They were teleported to the city of Cael Lorinth—a heavily militarized border city in the southern reaches of the Kingdom of Highmere.
Positioned just north of Oris Mons, the city marks the final outpost before entering the war-torn, contested zone that separates Highmere from the lizardmen's territory, the Drakmire Marshland.
The war in Oris Mons was a brutal, three-year campaign fought across mountains, plains, and crumbling fortresses. Multiple fronts erupted at once, with territory constantly shifting hands.
Now that the fighting has ended, Cael Lorinth is shifting into recovery. Wounded soldiers fill its infirmaries, captured enemy commanders are being processed, and the city begins the long, uncertain road to rebuilding.
Cael Lorinth's iron-reinforced walls stood thick and unyielding, manned day and night by veteran soldiers hardened by years of war. Watchtowers ringed the city's edge, their beacons ready to flare at the first sign of danger. At its center rose Fort Cael—a broad, square keep that served as both command hub and final refuge should the outer defenses fall.
The city's layout reflected its purpose. Rows of barracks, sparring yards, and blacksmith forges filled the districts closest to the walls. Wide stone streets allowed for swift movement of troops and supply wagons, which came and went in a constant rhythm—carrying food, weapons, and fresh reinforcements.
And yet, life endured. Civilians lived alongside soldiers—tough, disciplined people shaped by years of war.
"What even is Mr. Zero?!" Ludwig barked, clearly pissed. He slammed his hand against the wall, the wood creaking under the sudden impact.
They'd been standing outside the tavern for most of the afternoon, still caught up in the same argument. While other players had already dispersed into the world, eager to begin whatever quests or paths awaited them, Yor and Ludwig were still here—locked in a back-and-forth over one question:
Was there really a fourteenth god?
The tavern behind them buzzed with voices and the occasional clink of mugs. Warm light spilled from its windows onto the cobbled street, and the wooden sign overhead—Old Barney Tavern—swayed gently in the breeze.
"It's an anime!" Yor shot back, shoulders tense. "From like... fifty years ago! I used to watch it with my grandpa."
Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "If he knows about that, then he's not a god. He's probably just some dude who hacked the system or something."
Yor looked away. After what happened in The Benediction, the moment still sat heavy on his chest. He didn't ask to be chosen—definitely not by some troll pretending to be god.
"I say report it. Maybe it was a glitch..." Ludwig said, his fingers twitching, itching to open his menu. "I just wanna know how many gods are actually supposed to exist here. I'll ask Winter."
Though...this God of Reality told me to kept everything a secret.
He swiped his hand through the air—his menu flickered to life as a translucent rectangle. A few taps later, a shimmer of light formed in front of them, condensing into a tiny floating figure. It was Winter, the game's guide—not much bigger than Ludwig's hand, like a holographic figurine.
"Hi, Winter!" Ludwig greeted her with an exaggeratedly sweet smile, bending slightly to meet her height.
"I wanna ask—how many gods are there in this world?"
Winter blinked. Her tone was flat. "Did you not remember our lesson earlier? There are thirteen gods. That's it."
"But he said he was the God of Reality!" Yor stepped forward, voice cracking a little. "Zeisen. He blessed me, I swear!"
Ludwig squinted. "Did you... take your meds today?"
Winter crossed her arms. "There is no such god. No Zeisen. No God of Reality. Just the thirteen."
"See?" Ludwig gestured dramatically.
Yor exhaled through his nose. "I saw the system message. It literally said, 'You have been blessed by the God of Reality, Zeisen.' I haven't even checked what he gave me yet."
"Then go on. Check your mail that's how blessings are delivered." Ludwig said.
"Looks like I'm not needed here. Call me if you need anything. See you later." Winter vanished into thin air.
"Bye-bye, Winter!" Ludwig grinned, giving a goofy wave.
But just as Winter vanished in a shimmer of light, a sudden jab hit Ludwig's side.
*Poke*
"The hell?!" He spun around, yelping in surprise.
A random player had poked him with a sword.
"Oh—sorry!" the player blurted, backing off. "Thought we couldn't PK here..."
Ludwig's face darkened. He slapped the guy upside the head. "Get the hell outta here, dumbass."
The player yelped and ran off.
Yor blinked. "That was... so random."
Ludwig rubbed his side. "Anyway. Back to business. Check your mail." He opened his own interface for comparison. "The gods send it through system mail. I already claimed mine—I got three Divine Tomes, 80 battle mastery points and 400 status points."
"So, I still need 20 more points to reach Intermediate Mastery." Ludwig rested his hand on his chin.
"I'll check if he gave me anything good," Yor muttered. "He told me to keep everything a secret—for now, this is all he's giving me. As for my Divine Tome… I don't know. He didn't say when I'd get it."
He opened his mail. A floating window appeared. He tapped a few buttons—
and saw...
"Nothing!" he shouted, half in shock, half in disbelief.
"That's impossible. You should see it in your mail," Ludwig said, leaning in to guide him.
Yor scanned his menu, scrolled through everything—mail, notifications, inventory—nothing. The last thing left to check... was his status.
He opened the status window.
---
[Yor]
Strength: +200
Dexterity: +400
Vitality: +100
Intellect: +300
Agility: +400
Constitution: +100
---
"You've got to be kidding me!"