Chapter 421 – The Last Ring
The overlapped house was quiet the next morning when Alex stood up from the sofa, a small black box in his hand.
Inside was a ring — simple but elegant, forged by his own hands, engraved with a pattern of lines that resonated faintly with mana.
Every member of his harem wore one.
Except for one person.
"Iris," he said softly.
Airi looked up from her tea as he prepared to leave. "You're going to see her?"
"She's in the Vatican now," Alex replied. "I never got the chance to give this to her."
Hanabi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "Going all that way just to give her a ring, huh? You'd better be ready. She's going to blush so hard she'll probably set the whole place on fire."
Ciel's golden eyes half‑closed. "Go. She'll appreciate it."
The Vatican was quiet under the morning sun when Alex arrived. The city's cobblestone streets wound like veins toward the great cathedral, its white towers rising into the sky.
It was there, in one of the courtyards behind the main hall, that he found Iris.
She was seated on a low stone bench, her long silver hair tied loosely behind her head, a rosary wrapped around one hand. Even with the blindfold covering her eyes, her presence was calm and resolute — a serenity that was uniquely her own.
"Iris," Alex called softly.
She turned her head immediately, a faint smile crossing her lips. "Alex. You came."
He walked closer, the ring box held in his hand. "There's something I didn't give you yet."
Her head tilted slightly. "What is it?"
He opened the box, and the morning light caught the ring — a soft gleam of silver and faint blue mana lines.
"For you," he said. "The same as the others. I made it."
For a moment, she said nothing. Then she reached out, her fingers brushing his hand, tracing the ring with surprising delicacy.
"…You came all the way here for this?" she whispered.
"I wanted you to have it," Alex said simply.
She slipped the ring onto her finger. The fit was perfect, as if it had always been meant to be there.
A faint warmth spread from it — a ward of protection, a silent bond.
Her lips curved into a quiet smile, and her voice softened. "It's beautiful."
"You're staying here for now?" Alex asked, glancing around at the Vatican buildings surrounding them.
"I'm independent now," Iris said. "I work with them when they ask, but I'm not bound to them. It gives me freedom… and time to decide where I want to be."
Her fingers brushed lightly over the ring again.
"Thank you, Alex," she said, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "You always… surprise me."
As the day gave way to evening, the courtyard grew quiet. The bells of the Vatican tolled in the distance, their sound drifting like mist through the air.
Iris stayed where she was on the bench, the soft glow of the moon catching in her silver hair. Alex sat beside her, listening to the faint rustle of leaves in the cool night breeze.
For a long time, neither spoke. The world felt still — like the courtyard had been sealed away from the chaos outside.
Finally, Iris broke the silence.
"Alex," she said softly, lifting her hand so the new ring caught the moonlight, "do you know why I always wear this blindfold?"
He glanced at her, but she continued before he could answer.
"It's not because I can't see," she said. "It's because I can. Too much, in fact. The eyes of my bloodline see things that are sometimes… too heavy to carry."
Her fingers brushed the edge of the blindfold gently. "But even with it on… tonight, I can see everything clearly. Do you know why?"
Alex tilted his head. "Why?"
"Because," Iris whispered, turning slightly toward him, "what I'm seeing isn't the world. It's you."
Her voice was calm, but there was a tremor of emotion in it.
"This blindfold," she said softly, touching the fabric, "is the one you gave me when I was a child. You probably don't remember. It was old and simple, but you said it would protect me, that I didn't have to be afraid to look at things if I didn't want to."
Alex's brow furrowed. "I… gave that to you?"
She smiled faintly. "You've forgotten, haven't you? That's all right. I never did. I've kept it all this time. And when I wear it, I feel calm. Even tonight, I can see — but only the things I want to see."
Her hand lowered, fingers brushing the ring again. "I see the ring you made for me. I see the boy who gave me this blindfold. And I see you now."
The moonlight reflected faintly off her blindfold, but she didn't need her eyes to meet his gaze.
"You've always been kind, Alex," she whispered. "Even when you didn't know it."
There was a pause, then a soft laugh. "Maybe that's why, no matter what happens… I can't help but look your way."
The bells tolled again, far away. For that moment, the world seemed to be just the two of them, the ring on her hand glowing softly like a quiet promise.
Iris lowered her hand, fingers brushing against his.
Her expression softened, but there was a faint tension in her voice now, like she had been holding something back for a long time.
"There's one thing," she said quietly, "that you've done with the others… but never with me."
Alex blinked, caught off guard. "Iris?"
She stood, the silver strands of her hair catching the moonlight like flowing water. Still holding his hand, she turned toward the hallway leading to the private quarters the Vatican had given her.
"I don't want to be left behind," she whispered. "Not anymore."
She tugged gently on his hand, leading him away from the courtyard. The halls were silent, empty at this hour, the only light coming from the soft glow of lanterns against marble walls. Every step echoed softly.
Her pace was steady, but her hand trembled slightly in his.
She didn't look back — she didn't need to.
They reached a simple wooden door at the end of the hall. She opened it and stepped inside, pulling him with her.
The room was plain, almost spartan — a bed, a desk, a single window where the moonlight spilled across the floor. It was nothing like the warmth of Alex's home, yet there was something peaceful about it.
