I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple

I let out a deep, heated breath. My breathing had grown heavier, as if sweat alone couldn't release the heat building inside me. Instead, I had to expel it through each breath. It felt as though I were enduring an intense, lava-like heat with my bare body, forcing the accumulated heat out with every exhale.

How could I describe this sensation? It felt as though I could almost exhale the Breath of Vulcanus myself.

Six times... No. Seven? It wasn't just a figure of speech. I recalled wandering between mirages while the heat raged so fiercely that I would melt away at any moment.

For the first time in ages, I realized how hard it was to make sound judgments when heat rose to the brain. I also discovered that my patience wasn't as deep as I had believed. Without the First Fire Technique to make training feel worthwhile, I wouldn't have endured it.

After being caught in mirages around seven times, I finally reached the real temple. I could no longer appreciate its architecture or grandeur. I was just grateful for the shade that shielded me from the heat.

Fortunately, the temple's interior wasn't as hot as outside. My body temperature was still fluctuating, so I couldn't be certain, but the heat seemed to have settled around room temperature.

I sat down and crossed my legs. A lizardman in meditation posture was likely a ridiculous sight, but I had no energy to worry about appearances right now.

I examined myself and sensed the raging heat surging within. I was no different than a vast mountain consumed by wildfire. I had to admit that I had been overconfident. Given my condition, I would suffer a backlash if I wandered any longer.

I quickly calmed the heat within me, controlled it, and infused it into my dantian. It resembled natural energy and proved difficult to control. Still, I understood the fundamental nature of fire, so handling it wasn't particularly hard.

By channeling the heat into my fire and storing it in my dantian, I felt a long-missed fullness.

Besides, the compatibility with me is excellent. Only after receiving this force and converting it into energy that I could freely manipulate did it truly become internal energy.

The process was arduous and time-consuming. Not only did the total amount of internal energy matter, but its purity also affected efficiency. After all, impurity-free internal energy couldn't exist, so those who learned the mind method had to devote themselves to this throughout their lives. This explained why martial artists seized every opportunity to practice internal energy circulation.

Yet the heat I had just absorbed settled smoothly within me. It lacked the roughness of natural energy. It was as if I had ingested a perfect elixir tailored to me. Even so, I couldn't afford to circulate my energy for too long in a place where safety wasn't guaranteed.

I moderately stabilized my condition, stood, and took in the temple's interior. It was simple compared to the ornate exterior. The long corridor was lined with pillars on both sides. Even for me, a human, the space was larger than necessary for a dwarf. It wasn't surprising, given that the temple was devoted to the Fire Dragon God, a so-called Dragon King.

At the end of the corridor stood an altar, likely the one Visid had mentioned. Above it, white-tinged flames flickered in midair. This had to be the Breath of Vulcanus.

I approached the altar and stopped before it, uncertain. I didn't know the proper ritual on how to summon the god.

I pondered briefly, then spoke. "Are you there, Vulcanus?"

—Who are you?

Shit, what a surprise. I hadn't expected an immediate response, so my heart almost leapt from my chest. My face twitched a bit, but my rigid lizardman scales concealed my flustered reaction.

I gathered myself and spoke. "I am the lizardman Luzard. I came at the dwarves' request. Am I speaking with Vulcanus, the Fire Dragon God?"

—Yes! I am Vulcanus!

The voice was commanding. It sounded rough and hot, like boiling lava, yet it also carried an unexpected urgency.

Is this a god? If the gods of disaster counted, then I had met my fair share of gods. Vulcanus gave off a very different vibe from any of them.

—But you! How dare you lie before a god!

"What do you mean?"

—You aren't a lizardman!

Who would've thought he could see through this at a glance? Even the sharp-eyed dwarf craftsmen didn't notice. I was briefly bewildered, but I soon realized that the issue wasn't a flaw in my transformation.

Could it be the god's power, insight, some form of magic, or something like that? Maybe he can see through the essence of the soul... It would be rather strange if a god-like being didn't notice my disguise. At the very least, the likelihood that this is Vulcanus has increased by ten percent.

I nodded. "Well, that's right. I have a reason to pose as a lizardman, so I am acting this way. But rest assured, I have no intention of harming you, your temple, or your followers."

—Followers? What followers?

The heated voice carried sheer disbelief.

"Kuku, kukuku... kuhaha!"

The laughter roared through the chamber like a wildfire driven by hot winds. It thundered in my ears, and my eardrums tingled. The force of it was so unbelievable that dust even rained down from the ceiling.

"I don't have a knack for jokes, but that wasn't one just now."

—Yes! Right! It isn't a joke! Deceiver! This Fire Dragon God Vulcanus has no followers anymore!

"What do you mean by that? Your followers said so themselves. They claimed that you're angry, so they can't obtain your breath."

—That isn't wrong! I will no longer give them my power!

I watched, puzzled, as he continued.

—They have committed the most terrible crime!

"The most terrible crime?" I echoed.

—God killer! Can you imagine, deceiver! Mortal believers dared to plan the death of their own god!

Vulcanus shouted.

I was dumbfounded. Whether a mortal could kill a god wasn't the point. I simply couldn't keep up with the sudden turn.

"Wait. So you mean that they deceived me?"

—What did you hear from them?

"They said that their god is angry, and they can no longer create anything. They claimed they can't receive the Breath of Vulcanus. They just didn't know the reason, so I came here myself."

—Hah! They don't know the reason? They dare!

I quickly tried to pacify Vulcanus as his anger surged again. "Please calm yourself. We should finish our conversation first."

