Within the Realm of Stories, Elyndra sat in quiet observation, her gaze fixed upon the unfolding narrative of [Formless Swordsman].
The vast expanse around her shimmered with layered realities—countless stories weaving, colliding, and dissolving into one another like threads in an infinite tapestry. To lesser beings, it would have been incomprehensible. But to the gods, it was simply… existence.
Of course, these "gods" existed on a higher plane. Concepts such as time, causality, and sequence—things mortals clung to for structure—held little meaning here. Or rather, their interpretation of such concepts was fundamentally flawed when viewed from a lower existence.
Time did not flow here.
It coexisted.
"What is one of the greatest gods in the Realm of Stories doing… reading a 'failed novel'?"
The voice cut through the stillness—sharp, laced with condescension.
Elyndra didn't turn immediately. She already knew who it was.
"And why exactly would you care, Melryn?"
Her tone was calm, almost dismissive, as she finally shifted her gaze away from the story. She shrugged lightly, as if brushing off something insignificant.
"You know, if you focused even half the energy you waste trying to bring me down into doing something actually productive, you might have increased your rank by now."
The words landed cleanly.
Too cleanly.
For a brief moment, Melryn's expression twisted—her composure cracking just enough to reveal the irritation beneath. The veins along her temple faintly surfaced, her pride clearly struck.
But then—
She smiled.
That alone made Elyndra pause.
It wasn't a natural shift. It was calculated.
"…There's a rumor," Melryn began, her voice softer now, almost playful, "that you chose a human… to enter a novel."
Elyndra's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What are you trying to get at?"
It was the first time she looked directly at Melryn—truly looked at her.
"Nothing," Melryn replied with a light shrug. "Just wondering… could that human be ***############# ×× ++++ _______?"
The moment the words left her lips—
The atmosphere changed.
Elyndra's expression hardened instantly, the calm facade shattering. The anger on her face was no longer subtle—it was visible, raw, and suffocating.
"Stop spouting nonsense and leave."
Her voice dropped, heavy with restrained fury.
She was losing patience.
"Sure, I'll leave," Melryn said, turning away with a wide grin that stretched just a bit too far. "Maybe I'll even pay that story a visit…"
She paused slightly, glancing back over her shoulder.
"It was [Formless Swordsman], right?"
Her grin widened.
"This is going to be fun."
To Melryn, this was opportunity. A perfect chance to drag down a so-called "superior" and climb the ranks herself.
But—
Before she could take another step—
Elyndra was already in front of her.
No movement.
No transition.
She was simply… there.
Her eyes were cold—sharp enough to feel like blades pressed against the skin.
Melryn instinctively stepped back.
Her body trembled.
The very portion of the Realm she stood within began to compress, the space tightening around her existence as if reality itself rejected her presence. It became hard to breathe—hard to exist.
She understood immediately.
If she fought Elyndra head-on—
She would lose.
Every. Single. Time.
"If you lay a single finger inside that story…"
Elyndra's voice echoed—not loudly, but with overwhelming authority that reverberated through layers of existence.
"…that will be the moment Melryn ceases to exist."
A pause.
Then, colder—
"Know your place, Melryn."
"I am your superior."
Within the Realm of Stories, rank was absolute.
It wasn't merely a title.
It was existence itself.
A god ranked 49 did not simply defeat a god ranked 50—the difference was far more fundamental. The higher-ranked god existed on a plane beyond the lower. No matter what the 50th-ranked god did, no matter how much power they gathered, they could never surpass—never even touch—the 49th.
That was hierarchy.
Unbreakable.
Absolute.
And here—
Melryn stood at Rank 35.
Elyndra stood at Rank 4.
The gap between them wasn't distance.
It was infinity.
"…"
For a fleeting moment, silence returned.
But within Elyndra—
A thought surfaced.
Should I just kill her?
The aura surrounding her darkened, thick with murderous intent. It seeped into the fabric of the Realm itself, distorting nearby stories, causing entire narratives to tremble under its weight.
One decision—
And Melryn would be erased.
Not defeated.
Not destroyed.
Erased.
As if she had never existed within the story… or beyond it
The pressure did not ease.
If anything—
It deepened.
Melryn's vision blurred, her consciousness slipping as the weight of Elyndra's presence crushed down on her very existence. Her thoughts scattered, her body unresponsive.
It was unbearable.
She could barely remain aware.
