'Wait, I'm Supposed to Become a Goddess?! But I'm a Guy!'

Mize took a reflexive step back, his body reacting before his mind even processed it.

Because holy hell.

That booming voice, the sheer impact of that kneeling giant, the ground practically shaking beneath him, it was a lot.

Just for a second.

Then, he exhaled, pushing down the instinctive reaction, and stepped forward again.

His clothes swayed lightly with the motion, his voice soft, crisp, calm despite the absurdity of the moment.

“You may rise.”

Boom.

Boom.

Every step the man took was like a hammer to the earth, sending faint tremors rippling through the ground.

He rose to his full height, and Mize craned his neck, eyes tracking upward, and upward, and upward.

Damn.

The surrounding maids and guards had already taken a cautious step back.

Even the butler, who had maintained an impeccable posture throughout, had subtly shifted, positioning himself just slightly behind Mize, like a shield.

Only the shadow knights remained still, their massive, cloaked forms unfazed by the behemoth standing before them.

Mize’s gaze flicked between them and the towering figure in front of him.

"...Woah. You’re huge. Are you even human?"

The curiosity edged his tone, his eyes roving over the man’s frame, the sheer width of his shoulders, the bulk of his arms, the way his armor seemed less like protective gear and more like an extension of his body.

Titrus, despite his presence, lowered his head respectfully.

"My lady, do not mistake my appearance," he rumbled, voice like a distant storm. "I am, in fact, a pure-blooded human, untainted by any other lineage."

Mize arched a brow.

"...A human can get this big?"

It wasn’t disbelief, exactly... just mild bafflement.

He'd seen cultivators do crazy things before. But natural-born humans walking around looking like a final boss?

Doom slayer?

That was new.

But whatever.

Honestly? Didn’t matter.

Mize had long decided, race, background, history, none of it was important.

Loyalty was.

He lifted his gaze, meeting the shadowed eyes beneath Titrus’ helmet. His voice was soft, but it carried through the cavern.

"Listen well, Titrus."

The air stilled.

"I don’t care where you came from, what you did before, or what blood runs through your veins. Your past is your own. But here, now." Mize’s lips curled slightly. "You serve me. Your lord. Your master."

Boom.

Titrus dropped to his knee again, his massive war axe gripped tightly against his chest.

"This general heeds the call of my lord," he intoned, voice low, guttural, thick with devotion.

The sheer gestures of his presence made the very air grew heavy, charged with a heat that wasn’t just from the torches lining the walls.

His body was practically steaming in heat probably due to his size.

Mize’s smile widened slightly.

"Good."

His gaze drifted toward the tunnel entrance, as if peering through the stone itself, beyond, into the vast world that awaited.

"Then for your first task..." His voice was calm.

"You are to be my personal guardian. My protector. The one who ensures my safety."

Titrus’ massive frame tensed, then he bowed his head once more.

"This general heeds the lord’s command."

Then, in the next few minutes, Mize began asking about his world description.

Mize leaned back slightly, arms crossed as he listened, letting Titrus summarize his entire existence in a few short sentences.

The guy didn’t talk much, straight to the point, no unnecessary details.

Perfect.

Mize didn’t have the patience to sit through another tragic backstory monologue.

From what he gathered, Titrus came from a highly advanced world, far beyond the technological capabilities of Earth.

A place where humanity had reached the pinnacle of evolution, scientifically and genetically engineered into flawless war machines.

And Titrus?

He was one of them, a warrior bred for pure, unyielding combat. A shield for his homeworld, defending it for centuries against external threats.

Until a plague came and wiped everything out.

"...Wait a minute."

Mize narrowed his eyes, tapping a finger against his lips as realization struck.

"...This is just a Warhammer rip-off, isn’t it? But, like, a slightly mild version without the excessive grimdark despair?"

Titrus, kneeling before him in all his genetically perfect, battle-hardened glory, tilted his head slightly.

"My lady?"

Mize hummed, rubbing his chin. "Okay, quick question, how did you guys refer to your leader?"

"Leader?" Titrus repeated, frowning slightly as if the concept itself was foreign to him.

Then, after a brief moment of consideration, he nodded.

"Ah, the Emperor?"

Mize’s grin widened.

"Yeah, that guy. What did you call him?"

"For the Emperor, we addressed him as the God Emperor in every instance."

Ah.

Nailed it.

Mize fought the urge to laugh, but his eyes glowed with unspoken amusement.

Titrus, unaware of his inner thoughts, simply waited, utterly devoted, utterly serious.

Mize waved a hand, shaking his head.

"Nothing. Just... nothing."

And before Titrus could question further, he casually fanned his face as if the conversation had never happened.