—One thing is true! I am angry! What god wouldn't be angered by ungrateful beings who repay grace with betrayal! If not for my grace, those dwarves would've spent their entire lives touching nothing but dirt and stone!

—They dared to try to destroy this temple with axes and hammers forged from my breath, so I enveloped this place with my wrath! I wanted to rid myself of all those cheeky bastards!

Which side should I believe? Several possibilities came to mind. Vulcanus could be lying, this being may not even be Vulcanus, or perhaps everything he said could be entirely true.

"I want to ask you one thing."

—What is it?

"How exactly do you kill a god?"

—Don't you know? A god dies when believers vanish and faith is depleted! If no one remembers them, how can a god remain a god?

His vague words strangely made sense. At that moment, I recalled a conversation I had with Dean Alderson.

"Every god depends on believers. Without faith, a god's influence weakens. That's why the world has the concept of forgotten gods," Alderson had explained.

Puzzled, I asked, "Isn't this strange? I heard that the purpose of a dwarf craftsman is to create the most perfect masterpiece of their life. For that, your power, the Breath of Vulcanus, is required."

—Hah! It is obvious! They must've found a substitute!

"What kind of being would dare to replace the Blacksmith God..." I trailed off as the second half of Dean Alderson's explanation surfaced in my mind.

"The demon kings stand as the only exception. Faith benefits them, but even if the Dark Church were uprooted from the continent, the power of these dreadful beings would not weaken in the slightest."

My expression stiffened. "Don't tell me..."

***

In a dark room, a single candle flickered on the shabby table, casting a soft glow across the space. However, the light was so faint that the faces of the two figures sitting across from each other at the table couldn't be seen.

The person sitting on the right spoke. "I've reached my limit. I realized that things couldn't continue as they were."

At those words, the figure on the left said, "Keep going."

"Sandstorm Hill is a strange place. Those who live here don't raise livestock or hunt. Farming? Most of them don't even understand the concept. The only knowledge they truly possess is brewing. How can they make a living like this?" the figure on the right said.

The candle flickered again, and the face immersed in darkness emerged faintly.

"It's through deals," Master Visid of Sandstorm Hill said. "We survive by selling items made with our blood and sweat. Do you think it's wrong for a craftsman to treat their own creations as items for sale? Is it akin to a father selling his children?"

"Not at all. A child is a child, and a work is a work. Anyone who can't distinguish between them is a fool."

Visid nodded. "You're right. A true craftsman should take pride when their work is priced highly. Money is the most universal standard of value.

"I'll get back to the point. To dwarf craftsmen, everyone around us is a potential trading partner. Mercenary groups, trading companies, the Hero Society, even the imperial family. We sell to whoever offers the best price. Isn't it simple?"

The figure on the left let out a low laugh for the first time. It carried a seductive quality, yet retained a sense of dignity. That presence had lingered throughout the conversation, something unusual that even a craftsman could sense.

At first glance, the man spoke with a lack of courtesy, but every small gesture revealed his nobility.

Dignity and nobility? Visid knew this individual's identity, and the knowledge stirred anger within him.

"Even if it is the church?"

"You're referring to yourself," Visid retorted. "For the decades I served as master of Sandstorm Hill, you have consistently offered the highest price for our works."

The other party chuckled. "Is that why you betrayed the god you believed in?"

"It isn't betrayal. Recently, someone from a trading company taught me a more suitable term."

"What is it?"

"Severed ties."

The man burst out laughing again. The candlelight flickered with the force of it, casting shadows across the wall. "I understand. Even a god is nothing more than a trading partner to you."

Visid nodded. "That's right."

"Good. I like that attitude. I also despise those who fail to recognize value. Those with poor taste deserve to have their eyes plucked out. In that sense, I highly value you dwarves, as natural craftsmen. We can be good friends in the future."

"By the way, there is one thing that bothers me," Visid said.

"Say it."

"Can you really give us enough support?"

The man abruptly stopped.

Visid felt uneasy due to the silence, but he hid it as he continued, "I'm not doubting you. Even taking that into account, the amount you mentioned seems quite burdensome."

"That is called doubt." He paused, then continued in a soft voice, "But I like it. You should know how to be properly suspicious. It would be frustrating if a business partner were too stupid. To answer your question, you have nothing to worry about. I have that much authority."

Visid said, "I know that. Still, isn't there a chance that the deal could fall apart in the future? For example, if you receive a command from someone above you."

"That is also an unnecessary concern."

"Why?" Visid asked.

"It's simple. In this church, there's no one above me."

Don't tell me... Visid flinched. A thought about the true identity of the person before him crossed his mind.

Creeeeak.

Suddenly, the ungreased door swung open with a harsh, grating sound.

Visid looked toward the door, puzzled. No one else was supposed to come here today. The person in front of him had always avoided revealing his true form and had never shown himself to anyone except Visid.

Naturally, Visid had always respected his trading partner. However, the figure who entered wasn't a dwarf.

Did I see him during the day? Visid was certain he recognized him, but he couldn't place the face. The impression he gave now differed from earlier.

Behind the old door stood a boy, half-hidden in the shadows, as if cloaked in darkness.

"This innate stench can't be hidden." His expressionless face carried a strange eeriness, like a mask. When his lips moved, a flat, monotone voice emerged. "You can wash a corpse-eating rat, scrub it and even douse it in perfume, but the natural stench is hard to erase. It's determined by birth and lineage."

Delac Badniker saw two figures: a church member and the one cooperating with him. The moment he saw the two figures, not so different from himself, a chill filled his heart.

Delac drew his sword. "So there really was a rat after all."

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