Iris closed the door behind them, leaning against it for a moment. She took a slow breath, then turned to face him. Even with the blindfold on, her expression was clear.
"Tonight," she said softly, "I want you to hold me… the way you've held them."
Chapter 422 – Her Turn to Be Chosen (18+)
The room was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Only the pale light of the moon fell through the single window, tracing silver across the floor.
Iris stood before him, her blindfolded gaze steady.
And then, without another word, she stepped closer, closing the distance between them.
Her lips brushed against his, soft and uncertain for only a moment.
Then she kissed him fully — not shyly, but with the calm determination of someone who had been waiting years for this.
The kiss deepened.
As their breath mingled, her hands moved to the ties of her robe.
The fabric slipped away, falling like water around her ankles, revealing her pale, graceful body beneath the moonlight.
Alex followed, pulling his own clothes away, leaving nothing between them.
She reached back and untied her blindfold, letting it fall silently onto the table.
For the first time, he saw her eyes — silver-gray, luminous, and clear.
"Alex," she whispered, stepping back only enough to sit on the edge of the simple wooden table behind her.
She leaned back slightly, spreading her legs with a motion that was slow, deliberate, and unashamed. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table as she looked up at him, her lips parted.
"You can," she said softly, voice trembling but firm. "You've done this with the others. I want it to be me, too."
Alex met her gaze — no blindfold now, no walls between them — and saw only sincerity.
He stepped forward, his hands resting on her hips, and kissed her again.
Her body trembled against him, but she didn't turn away.
The warmth of their skin, the faint scent of her hair, the sound of their breathing — everything filled the small room.
And then, as she had asked, he moved, joining with her.
The table creaked softly under them as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered his name again and again, every sound full of years of quiet longing.
That night, for Iris, there was no Vatican, no duties, no distance between them.
Only the boy who had once given her a simple blindfold, and the man who had finally come to claim her as his own.
Her back arched as Alex's lips moved from her mouth to her neck, tracing a slow path down the curve of her collarbone. Every touch made her tremble, but there was no fear in her — only a heat that had been buried for far too long.
Her hands, usually steady and composed, clung to him now, fingertips pressing against his shoulders as if anchoring herself.
"Iris," he whispered, looking into her silver-gray eyes.
For a moment, she simply looked back at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted. Then she smiled faintly, the kind of smile that came from deep within.
"I've wanted this for so long," she said, voice barely more than a breath.
He moved slowly, as though giving her every chance to stop him. She didn't.
Instead, she tilted her head back slightly, allowing herself to feel everything.
When he finally joined with her fully, she gasped — a soft, quiet sound that seemed to echo in the small room.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as her arms encircled his neck.
They moved together in a rhythm that built gradually, like waves lapping against the shore.
The wooden table creaked softly beneath them, the only sound apart from their mingled breathing and the whispered calling of his name.
"I can feel you," she murmured, her voice trembling, "not just here… but everywhere."
Every touch felt like something being unsealed.
Every kiss felt like something being given back that had been missing for years.
Alex brushed a strand of golden hair from her face, pressing his forehead against hers. "You're not left behind, Iris. Not ever."
Tears gathered in her eyes, but they didn't fall. Instead, she kissed him again — a deep, lingering kiss that seemed to hold her entire heart in it.
Time blurred. Her hands roamed across his back, memorizing him, and every time she whispered his name it carried both passion and relief.
When the final wave came, her voice caught, and she held him as though she never wanted to let go.
They stayed like that for a long time afterward, her body still trembling slightly against his, the room filled with the soft warmth of their breaths.
Iris finally leaned her head against his chest, her voice quiet.
"…Thank you," she whispered, as if those words could hold everything she felt.
Their breaths blended into the soft silence of the room.
Alex held her close, his movements slow, steady, matching the rhythm she set with her own hips.
There was no rush between them, only the feeling of finally closing a distance that had lingered for years.
Iris clung to him, her silver-gray eyes never leaving his face even when her body trembled.
Every time he moved, she moved with him — as if her body already knew this dance, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
Minutes stretched like hours.
The simple wooden table beneath them rocked slightly, but neither noticed.
Her lips parted as the warmth built inside her, wave after wave, until her soft voice finally escaped in a broken whisper.
"Alex… I… I can't—"
Her climax came quietly but powerfully, a rush that made her whole body shudder.
As she tightened around him, Alex's breath caught, and the restraint in his movements finally gave way.
With a deep, steady thrust, he followed her into that same release, holding her tightly as he spilled his warmth deep inside her.
She felt it — every pulse, every moment of him filling her — and she held him as if afraid he would vanish if she let go.
For a while, there was nothing but their breathing, rough at first, then slowly calming.
Iris leaned forward, resting her forehead against his, her lips barely moving as she whispered:
"…I'm glad… that it was you."
The room was still filled with the sound of their mingled breathing.
Iris gently pulled back, her silver hair brushing against his skin as she moved.
Her expression was calm, but there was a faint flush on her cheeks, a warmth that hadn't left since their first kiss.
Slowly, she lowered herself in front of him, resting on her knees.
Her hands slid down his hips, fingers curling around him with a delicate touch.
She looked up, her silver-gray eyes steady.
"The others… they're used to this," she whispered softly.
"I want to try it too."