Within that suffocating silence—
A thought surfaced in Elyndra's mind.
I should kill her.
The idea came quietly.
Too quietly.
If I kill her… then he would be safe… right?
Her fingers twitched slightly.
The surrounding space trembled.
If I kill her… I can protect him this time.
There was no hesitation left.
No uncertainty.
Only decision.
Elyndra slowly stretched out her palm toward Melryn's collapsing form. A radiant glow began to gather at the center of her hand—brilliant, yet terrifying. It wasn't simply energy.
It was erasure.
The kind that did not destroy—
But removed.
"Die."
Her voice was absolute.
As she began to release—
"Be nice."
The voice crashed into the Realm.
Not spoken.
Imposed.
A pressure far greater than Elyndra's descended instantly, forcing her to her knees before the attack could manifest. The glow in her palm shattered, dispersing into fragments of fading light.
The very fabric of the Realm rippled under the weight of that presence.
Elyndra's attack—
Cancelled.
Her authority—
Overridden.
"Well now… this looks like fun."
The pressure vanished just as suddenly as it came.
Elyndra inhaled sharply, her body regaining control as the oppressive force lifted. The Realm stabilized, though faint distortions still lingered like scars in reality.
A figure stood there.
Uninvited.
Unbothered.
"What are you doing here?"
Her voice was steady—but colder now, edged with irritation.
"Well, I came to check on you…"
The man spoke casually, as if he hadn't just forced a Rank 4 god to kneel.
"Are you kidding?"
"No. I'm not."
Elyndra's gaze sharpened.
"Sir Ares… you can't seriously be slacking off. How did the other gods react?"
"No one knows I actually left."
The man—Ares, the God of War—smiled faintly as he stepped closer, as if the entire situation amused him. Without hesitation, he pulled Elyndra into a brief, effortless embrace.
"Anyways… is that how you react to your brother?"
Elyndra didn't respond immediately.
He was always like this.
For reasons she never understood, Ares insisted on calling himself her older brother. The concept of family was meaningless to beings like them—constructed, artificial, unnecessary.
And yet—
He persisted.
It was a role he played without explanation.
A farce.
One she had long since learned not to question.
Because opposing the God of War… was far more troublesome than indulging him.
"…There's no way you came all this way just because you 'missed me,'" she said flatly, pulling away. "Tell me the truth. Why did you leave the ##### ×× @×+÷ and come here?"
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
A slow smile curved across Ares' lips.
"This…"
His eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"…is one of the reasons I like you."
"You catch on quickly."
The air shifted again—not with pressure this time, but with something far more dangerous.
Intent.
Something had brought the God of War here.
And whatever it was—
It was not simple.
"Of course… your younger sister couldn't possibly be stupid."
Ares' voice carried a faint trace of amusement, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Then—
It disappeared.
"The reason I am here," he continued, his tone shifting completely, "is to inform you that the Realm of Stories is about to hold a God Trial."
The smile on his face vanished.
What remained was something far more serious.
For the first time since his arrival—
Elyndra froze.
"…What?"
A cold sweat traced down her forehead, subtle—but undeniable.
A God Trial was not something to be taken lightly.
It wasn't merely a proceeding.
It was judgment.
Absolute. Irrefutable.
A trial undertaken by gods—but never in their favor.
Because those who stood accused were never truly innocent.
And the ones who enforced and investigated such accusations…
Were beings that existed even beyond the conventional hierarchy of gods—
□□□□□, direct agents of the
■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■.
They did not question.
They did not hesitate.
They concluded.
"The topic of the trial," Ares said calmly, watching her reaction with quiet interest, "will be your betrayal… and how you are to be punished."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
"…When?"
Her voice was steady—but only just.
"When are they going to hold the trial?"
Ares exhaled softly, shrugging.
"I don't know."
A brief pause.
Then, more quietly—
"But… be careful."
There was no humor in his voice now.
No playfulness.
Only warning.
And that alone made it far more dangerous.
Before Elyndra could respond—
He was gone.
No distortion.
No trace.
As if he had never been there to begin with.
The Realm returned to stillness.
Melryn still lay collapsed in the distance, forgotten—for now.
"…I have to start preparing."
Elyndra's voice was low, almost to herself.
She turned away, her expression unreadable, the weight of what was to come settling heavily upon her.
Then—
She stepped forward.
And vanished into the endless weave of stories.