Only God
Chapter 468 - 408: The Walking Corpse of a Hero (Extra)

Chapter 468: Chapter 408: The Walking Corpse of a Hero (Extra)

Hiris was obsessed with forging, as the God of Mountains and Craftsmanship. Born for the sole purpose of smelting, nearly every brick and tile in the Country of Divines had come from His furnace. After the dwarfs and giants He created had slowly gotten on the right track, the attention of the God of Mountains and Craftsmanship towards them waned significantly. He continued to live reclusively in the Netherworld, indulging in the creation of furnaces and iron ingots.

The short-lived mortals on earth often drifted along with time. Their interests and hobbies varied greatly, and even the activities they loved could lose their appeal after ten or twenty years of engagement. But the Gods were not the same—in fact, they were quite the opposite. Hiris remained fascinated with forging, and the Death God, Nakbet, harbored a passionate enthusiasm for reaping souls.

The various races revered those eternal Gods, and among these mortals, countless legends of the pursuit of Eternal Life had been born, all of which, without exception, met with misfortune. No matter how dramatic the process, even if the protagonists in these stories attained Eternal Life, their endings would invariably return to the same debate—is it a void Eternal Life or fleeting happiness?

It was a choice.

Yet, the Gods never faced this choice, because in the Gods of the Celestial Kingdom, there existed something more valuable than Eternal Life—immortal souls that never aged.

In the Netherworld.

The bitterly cold wind swept across the vast and barren Great Plain. Row upon row of souls crowded towards the ferry crossing the river, about to traverse the chilly currents that could sink even feathers, to arrive at the Judgement Court and greet the verdict of the Netherworld Judges, ultimately deciding their true afterlife destination.

A shadow of deep purple flitted across the sky before gently landing. With a wave of His scythe, thousands of souls fell to the ground, looking up in confusion, then instinctively headed towards the densely packed Spirit Sinking River.

Death God Nakbet watched the scene with deep satisfaction—a feeling indescribable and incomprehensible to others. For instance, someone might feel accomplished dumping a bucket of water onto the street every day, while others would think him mad.

Death God Nakbet laid down the harvested souls. At this moment, on the outermost barren lands of the Netherworld, numerous bat and crow-like shadows approached from afar. Either clutching with their feet or carrying in their beaks, they brought the souls from the Mortal World to this place.

They were the creations of Death God Nakbet. Although Nakbet alone was more than capable of reaping the world’s post-mortem souls, it was far too tiresome, so He created these collectors of souls to serve Him, gathering those ordinary spirits. Nakbet, in turn, dealt with the deeply resentful ghosts, significantly easing His workload.

However, as a result, the belief that creatures such as crows and bats were servants of the Death God gradually emerged in the Mortal World. Every New Year’s springtime, an extensive effort was made to drive them out and exterminate them from villages and cities, bestowing upon them various dreadful names. Crows were called heralds of death, and bats were dubbed omens of misfortune... This truly brought misery to the normal crows and bats.

When creatures like crows or bats appeared on the walls of a household, people often thought their end was near—a kind of baseless superstition, but also a matter of experience.

Nakbet walked back to His palace, and along the way, countless souls cast their gazes upon Him, whether in fear, anger, or disgust... In short, not many souls revered the King of the Netherworld.

Death God Nakbet did not care and was used to it. Long ago, due to His deathly nature, He had been shunned by the people; His temples on earth were among the fewest of the Gods. In some countries, faith in the Death God was even forbidden.

Passing through the Great Plain, where flowers bloomed in profusion and life was pleasant, Nakbet encountered the least hostility. Some souls even admired Him.

And the souls that lived here were special, being either heroes from history or widely praised good and virtuous people.

Nakbet paused for a moment when he arrived at the riverbank overgrown with exotic flowers and rare herbs.

His gaze shifted from upstream to downstream where a figure sat still like a puppet, silent, without even the movement of his eyeballs—an extremely rare sight, even among the souls.

"Is that... Baird?"

Nakbet briefly reminisced and recalled the name.

Baird... Hero Baird.

His figure was a prominent part of the True Believers’ "Second Prophet Book." Although he was a heathen, his bravery won him wide admiration among the True Believers. At the same time, in the legends of the Three-eyed Ape People, Baird was also a dazzling figure; one in twenty Three-eyed Ape People would be named Baird.

Even among the Beastmen who lived savagely, committing to a diet of raw flesh and blood, the name of the hero Baird was extensively known.

A figure who held standing among two faiths and countless races was exceedingly rare in the world.

Yet, such a hero now spent his days in the most beautiful part of the Great Plain in the Netherworld, living a life akin to that of a walking corpse.

Who knows how many souls fortunate enough to set foot on the Great Plain, having sought to emulate Baird’s heroism and carved their own deeds on Earth, felt their spirits fall upon seeing this state—the mildest metaphor being that their expectations were hugely deflated.

In the eyes of countless disappointed souls, Baird’s every action not only lacked the dignity of the legends but also tarnished the name of a hero.

Those souls of the Great Plain were puzzled.

But the Death God Nakbet, over long spans of time, had come to understand what had happened.

Baird had been deceived by the god of lies and trickery, Slaier, entering into a cursed wager; ultimately, under the blow of his lover’s dead body, he fell to these depths.

Each day and night, he wandered the Great Plain like a puppet or an idiot, continuing to this very day, after countless millennia.

It seemed Baird would never move beyond that day.

The Death God Nakbet felt profound regret for this, but He knew it was not His place to intervene, for no matter how esteemed Baird was in life, now he was merely a soul after death. Even if he did move on, he would still remain a soul—with no significant change.