Mize let out a slow breath, eyes locked onto the panel as his brain tried to process the sheer absurdity of what he was seeing.

This guy, this absolute unit, was beyond what he could’ve ever imagined.

Race: Human Divine?

Hero Grade: Gradeless (Special)?

Age: 231, tied to the Lord’s lifespan?

And the kicker? 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Realm: Tier 3–suppressed.

Suppressed?

His eyes flicked toward the towering figure of Titrus, standing like an immovable war machine, radiating absolute power even in silence.

Mize’s fingers twitched. What kind of beast had he just summoned?

"Holy sh**, This… is kind of ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, but apparently not quiet enough, because the butler immediately rushed forward, face filled with worry.

"My lady! Is something the matter?"

"Did I hear cussing words just now?"

Mize blinked, snapping out of his daze. Ah. Right. First lady of the territory. Gotta keep up the image.

He coughed lightly, masking his dumbfounded expression with an elegant nod.

"Nothing, just… admiring the, uh, capabilities of our new guardian."

The butler looked unconvinced, but he bowed anyway, stepping back into place.

Mize sighed inwardly. That was close.

Then, as his eyes fell back on the panel, another realization hit him like a brick.

Wait.

Didn’t the system say heroes were supposed to be Tierless?

Then why the hell was Titrus already Tier 3 the moment he arrived?

Suspicion laced his thoughts, and before he could spiral any further, the system chimed in, answering his unspoken question.

[This is due to the hero’s strength before their death. If a hero had reached an unimaginable level of power in their past life, they are able to retain a portion of it in this world]

[The heroes would start from the weakest point, not from an utterly zero point]

Mize narrowed his eyes.

"Unimaginable level? Be specific, System."

[Planet level.]

"...Ah."

Mize’s jaw almost went slack. Planet level?

Like, casually wiping out planets kind of level?

His first summon was that strong?

His fingers twitched again. This was insane.

And yet, he knew, if he said one more word, if he made even the slightest sound of disbelief, amd cursed... the butler would be on him again.

So instead, he inhaled deeply, exhaled even slower, and shoved his hand over his mouth to keep himself from cursing right then and there.

Even so, the maids at the back still flinched.

Because the moment Mize opened his mouth, they had already braced for impact.

-----

Mize let out a slow breath, stepping out of the tunnel and into the open air, his dress swaying lightly with each step.

Behind him, the familiar rustle of fabric and soft footsteps followed in perfect rhythm, his personal entourage moving as one.

But what really caught his attention was the deliberate care of the maids at his back.

Specifically, the way they were holding up his hair as if it were a sacred artifact that must never touch the ground.

He sighed, casting a wry glance over his shoulder.

"Really, guys? You don’t have to do that," he pleaded, his tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. "It’s not going to get dirty even if it drags a little, I promise."

The maids didn’t even flinch.

Instead, the leading butler immediately shook his head, expression firm as ever.

"I’m afraid I cannot allow such a thing to happen, My Lady," he said, one hand resting over his chest.

Mize blinked.

"...Why?"

The butler remained unfazed. "Hygiene is one concern, of course. But more importantly"

His gaze flicked toward the street ahead, where a crowd was already gathering, their eyes locked onto Mize with rapt attention.

"it is a matter of royal etiquette."

Mize paused mid-step.

Royalty?

His lips parted slightly, then shut again as he exhaled through his nose. Right. That.

He wasn’t just some high-ranking noble strolling through town, he was the First Lady of the Lord’s territory now.

"...Fine," he sighed in defeat, resuming his steps toward the carriage. "Do as you wish."

The butler bowed slightly in response, his expression betraying the faintest trace of satisfaction.

Titrus, ever the silent behemoth, stood like a living fortress at Mize’s side as he climbed the small staircase leading into the carriage.

As he settled in, the butler spoke again, his voice steady.

"Ah, My Lady, the Lord has requested your presence at the territory wall at once."

Mize raised an eyebrow, glancing out the carriage window. "Liam did?"

"Yes," the butler confirmed, nodding. "The Lord has emphasized that it is a matter of utmost urgency."

Outside, the guards and maids were already mounting their horses, preparing to move.

Titrus remained where he stood, arms crossed, his sheer presence enough to make the nearby soldiers instinctively straighten their posture.

Noticing the lingering gaze from the butler, the towering warrior finally nodded.

"General Titrus," the butler called, "there is ample space on the driver’s seat if you wish to accompany us."

Titrus shook his head once, voice low and steady. "No need. I will walk."

Mize tilted his head slightly. "Walk? You sure about that?"

"Yes, My Lady." His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. "I am faster on foot than on any mount."

Mize held his gaze for a moment, then shrugged.

"Suit yourself."