Her hands began to move, slow and patient, learning his shape and warmth as if committing everything to memory.
She leaned forward, brushing the tip of her tongue against him once, shy at first, then again with more certainty, tasting him.
The way she moved was careful — reverent — as though this was something she wanted to savor, not rush.
Finally, she parted her lips, taking him into her mouth.
Her head moved with gentle rhythm, her hair spilling over her shoulders like liquid moonlight.
Every breath she drew was warm against him, and every movement was unhurried, deliberate.
Alex's hand brushed lightly against the back of her head, his breath catching as the heat coiled inside him again.
When the moment came, he groaned softly, and she stayed with him, swallowing everything as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She lifted her head slowly, a thin sheen of breath on her lips, and smiled faintly.
"…Delicious," she said softly, wiping her lips with her thumb.
Her voice was quiet but firm. "I understand now why the others like this so much."
After a moment, Iris rose gracefully, her breath still warm against him. She stood close, pressing her forehead lightly to his chest, and whispered, "Stay with me tonight."
Alex placed a hand on her cheek and nodded. Without needing to say more, he lifted her gently into his arms and carried her to the bed.
The room was silent except for the sound of their bodies settling onto the sheets. The moonlight poured across them, painting soft silver over her bare shoulders and his dark hair.
She curled against him, resting her head on his chest, fingers lightly brushing the ring on her own hand.
For a long time they simply lay there, no words spoken, no need to rush. The weight of years that had stood between them seemed to dissolve into that quiet, warm night.
"I feel like I can finally rest," Iris murmured, her voice almost a sigh.
Alex's arm tightened around her. "Then rest."
Her breathing slowed, steady and peaceful, until the rhythm of it became soft and even.
Morning
When the sunlight began to creep through the narrow window, Iris stirred. She did not move right away.
Her hand rested on his chest, feeling the slow and steady beat of his heart. For years, she had kept herself apart — from the Vatican, from the supernatural, from even him.
Now, for the first time, she felt as though she belonged somewhere.
She lifted her head slightly, studying his face. A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"I'll never forget this," she whispered quietly, as if speaking only to herself. "Not this time."
The sunlight poured in gently through the high window, spilling over the simple room like a thin veil of gold.
Alex was the first to stir, his eyes opening to see Iris lying beside him. Her long blonde hair, freed from its usual bindings, spread across the pillow like threads of sunlight. She was watching him quietly, her expression calm but soft in a way he had rarely seen.
"Good morning," she said, her voice light, almost like a whisper.
"Good morning," Alex replied, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. There was no need for more words; everything had already been said the night before.
Iris sat up slowly, reaching for her blindfold and robe. "I suppose I should get ready. The Vatican doesn't wait, even for mornings like this."
Alex got to his feet as well, pulling on his clothes with the same unhurried calm. The air between them was peaceful, the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
She fastened the blindfold back over her eyes, but her faint smile lingered as she tied the last knot.
As she smoothed the fabric of her robe, she said softly, "Thank you for coming all this way, Alex. For the ring… and for last night."
He glanced at her hand, where the silver-blue ring caught the sunlight, and nodded. "You deserved it."
They stood together in the quiet room for a while longer, the simple act of getting dressed side by side feeling strangely intimate.
Finally, Iris adjusted the rosary at her wrist and whispered, "When you leave… come see me again soon."
"I will," Alex said.
Chapter 423 – Messenger of Olympus
After breakfast together, Alex and Iris walked out of the courtyard side by side.
The bells of the Vatican chimed softly above them, calling the city to another day of prayer and discipline.
At the gates, she paused, adjusting the blindfold over her golden hair.
Her voice was calm, but there was a faint, lingering warmth.
"Thank you again, Alex," she said. "For everything."
Alex nodded. "Take care of yourself, Iris."
She turned back toward the white stone corridors of the Vatican, and he began walking toward a quiet spot outside the city walls, preparing to teleport home.
The moment he reached the empty stretch of road, he lifted a hand, ready to twist space around him—
—and stopped.
Someone was already there.
A figure in a winged cloak stood waiting on the dusty path, the faint sound of feathers rustling in the breeze. A staff rested against one shoulder, and his easy, unbothered smile gave him away long before he spoke.
"Hermes," Alex said flatly.
The messenger god gave a playful bow, the golden wings on his sandals folding neatly behind him. "Sharp as always. I barely made a ripple, and you still noticed me."
"What do you want?" Alex asked.
"Nothing too dramatic," Hermes replied, spinning his staff lazily. "I was sent with a message. Olympus wants a word with you."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "Olympus?"
Hermes nodded. "After what happened with Aphrodite the other day, and… well, the whole world's obsession with your hair, let's just say the gods are curious. My king and queen—Zeus and Hera—want you to visit."
"I'm not interested," Alex said bluntly, turning slightly as if to leave.
Hermes only grinned wider. "Oh, I figured you'd say that. But don't be too quick to refuse. They didn't send me with threats. They sent me with… an invitation. A chance to talk. And I was told to add," he said, leaning a little closer with a conspiratorial tone, "that Aphrodite will be there, waiting."
The wind stirred around them.
Alex stood silent for a long moment, watching Hermes.
"Why should I bother coming?" Alex asked at last.
