The Gods’ Gacha Game: Return of the God-King

Chapter 29: God’s Decree

There, hovering above the distant cathedral at the end of the main road, was a massive, disembodied head, translucent and glowing faintly with divine energy. Her face was hauntingly beautiful—delicate and pale, like porcelain kissed by moonlight. Although no distinct colors could be made out from the projection, her solemn expression made her seem serene yet distant, like a goddess peering down from beyond the veil.

And a goddess it was.

“…Istellia,” I murmured under my breath.

The floating head belonged to none other than the Goddess of Imagination, Istellia, and our patron god, or goddess, in this case. She finally made her presence known to all her divine warriors. Judging by the stunned expressions on the faces of everyone around us, this was likely the first time she had done something so direct and public.

As if on cue, a radiant column of light descended from the sky, striking down just in front of the cathedral steps. From within it, a small winged figure emerged. It was none other than Raphael, the chibi archangel, floating gracefully above the ground with her wings softly fluttering.

Despite her diminutive size, her expression was unusually stern. In a voice that echoed through the plaza like a bell tolling judgment, she declared, “Hear the words of our goddess!”

Everyone immediately turned to her, the entire crowd falling into a tense silence.

“Lady Istellia has decreed,” Raphael began solemnly, “that from this day onward, every divine warrior—excluding only those assigned to critical roles—must enter a new scenario at least once per week.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“Those who have not entered a new scenario in the past seven days must do so without delay,” she continued firmly. “Repeats shall not be counted—only unexplored challenges will fulfill the decree. From now on, the time limit begins after your most recent scenario is completed. Failure to comply will result in the loss of your status as a divine warrior. You will be cast out and marked as a sinner, placed in a place of no return—no different from those unable to pay their daily soul coin dues.”

Ah, so there’s indeed a place for those who can’t pay their dues here. After all, just killing divine warriors would be a waste, and I knew that better than anyone. Based on what I knew of the Goddess of Imagination’s power, which revolved around the concept of imagination itself, I suspected that such individuals weren’t executed but instead repurposed. Most likely imprisoned somewhere—perhaps in a dreamless, timeless vault—where their remaining thoughts, ideas, and creativity would be siphoned endlessly to fuel the goddess’s domain. A cruel but efficient method. It wasn’t unusual in divine realms. In fact, it was disturbingly common.

Amidst everyone’s disbelief, I secretly grinned in satisfaction. Istellia was a god worth nurturing.

Unlike most divine beings—who were far too proud, too lofty to ever heed the words of a mortal—she had actually listened. It was rare enough for a god to consider a suggestion from someone beneath their notice, let alone one who wasn’t even a top-ranked divine warrior. But she had. And now, here it was—a decree made reality.

Indeed.

I was the one who had advised Istellia to implement this compulsory scenario system through Raphael. To outsiders, the idea of forcing everyone here to stake their lives might have seemed cold—cruel, even—but I had my reasons for that.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have gone this far if my own survival hadn’t been threatened because of this place being so weak. There was nothing inherently wrong with stability. However, Divine Will was the survival of the fittest, and everyone had to contribute for us to last longer until we had the last laugh. A lack of growth would only doom us all. This was a small sacrifice that I had to make for the greater good.

The Battle of Divine Will was coming, and the losing side might lose it all. The defeated gods might still have another chance, but the divine warriors, who were mere chess pieces, would be thrown aside like tools. If I ever hoped to uncover the cause of my past downfall and reclaim what was rightfully mine, I had to cast aside the faint humanity that had slowly crept into me over the past twenty years. I had to do what was necessary—no matter the cost.

That said, I wouldn’t betray those who placed their trust in me. Such petty tactics were beneath me.

Soon, the massive disembodied head vanished, as if it had never existed, and Raphael also disappeared into particles of light.

Everyone in the plaza was left stunned, frozen in place as if time itself had paused. Even the sound of footsteps seemed to vanish into silence.

