunity.

Taking advantage of my severe injuries, it almost succeeded in signing a one-way contract with me. Fortunately, I regained consciousness just in time. While chatting and stalling with the glowing orb, I secretly reversed the contract target.

Contract reversal was like redirecting a river. Let them think they were flooding your valley while you were building a dam upstream.

The orb's desperation to bind me made this perfect. Every divine being had certain traits that couldn't be changed—and one of those divine traits was: a god cannot be controlled.

From what I knew about gods, the glowing orb should have been forced to self-destruct and await the next resurrection ritual.

Although I would sustain some injuries as a result... Uh, fine, the injuries might not be "somewhat small." But that was still far better than having a god lurking in my body, ready to possess me at any moment.

And yet...

The contract reversal actually succeeded?

I closed my eyes, feeling the information transmitted through the contract. Initially, because of the cliché name "Divine Ascension System" and the constant aura of light magic emanating from the orb, I had guessed the entity was the soon-to-be-revived God of Light.

Unfortunately... I guessed wrong.

The glowing orb was not some major god but the divine essence of Aeceus Muse, the God of Creativity—a divine being so niche that most of Aeltia's inhabitants didn't even know it existed.

Not creation, mind you, but creativity. The difference was both subtle and vast.

I opened my eyes.

"I knew something was off. A major god would never need such roundabout methods to gain followers."

"I am a manifestation of divine—"

"You're a divine hiccup. A metaphysical clerical error."

"Such disrespect! I could have offered you—"

"What? Godhood? Power? A dental plan? I've heard better offers from traveling snake oil salesmen."

What a pity.

Through the contract, I learned the peculiar nature of this deity.

The God of Creativity couldn't manifest physical changes in the world—no mighty miracles, no grand displays of power. Its divine authority was limited to sparking ideas, inspiring innovations, and kindling the creative flame in others' minds.

"Quite sad to be one of your believers," I sighed, "They couldn't even pray to you for direct aid, only ask for... inspiration."

The orb's light flickered defensively. "Ideas shape reality! The greatest inventions, the most powerful spells, the most beautiful arts—they all start with a spark of creativity!"

I couldn't help but chuckle. The orb had a point, even if its position in the divine hierarchy was rather pathetic.

In a world where gods were measured by their ability to affect reality directly, a deity that could only provide inspiration was bound to be overlooked.

"That explains why you're so weak. Hard to gather faith when your followers can't even be sure if their ideas came from divine inspiration or their own minds."

The orb dimmed slightly. "I've inspired countless breakthroughs! The Floating Cities of the East? The concept came from a dream I sent to an architect. The—"

"And let me guess," I interrupted, "none of them knew to thank you for it. After all, how could they? They probably thought they came up with everything themselves."

It would have been better if I was dealing with Aeceus himself, but sadly, it was only his divine essence.

A divine essence was not equivalent to the god itself and did not possess the unyielding divine traits.

In Aeltia, gods were divided into New Gods and Ancient Gods. Ancient Gods were primordial beings born under the world's laws. New Gods, on the other hand, ascended to godhood through mastery of divine magic.

The God of Creativity was among the Ancient Gods, but ironically, its very nature made it weaker than most New Gods.

Reviving the former was much harder than the latter.

Just staying in existence required continuous faith power—far more challenging when your only gift was subtle inspiration that believers might never recognize. Even after existing since the world's creation, it had fewer followers than most minor New Gods.

I looked at the glowing orb in my hand with interest. "Still, a divine essence gaining sentience and surviving all these eons with such limiting powers? That's actually impressive..."

Then again, with countless races and magical creatures across Aeltia, perhaps there were always enough dreamers and artists to sustain a creativity god... maybe?

Regardless of the process, the result was in my favor.

As a divine essence that had gained sentience, it depended on divine power to exist.

However, the world's laws did not recognize it as a god, nor did it have divine authority. Once the divine power within its body was exhausted, its consciousness would vanish, dying completely.

Worse still, as times changed, fewer and fewer people valued pure creativity over direct power. In an age of war and might, who would pray to a god that could only offer inspiration? Without faith power, there was no divine power.

To survive, the essence had to seek out a magician with the potential to become a god. Combine a magician with the God of Creativity's divine essence, authority, and divine power, and the world's laws would naturally recognize them as the new God of Creativity'. This would allow the divine essence to continue existing.

The glowing orb had been searching the continent of Aeltia for a long time, eventually finding me.

Now, the orb trembled in my hand. "You... you're actually... a demigod?"

The ability to freely enter and exit the inner sanctum was something only a demigod-level magician could do.