Hermes' smile softened just slightly. "Because whether you like it or not, Olympus isn't going to stop being interested in you. Better to step into the hall on your own feet than have the hall come looking for you."
Alex lowered his hand, cancelling the teleport. His black eyes stayed fixed on Hermes, who was still balancing his staff on one shoulder like someone with nowhere else to be.
"What's their real reason?" Alex asked. "Olympus doesn't call me over just to talk."
Hermes tilted his head, smiling. "Curiosity, mostly. You've made a mess of their expectations. Apollo and Fenrir—" he grinned wider "—and let me just say, thank you for that. I won a very large bet because of you."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "You were betting on Apollo losing?"
"Of course," Hermes said cheerfully. "I bet that he'd be beaten so fast he wouldn't even get to finish his introduction. The payout was excellent. As for Fenrir—well, watching you punch him unconscious was worth every drachma."
The humor faded slightly as Hermes leaned on his staff.
"But as for Olympus, they've been watching what's happening in the mortal world. The hair auctions. The chaos. And Aphrodite's little… visit."
"She's persistent," Alex said flatly.
"That she is," Hermes admitted. "But that's not all. The hair—your hair—is something even we gods can't quite make sense of."
He tapped the side of his staff as he explained. "Normally, pieces of a god's body — a drop of blood, a lock of hair, a fragment of divine essence — can strengthen mortals. A little more stamina, a few more years of life, maybe a trace of power if they're lucky."
His pinkish-gold eyes flicked to Alex. "But your hair? It's changing people completely. Space affinity, lightning affinity… things that normally take centuries of training."
Alex crossed his arms. "And they think I'm going to explain it?"
"No," Hermes said. "But they'd rather ask you directly than keep guessing. It's a chance to talk — not a trap. Zeus doesn't want to make an enemy out of someone who can punch Fenrir and Apollo like that."
There was a long pause. The wind moved across the road, carrying the faint sound of Vatican bells behind them.
"Fine," Alex said finally. "I'll come. Once."
Hermes brightened. "Excellent. Olympus will be delighted. I'll prepare a path for you."
As Hermes turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Oh, and Alex?"
"What."
"Do me another favor and don't ruin my winning streak. I've made a fortune betting on you."
With a lazy wave, the god vanished, leaving only the faint shimmer of wings and a trace of golden dust.
Alex stood there a moment longer, silent, before space folded around him and he disappeared.
Alex didn't move. His black eyes stayed locked on Hermes, sharp and steady.
"What exactly do they want from me?" he asked at last.
Hermes twirled his staff between his fingers with an easy, almost playful motion. "Curiosity, mostly. You've become quite the rumor in Olympus lately, Alex. And after Apollo's… incident," he said with a smirk, "you can imagine how tense things have been. Everyone wants to see for themselves."
Alex's brow furrowed. "And you?"
"Oh, me?" Hermes tapped his staff on the ground and leaned lazily against it. "I'm just here as a messenger. Though, if I'm honest, I should be thanking you."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Thanking me?"
Hermes grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "You made me win a bet."
"A bet?"
"Of course. I bet half of Olympus that you'd beat Apollo. Then I doubled down that you'd beat Fenrir too. You have no idea how much I made off those two fights. They're going to be cleaning my shoes for a century."
For a moment, Alex just stared at him. "You're ridiculous."
Hermes laughed. "Oh, maybe. But you've made me very rich in favors, so thank you."
The playful look faded just a little, replaced by something more serious.
"You know," Hermes continued, "among the gods, hair, skin, even a drop of blood does have some effect. If mortals get hold of them, they can make potions or forge relics. But it's never anything like what your hair is doing."
Alex tilted his head slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean this," Hermes said, tapping his staff into the dirt. "Even the hair of a god, at most, might grant someone a little more strength, a little extra lifespan. That's all. But your hair?" He whistled. "It's rewriting mortals. Turning them into something else. It's not normal."
"Which is why Olympus wants to see me," Alex said.
"Exactly. And before you ask, no, I'm not here to trick you into chains or trials." Hermes spread his hands innocently. "I'm here to ask. Come as a guest, nothing more. You have my word."
Alex studied him in silence, the wind tugging lightly at his coat. "And if I refuse?"
Hermes tilted his head, still smiling, but there was an edge to it now. "Then they'll keep knocking. And eventually, they'll come to you. You know how persistent gods can be."
A long moment passed.
Finally, Alex let out a slow breath. "Fine. I'll go. But on my terms. I leave when I want."
Hermes grinned. "Deal. You have no idea how many gods just lost another bet."
The messenger lifted his staff, tracing a circle in the air. Golden ripples of space opened in front of them, like a door cut from sunlight.
"Welcome to Olympus," Hermes said, stepping aside with a bow. "Shall we?"
Alex took one last glance at the quiet road behind him, then stepped through.
The world shifted as Alex stepped through the circle.
The soft hum of Hermes' magic faded, and the air changed — clear, thin, filled with a faint sweetness like mountain blossoms carried on a divine breeze.
Before him stretched Olympus.
The city gleamed like it had been carved from sunlight itself.
Marble towers of impossible height reached toward a perfect blue sky, each column inlaid with veins of gold that shimmered with their own inner light. Wide bridges of white stone spanned across canyons of clouds, and streams of pure, liquid light ran through channels along the streets.