“Th-This cannot be… I don’t wanna go back to that hellhole…” someone finally murmured, breaking the stillness.

“W-We’re really expected to risk our lives every week now?”

“But what about the lower-rank divine warriors? Some of us barely survived our last scenario…”

A tense murmur rippled through the crowd as doubt and fear began to fester like a spreading plague. Panic threatened to break loose at any moment. Yet amidst the growing uncertainty, this announcement barely stirred our group.

“Er, this is quite shocking…” said Michelle, who looked the most anxious among us. Not that Boris appeared any different than usual…

“Regardless,” I said calmly, “this doesn’t change our plan. Let’s move.”

We never intended not to challenge new scenarios and stop getting stronger. Growth had always been our goal. Therefore, nothing would change for us. But for the others, the ones who only wanted survival, everything had changed; this decree shattered their fragile peace.

***

A sharp crack echoed through the room as the wine glass shattered in Graham’s hand, crimson liquid dripping between his calloused fingers like blood. His one good eye narrowed, the other hidden beneath a deep scar that ran from brow to jaw—his infamous mark, the kind that made people tremble just by looking at him.

“Damn it all!” he roared scaring the people around him. He stared at the shards embedded in his palm, uncaring of the sting.

He had no intention of going through that again. Not after the tenth scenario.

The flames. The screams. The endless night was filled with horrors that twisted even the toughest minds. He had lost seven men—loyal subordinates who had followed him without question. And even now, their voices still haunted his sleep, begging him to save them, cursing him when he couldn’t. At the time, he had chosen to save his own skin rather than risk his life for theirs.

That had been months ago. Since then, Graham had used every ounce of his strength and cunning to carve out a sphere of influence where he ruled Fantasia with an iron grip. No one rose too fast, no one dared to challenge him. Those who did were either forced to join him or quickly disposed of by him before they became a threat. And now that illusion of control was crumbling… at the hands of the goddess herself. A goddess who had never shown her face until now.

His fists trembled as he sat back heavily in the wooden chair. Beside him, a woman with a somewhat pretty face and shoulder-length brown hair crossed her arms, her lips curled in annoyance.

“What’s with the outburst? Have you lost it?” she complained, “You must protect me from this nonsense! And what’s with your men failing to—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Graham’s palm met the woman’s face with such force that she was sent sprawling to the ground.

He stared down at her with disdain, wondering where in all the hells this wretched woman had crawled out from. Even the haughtiest noble ladies he’d encountered in the past, before he was transported to this hellish place, had some degree of backing or competence for their behavior. This one, however, was nothing more than a deadweight wrapped in entitlement. Just a leech clinging to him for protection she never earned. He had tolerated her whining far too long.

“Take this bitch out of my sight,” he snapped, waving a hand toward his men. “Do whatever you want with her. I don’t care.”

Two of his mercenaries moved at once, grinning as they grabbed her by the arms.

“No! You can’t do this to me! I’m under your protection!” she screamed, heels scraping against the floor as they dragged her from the room. “Sir Graham! I’m useful! I-I can—!”

The door slammed shut behind her, muffling the last of her desperate cries.

“She was starting to rot the air in here,” Graham muttered, brushing glass from his lap. With the noise gone, he moved to the window, casting a cold glance at the city sprawled out before him.

His thoughts drifted to the three upstarts—those damn divine warriors who had embarrassed his men not once, but twice. He had sent a squad to deal with them, expecting an easy resolution, only for them to fail spectacularly. But now, with the new divine decree in place, he no longer had the luxury of settling petty scores.

“Now then…” He turned slowly toward the rest of his subordinates gathered in the room. His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped into a cold growl. “Gather all the men, we’re making preparations.”

No more alcohol, no more women. If he wanted to survive, then he would discard the lavish lifestyle he’d grown used to for the past few months and return to the mindset of a mercenary hardened by blood and war.