Surviving without God

That was how the initiation ceremony began. When they stepped out of their rooms, a neatly folded robe and a white, featureless mask lay by each door. Putting them on meant consent to take part in the ceremony. Ryan and Gunther put on their masks and robes without hesitation.

Ding!

[Item equipped: “Mask of the Sworn (Rare)”]

The robe was plain, but the mask was a magical artifact—one that would be extremely useful in the order’s future activities.

“Though its abilities only activate after receiving a blessing at the ceremony.”

The item contained excellent functions: concealment of presence to evade surveillance, and concealment of identity. The other candidates were already standing in the corridor, all wearing the same robes and masks. At this stage, no one intended to back out. Each of them had come here carrying their own tragedy, resolved to oppose Luthien. One of them asked Jedriel, who stood in the corridor:

“Where are we going?”

“Now, now. For starters, just follow me.”

The candidates walked down the corridor with determined, confident steps. Some exchanged hopeful, friendly looks, seeing each other as comrades who would share the same fate. Gunther, however, walked silently forward.

“No need for unnecessary interaction.”

The main scenario had begun. It was time to cast off emotion and start calculating. This was the world of a “game.” A stage where efficiency and choice were sharply separated. From this point on, the future difficulty of the run would depend on who he formed bonds with, and who he “invested” in.

Besides, in the official history, the 45th intake wasn’t anything special. It was easy to get along with peers from the same intake, but they weren’t enough to make into core allies all the way to the end. That was why “veterans” usually built their parties out of characters from other intakes.

...In other words, the key figures were present at the ceremony right now. Making an impression on them mattered more than anything. Even if they couldn’t be together yet, it would return later as a valuable harvest.

“Sit.”

The heart of the Sanctuary. Gunther sat where he was directed and looked around. The first thing that caught his eye was the blue-black marble altar ahead. And in front of it stood an old man in a crow mask, gazing at them with a merciful look. Warmth lived in his eyes, as if he were looking at his own grandchildren.

“...Grand Crow.”

Naturally, it wasn’t only his eyes fixed on the candidates. They sat in a semicircle around the altar, while slightly higher up were the “seats of honored guests.” Seniors in all kinds of masks and attire stared down at them. Surprisingly, the atmosphere wasn’t overly solemn. Some even spoke quietly among themselves. But the rookies, crushed by the setting, looked only straight ahead.

“...”

That was why Gunther’s motion—turning his head to look back—drew every senior’s attention at once.

...And the gods that stood with them.

[The Sworn of the Tattered Banner stares piercingly at you]

[The Endless Alchemist makes notes while watching you]

[The Lord of the Coliseum glares at you ferociously]

[Pilgrim Walking the Heavens...]

So many messages surfaced that it was hard to track them. Gunther nodded in silence.

“Knew it...”

There were many figures who were, at minimum, major side-role level. Some were famous names with bounties on their heads from Luthien. The fact that even such people dared to show themselves here made it tangible, without any extra explanation, how much the initiation ceremony mattered to “Night Raven.”

[The One Who Opened the Bloody Night waves at you, celebrating reunion]

[Arrow of Midday watches you intently, as if studying you]

He could also see the direct superiors he’d be working under: “Moon Wolf” and “Cheonmae.” ...And at the moment his gaze met Cheonmae’s—who, for some reason, was staring at him with a burning, furious look—

“Step forward.”

The conversations in the hall died instantly. Every member’s gaze snapped to the altar. Once more, a low, resonant voice cut through the Sanctuary’s silence.

“Nameless sworn, step forward.”

The old man’s single eye was aimed at the one seated in the very first spot on the far right of the candidate row. The candidate singled out took a breath and stood. Then he slowly walked to the altar.

“That event... will it happen?”

In the game, that event always triggered. But now—who knew. Gunther watched the first oath in silence. Candidate No. 1, wearing a serious expression, recited the oath text and reverently dropped to his knees at Grand Crow’s feet. Grand Crow placed a hand on his head.

“O One-Eyed King, who possesses true sight. Let your servant pierce through the fog of lies. Lead me to truth through delusion.”

His one remaining eye filled with impenetrable darkness for a moment. And in that instant—

Crack, vzzzh!

A blinding flash sprayed in all directions. But something was wrong. The light was rotten blood. A warped glow—like a mix of blood and poison—swirled around like mist.

In the same second, everyone felt it: something had gone wrong. Terror and confusion mixed on the candidates’ faces.

...The seniors in the stands, in contrast, remained expressionless. Some simply looked away, others sighed as if used to it. A few even looked down at the altar with open contempt.

“Uh, I...”

Sensing the wrongness, Candidate No. 1’s lips trembled as he whispered something. Gunther, listening closely from nearby, caught it clearly:

“O, o... God of Light, Luthien...”

Crunch—

But he didn’t finish the prayer himself. A sharp shape that surfaced behind the back of his head put a period on it for him.

A blade? No.

It was a claw.

A horrifying shape made of something blue-black—neither metal nor bone. At some point, the old man’s right hand had turned into something grotesque, a blend of human and bird. He muttered with a sigh:

“They keep sending them and sending them. Are they not tired?”

Indifferently withdrawing the bloodied hand, he said:

“Next sworn, step forward.”