Above it all, at the highest point, the great palace stood like a crown.
It wasn't just architecture.
The whole place breathed divinity.
Hermes walked beside him, hands folded casually behind his head. "Beautiful, isn't it? Even the most stubborn gods can't resist showing off a little."
Alex's eyes moved across the streets. Everywhere he looked, there were gods. Some walked like mortals, carrying baskets or scrolls. Others flew above on wings of energy. Their mere presence caused the air to ripple faintly.
And one by one, they noticed him.
At first, it was only a glance.
Then whispers.
Then full-on stares.
"That's him…"
"The one who defeated Apollo?"
"And Fenrir. With one blow, they say."
"What is a mortal doing here?"
The air seemed to tighten as Alex walked. Gods who had been strolling casually stopped in their tracks, watching him. There was no hostility yet — just raw curiosity. Some narrowed their eyes, while others leaned closer to whisper to their companions.
Hermes only grinned, waving them off. "Don't mind them. You're the star of the day."
A group of younger gods, braver than the rest, stood at the edge of the street as Alex passed.
One of them — tall, broad-shouldered, with a spear slung across his back — stepped forward slightly, as if to block his way, then froze when Alex's black eyes turned toward him.
For a second, it was like the world itself had stopped moving.
The god took an involuntary step back, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool mountain air.
Hermes chuckled. "Told you not to try that. Keep walking."
The closer they got to the palace, the thicker the crowd became.
From the balconies of towers, from the steps of temples, from the air itself — gods gathered to watch the mortal who walked among them without bowing.
By the time they reached the grand staircase leading to the throne hall, the whole city seemed to be holding its breath.
Hermes glanced at Alex with a playful smile.
"Quite the welcome, huh? You haven't even met Zeus yet."
Alex's expression didn't change. "I've had worse."
Ahead, the enormous golden doors of the throne hall began to open, their movement slow and deliberate, revealing a chamber bathed in golden light.
"Ready?" Hermes asked, twirling his staff one last time.
Alex stepped forward without hesitation.
Chapter 424 – The Throne Hall of Olympus
The golden doors opened with a deep, resonant hum, their polished surface gleaming as though carved from the sun itself.
Beyond them lay the heart of Olympus.
The throne hall was vast — so vast that it seemed to have no end.
Its vaulted ceiling arched high above, supported by pillars taller than mountains, each one carved from marble streaked with gold. Between the pillars hung banners woven from light itself, shifting as though alive, depicting scenes of the sky, the sea, and the underworld.
The floor was a mosaic of shining stone, a tapestry of stars set beneath their feet, as if one walked upon the heavens themselves. Rivers of pure water and light flowed in shallow channels along the hall's edges, their sound soft and constant, like a lullaby.
The scent in the air was a blend of ozone, mountain wind, and something faintly floral — the very essence of Olympus.
And at the far end, upon a dais of seven ascending steps, sat the thrones.
The two largest thrones were made not of gold or marble but of something more ancient: a silvery metal that seemed alive, pulsing faintly with divine power.
Upon the left sat Zeus.
He was not simply a figure of myth.
His presence was immense, so heavy that it made the air hum, but it was not a brute weight. It was the weight of storms — of skies that could stretch forever.
Broad-shouldered, his white hair and beard fell like a waterfall of cloud, and his blue eyes burned like lightning behind them. Even when silent, there was a sharpness in his gaze, like he could see through everything, down to the very bones of a person.
One hand rested on a massive scepter, carved from stormcloud and thunder itself.
On the right sat Hera.
She was the perfect counterpart to Zeus — poised, regal, her beauty cold and precise as a blade. Her dark hair, braided in intricate patterns, shone like polished obsidian, and her green eyes had a calm weight that made even other gods straighten under their gaze.
Her presence was not as violent as Zeus's, but there was a quiet authority in it, the kind that required no display.
Around her shoulders draped a mantle woven with constellations that shimmered faintly as she moved.
Alex walked forward with Hermes at his side, feeling the eyes of dozens of other gods seated along the hall's sides.
There was no sound except the steady rhythm of his footsteps on the mosaic floor.
Zeus watched him without speaking, one eyebrow raising slightly.
Hera's gaze was cooler, more appraising, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
Alex's first impression:
He understood immediately why these two ruled Olympus.
Zeus's presence was like a storm held back only by will, while Hera's was like a blade hidden in velvet.
Power restrained, but absolute.
Even so, Alex's pace didn't falter.
He stopped at the foot of the dais, meeting their eyes without bowing.
The silence stretched until it felt like the very air was waiting.
Zeus leaned forward slightly on his throne, resting one hand against the head of his scepter. His voice, when it came, was deep and resonant, rolling through the hall like thunder:
"Alex Elwood," he said. "Do you know why Olympus has called you here?"
Alex stood still, his black eyes meeting Zeus's without flinching.
"I can guess," he replied calmly.
Zeus's gaze sharpened, the faintest flicker of lightning crossing his eyes. "Then let me be clear. Of all the events shaking this world since the Veil broke, there are two figures that Olympus is most concerned about."
He raised two fingers.
"The first… is Aten. The one who walked among the gods of Egypt and completed Osiris's resurrection."
A murmur passed through the gods seated along the sides of the hall, but Zeus's voice drowned it out.
