Nine months into the Public Divine Realm tournament, the already fractured solo contestant alliance officially dissolved.
Lydia, the sharp-eyed former leader of the alliance, had no choice but to lead her remaining followers into the fold of Lex Thorne's Conquest Legion. The other two Rank 3 gods, their factions torn apart by infighting and dwindling resources, threw in their lot with Finn Marrick's Tide Pact. What had once been a three-way stalemate between the great alliances collapsed into a brutal two-way struggle for dominance, and the tension across the continent crackled like lightning before a storm.
Of course, there was no such thing as a perfectly sealed secret in the wilderness. The truth of the vanishing supply packs finally came to light by pure chance: a scout from the Conquest Legion had been watching a supply meteor streak toward the ground, only to see it vanish the second it touched the earth, as if it had been swallowed by the ground itself.
Panicked, the scout called for backup. Within an hour, teams from both the Conquest Legion and the Tide Pact were digging furiously at the crater. When their shovels broke through into a hollow, reinforced tunnel, they froze.
Beneath their feet was a sprawling, endless maze of passages, branching off in every direction, reinforced with steel and cement, lined with slimes acting as sentries. The entire western half of the continent was hollowed out, a secret underground world they'd had no idea existed.
The three former leaders of the solo alliance were wracked with regret the second they saw the tunnels. All those missing supply packs, all those vanished resources—they'd been bickering and accusing each other of treachery this whole time, while a third party had been robbing them blind right under their noses. But it was too late to back out now. Only 50 contestants remained in the tournament, and abandoning their new alliances now would make them targets for every other faction in the realm.
Up in the academy's private viewing box, Laia Hayes didn't spare a single thought for the chaos unfolding in the tournament realm. She was hunched over a stack of ancient divine oracle scrolls, a half-eaten cream puff in one hand, a cup of iced cola in the other. Every now and then, she'd glance up at the scrying screen, squint at the underground tunnels where her followers were bustling about, nod to herself, and mutter, "Huh, the brats are still alive. Good." Then she'd go right back to her scrolls and her pastries.
For Laia, the only worthwhile parts of this tournament were the top-three prize pool, and the unlimited three-day buffet the academy had laid on for the competing gods. The rest of it? Just background noise.
In the monitoring spire, Headmaster Valerius was still staring at Laia's feed, equal parts bewildered and impressed. He'd seen countless prodigies in his time, gods who'd poured every ounce of their divine power and focus into this tournament. But never had he seen a god whose followers boasted such overwhelming strength, ironclad discipline, and flawless organization—while their patron didn't even bother to check in more than once a day.
The contrast was almost comical. Every other competing god sat glued to their scrying screens 24/7, their faces tight with stress, not daring to look away for even a second. The food on their tables had long since gone cold, the divine energy in it faded to nothing, the pastries stale and moldy. Every time one of their followers died, their faces would twist with rage and grief, their hands clenching into fists so tight their knuckles turned white.
And then there was Laia. She'd glance up once every few hours, confirm her followers were still breathing, then go right back to eating her desserts and flipping through her scrolls. No stress, no panic, no urgency. Like she was watching a particularly boring play, not a high-stakes tournament that could make or break her future as a god.
Valerius sighed, shaking his head. This girl was one of a kind. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of upbringing could produce someone like this—someone with access to ancient, world-altering knowledge, who commanded the loyalty of extinct primordial races, and who cared more about cream puffs and cheese sandwiches than the most prestigious tournament in the empire.
He turned his attention back to the main scrying feed, where the continent's new power structure had fully solidified.
On one side was the Tide Pact, led by Finn Marrick, made up almost entirely of aquatic and amphibious followers. The ocean covered more than half the tournament map, and even though the Tide Pact's overall combat strength was weaker than the Conquest Legion, they held an unassailable advantage in their home terrain. Their longboats patrolled the coasts, their merfolk raiding parties striking inland at night and vanishing back into the sea before anyone could retaliate.
On the other side was the Conquest Legion, led by Lex Thorne, the War God's top disciple. His army of berserkers and elite warriors dominated the mainland, their ranks swollen with the remnants of the solo alliance. They controlled nearly all the arable land on the continent, their fortresses stretching from the northern mountains to the southern grasslands.
But neither of them held the top spot on the tournament's point leaderboard.
Valerius stared at the glowing scoreboard, his brow furrowed. The top three spots were locked in: first place, Laia Hayes. Second, Lex Thorne. Third, Finn Marrick. Even with the two great alliances hoarding every resource they could get their hands on, Laia's followers had still siphoned off nearly half of all the supply packs dropped in the last three months. Their point total was nearly double that of Lex's, and it was climbing every single day.
Valerius sighed, leaning back in his seat. The entire point of this tournament was to teach the young gods the importance of cooperation, of alliance-building, of uniting to survive in a harsh world. It was meant to weed out the lone wolves, the gods who couldn't lead a coalition.
And then there was this lone wolf, this solo contestant, who'd outplayed every single alliance in the tournament without lifting a finger.
Well, he thought. There's an exception to every rule.
What impressed him most wasn't just the supply pack heists. It was the self-sufficiency of Laia's followers. Every other faction in the tournament tore open their supply packs the second they got them, burning through resources like there was no tomorrow, no thought given to saving for the future.
Laia's followers? They had over 500 unopened supply packs stockpiled in their underground vaults. And even if they never got another supply pack again, they'd be fine. Their underground hydroponic farms were already fully self-sufficient, growing wheat, vegetables, and fruit trees in perfect, climate-controlled chambers. Their dairy herd was thriving, their cheese aging cellars full, their granaries overflowing.