The corpse, and even the splattered blood... vanished instantly without a trace. Everything in front of the altar was clean, as if nothing had happened. Grand Crow’s hand returned to human.

But the candidates understood perfectly what they had just witnessed.

Because they had clearly heard the hateful prayer spoken before the altar.

“...”

Heavy silence.

But—

Rustle—

Quietly, yet with a steady step, the second candidate stood and headed for the altar. Grand Crow remained unmoved as he received him.

“...”

Watching, Gunther assessed his position. Tenth—exactly in the middle. Ryan, seated just ahead of him, whispered softly:

“...Damn. This is definitely not a hobby club.”

“As if.”

“Listen, this rite? The test? Is it hard to pass?”

No. Not hard. If you didn’t come with malicious intent, you wouldn’t be “filtered out” like that.

But the next stage—that was the real barrier.

The so-called “Ability Determination.”

A procedure where the One-Eyed King personally judges a candidate’s “usefulness” and grants an appropriate blessing.

“...If you get a useless blessing, expectations inside the order will drop. So it’s almost worse than not getting one at all.”

In the game, it broke down very clearly:

Jackpot. Average. Dud.

A jackpot was a stat. Average was a skill or an equipment item. A dud was a consumable.

The result was indicated by the glow that spread above the altar after each oath.

In the case of a “dud,” it was a light like one or two flickering candles.

With an “average,” a strong radiance lingered for a moment, comparable to a powerful flash.

And a “jackpot”? It went without saying. The entire altar drowned in blinding light—overwhelming radiance that hid both Grand Crow and the candidate kneeling before him.

Of course, jackpots were extremely rare even across all of “Night Raven.” Most people got duds. Even averages were uncommon. And indeed—

“The 45th intake is mediocre.”

Gunther nodded as he watched events develop as expected. Seven had received blessings so far. But up until Ryan, there had been only one average. The rest were all duds.

“Why, why do I have nothing?”

“...”

There was even a candidate with deferred expulsion. Someone who didn’t receive any blessing at all. The guy stared resentfully at the empty space where no light appeared... then trudged back to his seat, shoulders sagging.

“Why... what are the criteria even... I hate them so much! Why doesn’t that count...”

Sad, but he would be assigned to the Replenishment Group. A temporary unit thrown into battle whenever the main units were short on manpower. A unit that often ended up playing the role of sacrificial lamb, whether they liked it or not.

Sure, if he distinguished himself there with outstanding achievements, he might be granted a second chance at a blessing... but the probability was vanishingly small.

“...Next, step forward.”

And that was Ryan’s turn.

“I’m going.”

Throwing out that short phrase, he walked to the platform. There was no hesitation in his stride. He recited the oath in the proper order, then lowered his head on his knees. The Sanctuary grew so quiet that everyone was afraid to breathe. Grand Crow in the crow mask placed his hand on Ryan’s head.

...It was time to receive the blessing.

“Ryan...”

Gunther watched with a slight tension. For this moment, he’d built his partner up in every possible way, starting with the contract with a deity, but he still couldn’t be fully certain.

U-uuu-um!

But all his worries proved pointless.

“Oh?”

A pure white light rose above the altar. Grand Crow’s muffled voice rang over the kneeling Ryan:

“You are the wrath of the trampled—so take up the hammer that shatters evil.”

In the same instant, the whirl of radiance sank into Ryan’s heart. Ryan clenched his teeth, swallowing a groan. Gunther shifted his gaze to the system message glowing in the air.

[Party member “Ryan Parker” has obtained a “Rare” rarity skill: “Earth Shatter”]

A smile surfaced on its own.

“Ha. A great haul.”

“Earth Shatter” was a strengthening skill that explosively increased the destructive power of hammer-type weapons for a short time. At activation, the hammer temporarily gained a shockwave effect. A direct hit caused powerful knockback and wide-area ground ruptures, allowing him to fling back even heavily armored enemies or shield-bearers on the vanguard line. The skill was ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) especially good for breaking structures and suppressing crowds in front of him, making it ideal for punching through a frontline. There was a strong backlash left in the hands and shoulders after use, temporarily limiting weapon handling, but for a hammer warrior, it was a basic, high-profit skill.

“And it’ll work against large Mothers too.”

Ryan’s professional role was taking shape. A frontline dealer-tank. An indispensable position in the group.

Zzzzt—

Soon the light dispersed, and Ryan rose slowly. Grand Crow spoke in an approving voice:

“I will name you. ‘Hungry Bear.’ One who did not fall even after losing everything—who, in the end, restrained and swallowed his wrath in silence. Now carry out vengeance in the name of justice.”

“...”

In that moment, the mask Ryan wore rippled and transformed into the visage of a ferocious bear.

“...Losing everything.”

Ryan murmured the words as if tasting them, then lifted his head. When he returned to his seat, inspiration was written plainly across his face.

“Of course.”

He barely had any skills yet. Even though he had contracted with the “Century Tree Enduring Thunder,” he hadn’t had time to make an offering. Grand Crow had essentially paid the price himself and pulled him an excellent skill—how could he not be happy.

Clap, clap, clap—

Someone in the hall even started applauding. Moon Wolf looked a little surprised as well that Ryan—whom she’d taken as an “add-on” to Gunther—had performed so well.

“...”

Gunther slowly raised his head.

“Next, step forward.”

Now it was his turn.