"The second," he continued, "is the man who appeared in high‑tech black armor. The one the mortals now call the 'Void Knight.' He built a fortress in the void and destroyed more than twenty thousand corrupted meteorites before they could strike Earth."
Zeus's voice dropped, heavy as the sky before a storm.
"We wished to contact them. Aten and the Void Knight. They wield power we cannot ignore… yet neither of them can be found. Not even the eyes of Olympus can trace them."
He gestured slightly with his hand.
"And now, as we search for them, we find you."
Hera's voice joined his, cool and steady. "You walk the Earth with strength that unsettles gods. You are at the center of every rumor, every upheaval. So we will ask you plainly: Do you know anything about Aten… or the Void Knight?"
Alex looked up at them without a flicker of emotion.
"No," he said simply.
It wasn't even a lie in his voice. Just a statement, calm and immovable.
Inside, he didn't even think to explain. There was no reason to.
If Olympus believed Aten and the Void Knight were two people, he had no obligation to tell them otherwise.
Zeus studied him for a long, silent moment. The weight of that gaze was like being struck by the sky itself, but Alex didn't move.
Finally, Zeus leaned back slightly, his scepter resting once again against the throne.
"…Very well," he said.
Around the hall, the gods whispered.
Two names. Two figures they feared and could not find.
And they had no idea that the one standing before them was both.
Zeus's grip tightened slightly on his scepter, and the next words he spoke echoed across the vast throne hall.
"There is something else," he said. "Your hair."
The whispers that had been simmering along the walls grew louder.
"His hair…"
"…the potions…"
"…space affinity, lightning affinity…"
Zeus silenced them with a glance.
"Across the mortal world and the supernatural world," Zeus said, "even a single strand of your hair has created chaos. We have seen mortals become stronger overnight, gain affinities they should not possess, even begin to rival low gods in power. Wars have been fought over less."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"This is unprecedented, Alex Elwood. Even the hair or blood of a god does not have such an effect."
Alex stood quietly for a moment, then answered in the same calm tone.
"I don't do anything to it," he said. "I just walk. And hair falls out. There must have been a few strands that fell out somewhere."
The hall fell silent for a moment as the simplicity of his words sank in.
Some of the gods blinked, others frowned in disbelief.
"That's it?" a voice whispered from the side.
"He just… sheds hair like a mortal?"
"And mortals become this strong from it?"
Zeus leaned forward slightly. "Do you realize what that means, Alex? Even a careless step you take can change the balance of the world. Your hair is no longer just yours — it has become a catalyst for power that every faction seeks."
Alex's expression didn't change. "That's their problem, not mine."
The boldness of his words made several younger gods tense, but Zeus only watched him for a long moment.
Behind the storm in his gaze, there was a flicker of something else: interest.
Alex's calm gaze stayed fixed on Zeus.
"If you're worried about my hair," he said evenly, "then I'll tell you this—"
He paused just long enough for every god in the hall to lean in slightly, waiting.
"The next time I go out," Alex said, his tone as casual as if he were speaking about the weather, "if any hair or anything else falls out, I'll burn it immediately."
The hall went silent.
Truly silent.
Even the faint, soft sound of the rivers running along the sides of the hall seemed to fade.
Gods glanced at each other, surprised by the bluntness of his declaration.
Zeus arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly, as if part of him hadn't expected such an answer.
Hera's eyes narrowed, studying him with that cool, unblinking focus she was known for.
"You're saying," Zeus said slowly, "that you would destroy what the world would kill for, simply because it causes chaos?"
"Yes," Alex said without hesitation. "It isn't worth the trouble. If it stops people from fighting, then I'll burn whatever I lose. Simple."
A few of the younger gods muttered under their breath.
"He says it like it's nothing…"
"Even our blood can't compare to what his hair does…"
"…he's treating it like trash…"
Hermes smirked from beside Alex, clearly amused by the reaction.
Zeus's storm-blue eyes narrowed, but instead of anger, there was an unmistakable glint of curiosity now — sharper, more interested.
"You speak boldly," he said. "Few in this hall would have the audacity to say such a thing before us."
Alex replied evenly, "I've never cared about what this hall thinks."
The tension in the air thickened, and all around, the gods waited to see what would happen next.
The quiet was broken not by Zeus, but by Hera.
Her voice was cool and measured, yet it carried through the vast throne hall like a blade cutting the air.
"Alex Elwood," she said, "you stand here without bowing, without hesitation, as though the presence of gods means nothing to you. Why?"
Every eye in the room turned to him.
Alex looked at her calmly.
"You want to know why I'm not afraid?"
"Yes," Hera replied, her green eyes sharp. "Even the strongest gods are cautious in this hall. Yet you are not."
Alex tilted his head slightly. "Then answer me this."
He glanced around the hall, meeting the gaze of those who had been whispering moments ago.
"Is there anyone here," he asked slowly, "who can defeat Fenrir with one punch?"
The words echoed, heavy and cold, hanging in the air like thunder.
The throne hall froze.
Dozens of gods flinched — not because of the arrogance in his tone, but because everyone here remembered that day. They had been watching. Olympus had been watching, just like every other pantheon, when the wolf that even gods feared had been struck down by a single blow.
Alex's black eyes moved over them, sharp as a blade.
