Allen stood atop the mast—not to show off, but to check the newly unlocked main quest.
[Main Quest II Triggered: The Path to Ascension]
[You have successfully raised one attribute above 35. This is a realm mortals cannot reach—the starting point toward divinity, the insurmountable gulf between the mundane and the divine.]
[Continue your efforts. Raise one attribute to 40, and you will touch the threshold of godhood, perceiving the existence of a higher dimension.]
[At the same time, true gods tolerate no weaknesses. Before stepping into the divine domain, you must first forge a body capable of bearing divine power.]
[Quest Objectives: Raise any one attribute to 40; raise all attributes to 25.]
[Quest Rewards: Obtain a Divine Spark Fragment; increase one Divine Rank; gain two Divine Traits.]
Ascension… huh?
Allen's gaze lingered on those lines for a long time.
From what he knew of a certain DND cosmology, gods indeed had ranks: Rank 1–5 were demigods, 6–10 lesser gods, 11–15 intermediate gods, 16–20 greater gods, and Rank 21 was an overgod.
Completing this quest would be his first step.
Becoming a demigod.
He still had 6 free attribute points. The closest to 40 was, naturally, Charisma, currently at 36.
But the system also reminded him: before truly stepping into the domain of gods, he needed to forge a body capable of carrying divine power.
In that case, the remaining 6 points should be used to shore up his weakest area.
[Strength: 14 → Strength: 20] (What kind of mage doesn't train their body?)
The moment his Strength reached 20, Allen felt a scorching surge flood through his limbs.
His body seemed to be kneaded, forged, and reshaped by an invisible hand. Power roared through his veins like molten lava.
His body swayed uncontrollably.
From below, the master standing at the tip of the mast looked as if he had suddenly stumbled, nearly falling.
"The master's out of mana! He can't get down!"
On the deck, Paval—who had been looking up the whole time—panicked and scanned his surroundings, grabbing a bundle of rope from the ship's side.
"Mr. Prestor! Catch!"
He hurled the rope upward. It swayed as it dropped, hanging loosely.
Allen was still immersed in the afterglow of that surging power. Tilting his head, he saw the rough rope draped over the mast, swaying in the wind.
He looked down.
On the deck, Paval was gesturing anxiously, his face full of concern.
Allen fell silent for a moment.
A flash of white light.
He was already standing on the deck, face-to-face with Paval.
"Thank you." He nodded, his tone calm.
...
The next day.
The fires in the harbor and the city had all been extinguished, but the devastation from last night remained shocking.
The docks were charred black. The wreckage of several ships still smoked. Broken crates and burnt ropes were scattered everywhere.
The entire city was busy—soldiers clearing rubble, craftsmen repairing ships, priests tending to the wounded, and others searching through ruins for missing people.
Inside the administrative hall—
Lord Bertholdt, his face livid, was unleashing a torrent of reprimands at Edmond West.
The old admiral stood there in silence, offering no rebuttal.
Captain Dylan impatiently tapped the table, cutting him off.
"What matters now is what we do next."
His fleet—the flagship was damaged, two warships heavily battered but still afloat. The escort ships were practically wiped out—sunk or burned, with only a few still operational.
Paval stood up and said in a deep voice: "The top priority is to safely escort Miss Jaina to Dalaran."
He turned to Allen, his gaze earnest.
"Mr. Prestor, since the remnants of the Horde are targeting the ships, it would be even more dangerous for the young lady to stay with the fleet. I request that you take her by land and reach Dalaran as quickly as possible."
Allen looked at him and complained inwardly.
'You really know how to pick a place.'
In truth, Dalaran was the least safe location—because it would be the next target. There were three artifacts in total, and as he headed north, he would run into every single one of them… though, admittedly, he had sought out most of them himself.
He shook his head. "I can take Jaina by land first—but what about Menethil Harbor?"
Everyone froze.
"Last night, I only drove off that adult black dragon through special means. Their goal is to seize ships and head out to sea in search of the Scepter of Sargeras. This time they failed, and we've suffered heavy losses…"
His gaze swept across everyone present.
"They will definitely come again."
Lord Bertholdt's face turned pale instantly. He opened his mouth, his voice trembling slightly. "D-don't let them come again. Can't we just… offer it to him?"
Captain Dylan snapped his head toward him and shot him a furious glare.
At this moment, Admiral West spoke awkwardly, "Dylan, I have to tell you some bad news. Not long ago, a group of those damned Dark Iron dwarves blew up the Thandol Span. This isn't the first time they've done this. We're trying to retake it, but even if we succeed, rebuilding will take time. So for now, the land route…"
At that moment, Jaina spoke up.
"Then I'll go by sea. As long as Menethil Harbor has no ships left, they won't invade the city again. And even if the warships stay in port, they won't be safe. It's better to move—at least then we can fight. Mr. Prestor, this journey may be dangerous. I have no right to ask you to come with me."
Allen glanced at her.
Captain Dylan seemed to have made up his mind.
"In that case, we move fast. We depart today. They'll need time to regroup and plan. They'll probably assume we're repairing the ships—but we'll do the opposite and set sail immediately."
His finger traced an invisible route across the table.
"When they discover there are no ships left in Menethil Harbor, they'll most likely think we've sailed to Kul Tiras for reinforcements—or to flee. But we'll go against that expectation and stick to the original plan: sail to Southshore."
"Once Miss Jaina disembarks at Southshore, and they fail to find us on the route to Kul Tiras, they'll shift their search elsewhere. That's when we circle back to Kul Tiras."
He paused, a hint of pride appearing on his face.
"Yesterday we were ambushed. But out at sea… I'm not so sure I'd lose to them."
Allen nodded. "Their orcish boats won't be able to catch us. The only thing we need to watch out for is the black dragon. At worst, I'll just drive it off again."
The meeting ended. Everyone agreed to the plan. The people of Menethil Harbor, of course, were eager to send this plague-ridden ship away as soon as possible.
Allen and the others prepared to return to the inn, pack their things, and board the ship quickly.
As they were leaving the administrative hall, Lord Bertholdt pulled Allen aside.
Forcing a flattering smile, he took out a bulging pouch of gems from his robe and pressed it into Allen's hand.
"Young Lord Prestor…" he said in a low voice, "if there's ever a chance in the future, I hope you might put in a good word for me in front of your father."
Allen looked down at the pouch of gems, then at the repulsive man before him.
He had seen the grand mansion at the highest point of Menethil Harbor. This cowardly, parasitic noble—just moments ago, Allen had overheard him discussing how to seize the land of families currently listed as "missing."
And now he was thinking of bribing people.
Allen accepted the pouch with a smile.
"It wouldn't be appropriate for me to introduce you. I'm actually an illegitimate son—he doesn't like me. You'd better not mention me in front of him."
Bertholdt's expression stiffened. He very much wanted to take the pouch back.
"But I can point you in the right direction. Lord Daval hates black dragons the most. If you ever get the chance to meet him—"
Allen leaned in slightly and lowered his voice:
"You can brag all you want about how you killed two black dragons at Menethil Harbor."
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