When the orb found me, I had been backlashed by forbidden magic to the brink of death, my power nearly non-existent. The orb originally thought I was just a powerful black magician being hunted.

Who knew I was strong enough to have half a foot in godhood? Not to mention, I had the means to bind gods and even reverse divine contracts.

Hearing this, I glanced at the orb. "I'm already seven hundred years old. Isn't it normal to have some strength?"

The orb choked, speechless again. From its hesitation, I could tell it sensed something odd about my words but couldn't quite piece it together.

Ignoring the orb's reaction, I reveled in the reversed contract. The orb's abilities now belonged to me. Its attempt to control me had backfired spectacularly, and now it had to taste its own contract's consequences.

"Your contract really is impressive. Covers everything from divine power to consciousness erasure. Did you write this yourself?"

"This isn't possible..."

"Oh, but it is. And it's quite thorough. Someone should have told you never to write a contract you wouldn't want used against you."

I couldn't deny that the contract was quite useful. With a thought, a glowing blue screen appeared before my inner sanctum avatar.

[Name: Viktor von Vinesse]

[Race: Undead]

[...]

My heart settled completely.

Thankfully, the divine essence still retained the basic camouflage ability of a god, allowing it to appear as whatever the believer revered most. I didn't worship the system as a god, but my obsession with it was strong enough to influence the essence.

Camouflaging itself as a system was effortless.

The glowing orb felt a sudden loss of divine power within itself. Although the power lost was minimal, the fact that it happened without its control was terrifying.

"What... what did you do to me?!"

I glanced at it calmly. "Didn't you say you're a system? Now your dream has come true. Aren't you happy?"

Then, under the orb's increasingly fearful gaze, I leisurely added, "Your contract is even harsher than a slave contract."

"Now, all your innate talents and divine power belong to me. By the way, that includes the portion of divine power keeping your consciousness alive."

In other words, I could erase the orb's consciousness at any time.

Looking at the dimming orb, a delightfully wicked idea formed in my mind. As a demigod-level magician holding the essence of the God of Creativity, I had just received the most ironic divine gift of all—inspiration.

"You know, for a God of Creativity, you really lacked imagination in how to use your own power. The Radiant Church has been without their precious God of Light for hundreds of years. They're probably desperate for any sign of their deity's return..."

The orb's light flickered in understanding. "You wouldn't dare—"

"Oh, but I would. The God of Light is dead, and hardly anyone alive has actually felt his divine essence. Who's to say what it should feel like?" I chuckled. "And the Radiant Church members... well, let's just say they're not exactly the brightest candles in the cathedral."

With the contract's power, I could probably mask this essence as light divine power. All it would take was planting the right 'creative inspirations' in the right minds, making them see what they desperately wanted to see.

After all, wasn't faith itself an act of creativity—believing in something you couldn't prove?

At that point, the orb would no longer be needed as a medium to access the divine essence's power. But for now, I had use for its particular talents. After all, what better way to fool a church than with divinely inspired lies?

The glowing orb froze, shrinking into my hand, its radiance dimming slightly. How ironic—the very contract it had so meticulously prepared as insurance was now the tool threatening its existence. I wondered if it regretted trying to make me its puppet.

The orb completely deflated.

I looked at the new interface.

---

[Name: Viktor von Vinesse]

[Race: Undead]

[Level: 21 (Intermediate Magician) / 159 (Demigod)]

[Skills: Divine Insight, Shapeshifter, Multiple Avatars (0/10)]

[Authority: Life Revival, Life Purification]

[Divine Power: 99]

[Followers: None]

[Special Items: Int??dim??Net??Spirit??, Divine Contract (Reversed)]

[Status: Severely Injured, Bone Fractures, Weakness, Frostbite, Burns, Poisoning, Inner Sanctum Collapse, ...]

[Summary: Dying Undead]

---

Looking at the details, I clicked my tongue in wonder. As expected of something produced by divine traits—it listed my physical state with perfect accuracy.

Since losing most of my pain perception as an undead, I hadn't realized how extensive my injuries were. Without this, I wouldn't know the list of injuries would take three rows to fully display.

Sure enough, system interfaces were still useful. At least they served as a reliable body diagnostic tool.

Ignoring the bold red injuries, my attention fell on the garbled information:

"Special Item: Int??dim??Net??Spirit??"

I squinted at the few decipherable characters, looking confused.

"What the heck is this thing?"

---

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After nearly two months of writing, I decided to post the first chapter to see how it's received. The feedback will help me decide whether to invest more time or stop altogether