Today, as always, the celestial chessboard serves as a gathering pce for the gods to chat idly.

  Though each of them oversees a part of the world's systems, their duties have remained unchanged for thousands of years.

  Their bodies act on reflex faster than their minds can process, executing their tasks with fwless precision.

  "Hey, hey, Southern—"......"

  And so, the gods find themselves drowning in boredom. Managing the system is little more than a side task.

  Precisely because of this, they hunger for entertainment, loathe idleness, and fret over how to pass what might as well be eternity.

  The Northern God, Akam, pestering the Southern God, Khefri, is a common sight among the divine.

  And Khefri, in turn, ignores his childish antics by burying herself in a book. This, too, is nothing out of the ordinary.

  "Huh? Ignoring me? You’re ignoring me?! Even though the country where your hero might be could be in serious trouble right now~?"

  Akam, the Northern God of War with his boyish appearance, puffs out his cheeks and points at the catastrophe unfolding in the southern continent.

  "Indeed, this stampede is quite the rare spectacle.""Mmm, my concern lies in how much damage this will cause. At least it didn’t happen in the east—what a relief."

  Even from the gods' perspective, the stampede is of considerable scale. Though not enough to end the world—hence their detached observation—for the people below, it is undeniably a dire threat.

  Which is precisely why it piques their interest. And yet—

  "......"

  Khefri, the Southern Goddess, continues reading without so much as gncing at the board. To the other gods, who still have no idea where her hero is, her silence is unnerving.

  Unresponsive to Akam’s nagging, indifferent to the fate of the hero she supposedly pced, she remains absorbed in her book—just as she always does.

  "Hey, hey, Eastern, Western—what do you think of her reaction?""Well, if you mean 'normal,' then yes, this is normal for her.""The possibility of it being an act seems slim. She does lie sometimes, but it’s usually obvious. She might genuinely not care.""Huh? So does that mean there’s no hero in the capital at all?"

  Unable to discern whether her indifference is genuine or feigned, they turn their attention back to the board, searching for any sign of the Southern Hero. But Khefri has already moved on to another book, her expression unreadable.

  "Not necessarily...""Would any hero ignore a crisis like this? Even a low-ranking one would see this as a chance to earn glory.""Exactly! Normally, you’d expect them to go wild in a situation this rare."

  Giving up on gleaning anything from Khefri’s demeanor, the three gods scrutinize the board, searching for the hero.

  "What about this one? She’s fighting a dragon zombie and causing quite the ruckus.""Too old, don’t you think?""Mmm, the timing of a hero’s birth is somewhat fixed. Even accounting for deviations, this seems beyond the margin."

  Akam points to a woman swinging a metal staff, but the other two shake their heads.

  "How about this one?""A knight, clearly.""Younger than that st dy, sure, but still not exactly youthful, right?"

  Next, the Western God gestures toward a knight cutting through the city, rescuing civilians and scattering monsters. But Akam shakes his head again—while the knight appears young, their actual age doesn’t match.

  "Then, perhaps—no, never mind.""Want me to say it for you, Eastern? You’re thinking that boy controlling the golem fits the bill, aren’t you? Bit of a zy guess."

  The stout Eastern God, Goldos, hesitates before pointing at a boy riding a golem in a corner of the royal capital, wreaking havoc. But he quickly retracts his suggestion.

  Akam, catching on, smirks and gestures across the board.

  "Probably not. Look—golems are rampaging all over the city. Here, here—oh, there’s another one. And over there. This one looks like a kid pying around."

  Aside from the boy Goldos pointed out, five other golems are running amok, effortlessly sughtering monsters. Not mass-produced weapons, but custom-made golems—far more advanced than the boy’s, effortlessly dominating the battlefield.

  "I am aware."

  With shaky reasoning and the fact that the boy had just been led into a tent by a noble-looking girl, they dismiss him as a candidate.

  Their gazes shift away.

  "So then—where the hell is he? There’s no one else who stands out!""If that’s the case, then perhaps the hero wasn’t pced in the capital at all. They might be training in some remote region, waiting to emerge once they’ve grown stronger.""But that would hinder information gathering. Secluded areas are good for undisturbed training, yes—but is it worth cutting off all outside knowledge?""Well, she *is* the Goddess of Wisdom. What if she granted her hero knowledge as a boon, rendering external information unnecessary?"

  A few other individuals show promise, but none stand out enough to be called a hero. With no better leads, they’re forced to consider the possibility that the hero truly isn’t in the capital.

  "Ugh—that *would* be just like her. If she found a hero who thrives in isotion, she’d stick them in some remote library to study.""A pusible theory.""I do hope she didn’t leave any forbidden texts lying around.""What if they’ve already gone mad from reading one?""...Surely not.""No, if that were the case—"

  Specution spirals into wild conjecture, blending teasing with idle chatter.

  Taking advantage of Khefri’s silence, they freely voice their theories about her hero. Yet even as they do, she doesn’t so much as gnce their way.

  "The 'self-destruction' theory doesn’t hold up. If that were true, she wouldn’t still be sitting here.""Right, that’s going too far.""But with *her*, it’s not entirely impossible."

