Worlds that agreed to join could connect to one of the Cities of Beginnings and form their own city design according to their world's character. Then, as the primary mechanism for seizing Fate, Mujun created dimensional spaces within those cities: Dungeons.
Each participating world was required to deposit a portion of their Fate into the dungeons according to a predetermined percentage. The dungeons were divided into ten tiers:
Rank F – 1.82% of total Fate
Rank E – 3.64%
Rank D – 5.45%
Rank C – 7.27%
Rank B – 9.09%
Rank A – 10.91%
Rank S – 12.73%
Rank SS – 14.55%
Rank SSS – 16.36%
Rank EX – 18.18%
Forming a dungeon did not consume much merit. What was expensive was the contract. Mujun drafted an agreement that bound the worlds absolutely. As he finalized it, he could feel a shudder of dread from the worlds observing him. With that contract, no world could withdraw their Fate once they had joined. None could break the rules without existential consequences. The bond was absolute.
However, conquering a dungeon once did not immediately absorb all the Fate within it. It required repeated conquests to drain it completely. When the Fate inside a dungeon was exhausted, that dungeon would vanish.
The participating worlds also held the right to design the dungeons where their Fate resided. They could craft labyrinths, traps, and guardian monsters. The higher the tier of the dungeon, the greater the difficulty—proportional to the amount of Fate at stake.
For the sake of balance, Mujun also granted offensive rights. Once a month, a world could use their Fate to attack a City of Beginnings. These attacks scaled gradually. The longer a City of Beginnings survived, the more Fate a world could utilize to besiege it. No position was entirely safe.
Once the entire foundation was complete, Mujun felt the shift again. The worlds that had previously kept their distance began to draw near once more. Not to accept, but to inquire. Whisper after whisper filled his consciousness. He answered them one by one. At that moment, he almost looked like a merchant presenting his latest product. The difference was, the product he offered didn't just consume the buyers' wealth—it consumed their entire Fate, and even the lives of the creatures they sent.
No world had yet officially declared its consent. But Mujun knew it was only a matter of time. It wasn't he who was chased by a deadline. The longer they delayed, the closer the apocalypse approached them.
Finally, Mujun prepared for the next stage. The stage that would become the central axis of his entire plan: The Selection of the Bride. Or, as he preferred to call it—The Bride War.
However, before he could truly finalize all the steps, one world approached first.
Ignisira.
This world was inhabited by a species called the Nagawira—creatures that were the lowest, most degraded form of dragons. As soon as its name touched Mujun's consciousness, he immediately understood the reason for their arrival. Ignisira was truly on the brink of apocalypse.
The Nagawira might have strayed far from the glory of ancient dragons, but their fundamental nature had never truly vanished. Greed, egoism, the drive to hoard wealth—it all flowed in their "DNA." They loved possession more than collective progress. Consequently, the development of Ignisira's civilization had stagnated.
Technology and science are not weak systems. On the contrary, they can be the foundation of stable and efficient power. But the core of that system is collaboration—sharing knowledge, developing findings collectively, and building upon one another's achievements. The Nagawira were not like that. They preferred to bury their inventions, keeping them as personal secrets or passing them down through narrow bloodlines. Knowledge became a hoard, not the foundation of civilization. As a result, even though Ignisira had a history spanning tens of thousands of years, its technological development had not even fully surpassed the industrial era.
Mujun felt no sympathy. A world like this did not come out of ambition. They came because they had no choice.
After the agreement was signed, Mujun handed over one City of Beginnings to Ignisira. The contract was binding. Their Fate was set. And like a dam finally cracking, other worlds began to approach one by one. They had previously only been watching. Measuring. Waiting. It only takes the first person to draw the others in. Success is not about how good your idea is, but how strongly you can pull someone to participate in it.
The second stage—the Bride War—had not yet truly begun. But for these worlds, that stage was not the top priority. What was most tempting was the existence of the Cities of Beginnings and the dungeon system. The opportunity to seize the Fate of another world was far more important than the final outcome of Mujun's marriage. After all, only the winning world would be involved in the Sacred Covenant. Meanwhile, the Bride War itself would only sacrifice their creatures—not the world itself directly, and not all of their Fate at once.
A cold calculation.
Once all the basic stages were complete and the contracts accepted, the remaining thirty percent of the worlds in Mitsal finally joined. The rest—the seventy percent—had blocked him from the start. If not for desperation, even this thirty percent would have done the same.
Now, he only had to wait. The Procession Tower needed time to ripen. Its system had to stabilize. The collected Fate had to reach a certain threshold for the competition to run optimally.
"Hmm… what should I do while waiting?" he thought. He was in no rush. Time held no weight for him. A year or a millennium felt the same. However, idleness was not his habit. Since he had become an Awakened Soul, reincarnation always meant work. The only place to rest was in Hasyara. The worlds were his workspace.
He felt a small restlessness—not from fear of failure, but from a lack of movement.
"Perhaps I can take a look at these bride candidates of mine," he murmured to himself. "At least I can get to know them first. After all… they will be accompanying me forever."
That last sentence made him fall silent for a fraction of a second. Not out of doubt. It was more like an awareness of long-term consequences. But he soon gave a thin smile. He decided.
His consciousness split. Not clones. Not separate entities. Each part was himself with the same consciousness. For Mujun, dividing his mind into two or into billions made no difference. He was accustomed to such complexity.
"Okay… let's go meet them."
A sliver of enthusiasm emerged—faint, but real. Not because of love. Nor because of romance. But because of curiosity.
This grand experiment was finally, truly, about to begin.