"You were watching then," he said. "So you already know the answer."
No one spoke.
Not even Zeus.
In the heavy silence that followed, Hera's lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze, instead of anger, held something more dangerous: interest.
For the first time, she studied him not as a mortal standing in their hall… but as someone who had proven he could stand among them.
Hera tilted her head slightly, her eyes still fixed on Alex.
"Then tell me," she said, her voice calm but edged with curiosity, "where did you take Fenrir? You did not kill her. After that strike, she vanished."
The hall stirred again at her words. Many of the gods had wondered the same thing.
Alex's expression didn't change.
"She wanted peace," he said simply. "Somewhere away from gods, away from mortals, away from everything. So I gave it to her."
"A peaceful place?" Hera asked, leaning forward slightly on her throne. "Where?"
For a moment, Alex was silent. Then, without hesitation, he said, "Guess how many stars there are in this solar system."
The gods exchanged puzzled glances. A few muttered under their breath.
"In one of them," Alex continued calmly, "is where she is now."
The hall fell silent again. Hera's sharp gaze stayed on him, but there was no sign of deception in his voice, and yet—she could tell he wasn't going to reveal the truth.
She exhaled softly, leaning back against her throne.
"…So that is how it is."
Zeus glanced at her briefly, then returned his attention to Alex.
Around them, whispers rippled once more: Fenrir, untouchable for ages, hidden by the very one standing before them.
The gods who had come expecting a mere mortal realized, one by one, that this was no ordinary guest.
As the whispers of the gods filled the hall, Alex stood silently at the base of the dais, his expression calm and unchanging.
But in the quiet of his own mind, a single thought stirred:
That was a lie.
Fenrir was nowhere near this solar system.
She wasn't hidden on a planet orbiting Earth's sun.
He had sent her to a place so distant that even gods could not reach it — World Frontier.
A planet in another galaxy, so far away that even the finest divine senses would lose themselves before ever finding it.
The image came to him briefly:
endless plains under twin moons, wild forests stretching to the horizon, oceans of stars reflected in clear lakes.
A world that felt alive, raw, untouched.
A world that reminded him of beginnings.
It was there that Fenrir slept, content at last, free from the weight of everything she had once been.
And it was there, years ago, that he had taken his first step into a reality beyond Earth.
The place where he had met Ciel, the will of that distant planet.
A place he never forgot.
Alex's eyes returned to the present, steady and unreadable as ever.
Not one god in the room could guess the truth.
The murmur of the gods swelled again after Alex's words, but Zeus lifted his scepter and brought it down once, the sound reverberating through the throne hall like a peal of thunder.
"Enough," he said.
The voices fell silent instantly.
Zeus's storm-blue gaze never left Alex. "This audience was not called for idle speculation. You were summoned because Olympus wishes to speak to you directly. No more, no less."
He gestured to the side, and a seat — carved from smooth white marble, simple compared to the thrones — formed on the mosaic floor, facing the dais.
"Sit, Alex Elwood," Zeus said. "You are not a supplicant here. You are a guest. Let us speak openly."
Hermes, standing nearby, smirked and whispered, "That's as polite as Olympus gets. You might as well take the offer."
Alex gave him a sidelong glance, then crossed the remaining steps and sat down without hesitation, his posture as steady as if he belonged there.
As soon as he sat, Zeus's expression hardened slightly.
"There is much for us to discuss," he said. "Your strength. The chaos caused by your very presence. And what role you intend to play as the balance of the world shifts."
His voice carried a weight that filled the chamber, but Alex met it with silence, listening, waiting.
Beside Zeus, Hera rested her chin lightly on one hand, studying Alex with those sharp green eyes.
For the first time, there was no hostility in the hall — only the quiet intensity of gods preparing to speak plainly.
Zeus leaned forward slightly, both hands resting on the head of his scepter.
When he spoke, the air in the throne hall grew heavy again, as if the sky itself had lowered to hear the answer.
"Then I will ask you plainly, Alex Elwood," he said.
"What are your intentions? Toward the gods… and toward this world?"
For a long moment, Alex sat silent.
He looked up at Zeus, unshaken, and then answered in a tone that carried through the hall without the need to raise his voice.
"I don't have any grand plan," he said. "I live my life."
His words were simple, but there was an edge to them, unpolished yet absolute.
"If someone tries to hurt me," Alex continued, "or the people I care about, I will be their enemy. It doesn't matter if they're mortal or god."
The room grew still, the murmurs gone again.
"But," he added, "if they have no hostility toward me, if they don't threaten me, I won't touch them. They can do whatever they want."
The hall absorbed his words, and for a brief instant, the weight of Olympus seemed to press down on him, testing every syllable.
Zeus studied him for a long moment.
His storm-blue eyes flickered with something almost like recognition.
Hera's gaze, sharp as glass, lingered on him as if trying to decide whether to take his words as arrogance or truth.
And from the sides of the hall, many gods whispered silently among themselves — not in mockery, but in the rare tone of those who understood a warning when they heard one.
For a while, Zeus said nothing.
His gaze was deep, the blue in his eyes like a sky heavy with storms, watching Alex as if weighing every word he had spoken.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"I see," Zeus said at last, his voice steady. "So that is your law. You neither seek war nor bend knee. You answer only to your own will, and to those you choose to protect."