And the way they'd mastered the use of slimes? It was nothing short of revolutionary.
Glowing light slimes lined the tunnels and farms, providing steady, energy-free sunlight for the crops. Water slimes tended to the fields, delivering precise amounts of water to every plant, their bodies acting as both irrigation system and water storage. Lightning slimes were strung along the tunnel walls, acting as both a long-range communication network and a rechargeable energy source, powering the fortress's wards and defenses.
They'd taken a creature that every other god in the realm saw as a useless, cute novelty, a pretty ornament to show off their divine realm's fertility, and turned it into the backbone of their entire civilization.
Valerius smiled to himself. The audience watching the live broadcast must be losing their minds right now.
He wasn't wrong.
The tournament was being broadcast live across the entire divine realm, and the viewership had exploded in the last three months. The academy's production staff were run off their feet, fielding nonstop requests from advertisers and sponsors, all clamoring to get their brands attached to the broadcast. The tournament was only a third of the way through, not even at the critical final stages, and its viewership had already shattered every record in the empire's history, raking in more gold than the most popular divine variety shows.
Every god in the realm was watching, fixated on the mysterious solo contestant, the girl whose followers had outplayed every great alliance in the tournament. They wanted to see how far she could go, if the "moles" could keep their winning streak going all the way to the end.
Laia had no idea any of this was happening. She was still in her private box, flipping through her oracle scrolls, munching on a cheese sandwich, completely unaware that her name was being spoken in every tavern, every noble estate, every divine temple across the empire.
On the tournament map, three factions now controlled the entire game: the Tide Pact, the Conquest Legion, and the "Moles."
That was the name the other gods had given Laia's followers, and it had spread like wildfire across the realm. They were as cunning as foxes, as greedy as bears, as good at digging as moles, and as slippery as eels when cornered. The name was on every contestant's lips, spoken with equal parts rage and fear.
Every remaining contestant wore a grim, frustrated scowl. How could someone be this underhanded? This sneaky? They'd hollowed out the entire continent beneath everyone's feet, and no one had noticed for nine whole months.
The tunnels were so complex, so sprawling, that no one dared to venture down into them. Even the sturdiest berserkers couldn't survive being buried alive in a cave-in, and the moles had rigged every tunnel with collapse triggers. Step one foot in the wrong place, and you'd be crushed under tons of rock before you could even draw your weapon.
In the Conquest Legion's central fortress, Lex Thorne stared at a map of the continent, his jaw tight with frustration, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table.
He was a Rank 4 god, a full-fledged Mid-Tier Deity. The gap between Rank 3 and Rank 4 wasn't just a number—it was a fundamental leap in power, a line that separated the fledgling gods from the truly powerful. His followers were the strongest in the tournament, elite warriors blessed by the War God himself. In a straight fight, only the void lizards of the mole faction could even hope to stand against them, and even then, only barely. If he ever got his hands on Laia's main combat forces, he'd crush them in minutes.
But he couldn't. He was the most powerful god in the tournament, and he was being outplayed by a group of moles hiding underground.
He'd been arrogant at the start. He'd dismissed the ocean, written off the Tide Pact as a minor nuisance, and never even considered that someone would dig an entire underground kingdom right under his nose. Now he was paying for it.
The Tide Pact held the ocean, their territory unassailable, impossible to conquer in a short time. The moles held the underground, and he had no way to root them out. He'd tried everything.
His followers had pumped smoke into the tunnel entrances, only to find that every tunnel had a U-shaped bend that trapped the smoke, just like the water trap in a latrine, keeping the rest of the tunnels completely clear. They'd poured burning oil into the holes, only for the fire to be smothered by slimes before it could spread. They'd flooded the tunnels with river water, only for the moles to redirect the flow into underground reservoirs, using it to water their crops. They'd even launched magical explosives down the tunnels, but the maze was so vast, the chambers so spread out, that the blasts never hit anything of value.
Lex wanted to scream. He had the largest army in the tournament, the most powerful followers, and he couldn't do a damn thing against the moles. They didn't even want to fight. They just wanted to steal his resources.
Every time a supply pack dropped, they were there first. They'd strip the land bare, dig up the topsoil, take every last grain of wheat, every last scrap of metal, and vanish back underground before his patrols could even arrive. They were like bandits, leaving nothing behind but bare rock and empty craters.
At first, he'd laughed it off. There were plenty of supply packs, plenty of resources to go around. His followers were well-fed, well-armed, they had nothing to worry about. But lately, a niggling doubt had crept into the back of his mind.
Why would the moles hoard so many resources? Why not use them? Unless…
A cold sweat broke out across Lex's forehead.
What if the supply packs didn't last forever? What if the tournament had a hidden rule, a twist that no one knew about? What if, at some point, the academy stopped dropping supplies entirely?
He spun around, barking orders at his lieutenants, his voice sharp with urgency. "Send word to every outpost! We're halting all offensive operations immediately! Start hoarding every scrap of food, every last resource we have! Double the patrols around the supply drop zones! Fortify our borders against the Tide Pact, and set traps at every tunnel entrance we can find! No more wasting resources! Not a single grain!"
But it was already too late.
In the monitoring spire, Headmaster Valerius looked down at the calendar on his desk, and smiled.
The first year of the tournament was over. The second year had begun.
It was time to start spawning the void monsters.
And the supply pack drops? They were about to be cut in half.