  Paranoia takes hold. Knowing Khefri’s nature, the three gods can’t dismiss any possibility, leaving them unable to reach a definitive conclusion.

  As they kill time debating the whereabouts of the still-unseen Southern Hero, neglecting their own champions in the process—

  "Agh!! Seriously, where *is* he?! The capital’s defense is already over!!""In the end, the local forces handled it on their own. The suddenness of the attack caused deys, and the scattered defenses struggled at first, but they recovered midway through.""Yet how did they manage to turn it around so drastically?""The details are unclear, but there was undoubtedly a skilled commander among them.""Could *that* be the hero? If it’s some noble’s kid, they might’ve used their family’s influence to issue orders and shift the battle."

  The stampede in the capital shows signs of subsiding. Monster numbers dwindle, attacks grow sparse.

  With the main horde defeated, the gods unanimously agree the crisis has passed.

  "But we didn’t see anyone who fit the bill, right? Most of the fighting was done by soldiers, knights, adventurers, and a few odd civilians fighting back. The nobles just holed up in their mansions."* "There was one girl who rushed to aid the citizens."* "Ah, her. Leading troops into the heart of the monster horde was impressive, but she didn’t seem exceptionally powerful. Her tactics and magic were above average, but not *heroic."

  All that remains is the dungeon at the heart of the stampede. The southern continent’s knights, seizing the opportunity, mobilize to storm it.

  Casualties are inevitable, but victory is assured. Having seen the outcome, the gods turn their attention elsewhere—back to their unresolved mystery.

  "Hey, Southern—did you *really* summon a hero? At this point, it’s starting to look like you’re bluffing to cover up the fact that you failed."* "...I have no intention of answering.""Oh, she *spoke*."

  With no conclusion in sight, Akam tries one st desperate plea for hints. Khefri, annoyed, finally closes her book and gres at him.

  "If you have time to worry about whether my hero exists or not, perhaps you should focus on your own affairs. The North and East are too busy funting their power—tribal wars in the North, political strife in the East.""Ugh..."

  Having endured their taunts long enough, she counterattacks with sharp words. As she points out, the Northern and Eastern Heroes are currently embroiled in turmoil.

  "You’re no better, Western. The South isn’t the only one with problems—your continent isn’t exactly peaceful either.""...That stings."

  It’s often said that where heroes appear, chaos follows.

  The Northern Continent, home to diverse beastkin tribes, once maintained a delicate bance of power. But the tribe that acquired the hero gained overwhelming strength, shattering that equilibrium.

  In the East, the hero’s boon—a vast fortune—sparked a shadow war of schemes and betrayals.

  And even the seemingly tranquil Western Continent isn’t immune.

  "How noble of you to preach about righteousness and virtue. Let’s hope your ideals don’t come back to haunt you.""Who exactly are you praying *to*?""We’re the ones *receiving* prayers, remember?""That’s the joke, genius."

  A virtuous nature can sometimes sow the seeds of conflict. Especially when tradition cshes with newfound ideals, spurring drastic action in the name of justice.

  Khefri hasn’t *just* been reading—she’s kept an eye on the board all along. She knows full well that not all is going smoothly for the other gods.

  After enduring their mockery, she deems this much payback fair and prepares to return to her book.

  "Khefri.""What is it, Maeter?"

  But the Western God, seizing the moment, stops her.

  "I’ve been wondering—what *are* you reading? I find it hard to believe this world still holds books worthy of your attention."

  Expecting more questions about her hero, Khefri is caught off guard. Maeter, realizing further prying would be futile, instead points out something that’s always bothered her.

  "This? It’s a story about an assassin, obtained through *certain channels*.""Certain channels?""Mmm. Quite entertaining. If more people could think like this, the world might be a little more interesting."

  The book’s cover, depicting a sharp-featured man, is unlike anything they’ve seen before. Khefri’s expression, now tinged with pride, is a far cry from her earlier irritation.

  She doesn’t reveal its origin, but if the Goddess of Wisdom deems it worthwhile, it must be something special.

  Maeter, equally bored, gnces at the board. Assured that her own continent is stable and the South requires no immediate intervention, she indulges her curiosity.

  "How intriguing. Might I borrow it?""You?""Yes. You said it was good, didn’t you?"

  Such exchanges are rare between them, but Maeter asks on a whim.

  "...Fine. I’d be curious to hear your thoughts. This should suit you."

  To her surprise, Khefri readily produces a stack of books. They appear to be serialized in a certain boys' magazine—tales of a world where collecting orbs grants wishes.

  "I’ve already finished these. They’re rare—don’t damage them.""Um, this nguage... I’ve never seen it before.""A dictionary. I made it myself. Use that.""Ugh..."

  Maeter’s eyes widen at the sheer volume. Flipping through one, she finds it filled with illustrations alongside text—meticulously crafted, yet utterly foreign.

  Even gods can’t instantly decipher unknown nguages. Resigned, she accepts the makeshift dictionary and, for the first time in centuries, loses herself in a book.