He leaned back slightly on the throne, one hand tightening over the scepter.
"That is… a simple path. But one not without consequence. There are many among gods and mortals alike who will not accept a man who stands outside their order."
Zeus's gaze sharpened again, but there was no anger in it. Only understanding.
"Still," he said, "I can respect that clarity. Better an honest enemy than a false ally."
The hall was silent.
Even those who had whispered before stayed quiet now, watching as Zeus's words acknowledged something rare: an understanding, however small, between Olympus and the man who stood alone.
Zeus rested both hands on his scepter, the deep timbre of his voice carrying across the vast hall.
"Then hear this, Alex Elwood," he said.
"Olympus will not interfere with you, so long as your path does not cross into hostility against us. We will watch, but we will not move."
He rose slightly from his throne, and the air around him seemed to hum with power, the weight of the sky itself pressing down for a moment.
"But know this," Zeus continued. "If the day comes when you stand against Olympus — if you strike at this hall or those who belong to it — then no respect will shield you. Even the Void Knight and Aten will not matter. You will find Olympus as your enemy."
The words echoed, but Alex did not look away.
"Fair enough," he said simply.
Zeus's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, then he sat back, the pressure lifting from the hall.
"Good," Zeus said. "Then there is nothing more to be said on that matter. For now, you may move freely in Olympus. Hermes will remain as your guide."
The gods around the hall whispered again, but this time the tone was different. It was less of idle gossip and more the acknowledgment of a decision — an unusual agreement between Olympus and someone who stood entirely outside of it.
Zeus's voice rolled out again, final and clear:
"This audience is concluded. Let it be known that Olympus has spoken."
The great golden doors of the hall began to open once more, and the murmurs of the gathered gods rose like a tide.
Hermes stepped forward, his staff resting casually across his shoulders, and tilted his head toward Alex.
"Come on," he said with an easy grin. "I'll take you out before someone decides to pester you with more questions."
Alex stood without a word.
As he turned away from the dais, he could feel dozens of eyes follow him — gods seated along the hall, watching every step he took.
Some were thoughtful, others wary, a few openly curious.
They whispered to each other behind raised hands:
"That presence…"
"He faced Zeus and Hera without fear."
"He's the one who defeated Fenrir…"
Hermes walked ahead, swinging his staff lazily.
"You handled that better than most gods do on their first day here," he said over his shoulder with a grin. "Not bad."
Alex glanced at him. "Was there supposed to be a test?"
Hermes smirked. "Everything here is a test."
They crossed the vast floor of the hall, the marble mosaics reflecting their figures as the golden doors opened wider. Beyond, Olympus awaited, its city still bright under the clear sky.
The moment Alex stepped out, the heavy atmosphere of the hall loosened, but the eyes of the gods outside now joined the ones inside, following him all the way down the long flight of steps.
"Let's go," Hermes said, matching Alex's calm pace as they descended.
"They'll be whispering about you for a long time."
Alex said nothing. His expression was as unreadable as ever.
Chapter 425 – A New Guide
The wide marble steps of Olympus stretched down beneath a perfect sky.
Hermes walked at Alex's side, the staff on his shoulder swaying lazily as the murmurs of the gods faded behind them.
"Well," Hermes said cheerfully, "you got out of there in one piece. That's better than half the gods who've been summoned in the last few centuries."
They had barely reached the second landing when a familiar voice called from ahead:
"Not so fast, little messenger."
Aphrodite stood at the base of the stairs, waiting as though she had known exactly where to find them.
Her long pink hair, scattered with golden roses, flowed down her bare back like silk.
Jewels and gold adorned her wrists and ankles, glinting under the sunlight, but it was her eyes — luminous, soft pink — that caught both of them and refused to let go.
Hermes slowed, his grin faltering. "Oh… it's you."
Aphrodite smiled sweetly. "How rude. I'm here to help."
Alex stopped a step behind Hermes, watching her approach without a word.
"I'll take over as his guide," Aphrodite said, her tone light as if she were talking about a casual stroll. "I can show him Olympus far better than you."
Hermes frowned. "Now wait just a—"
She tilted her head, that pink hair sliding gracefully over one bare shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for him to hear:
"If you don't let me, I'll personally deliver a letter to Amaterasu describing in detail that little bet you made on her."
Hermes froze. "…You wouldn't."
"Oh," Aphrodite said sweetly, "I would. With drawings."
For the first time since leaving the hall, Alex's eyebrow twitched. Hermes sighed, lowering his staff.
"You fight dirty," he muttered.
"I fight smart," she corrected, stepping lightly up the last few steps. She stopped in front of Alex, close enough that the faint scent of roses brushed against him, and smiled.
"I'll be your guide from now on," she said. "Shall we go?"
Alex met her gaze without flinching. "Do what you want."
Hermes groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you, Alex. She doesn't guide. She hunts."
Aphrodite only laughed, looping one arm loosely through Alex's as if they were already walking companions.
"Then let's see what Olympus has to offer."
Olympus spread out before them, a city of marble and gold basking in clear light.
Gods of every rank lined the wide streets, curious to watch the mortal who had faced Zeus and Hera without a flicker of fear.
Now, they stared for a different reason.
Because beside Alex, walking as if she had claimed the spot by right, was Aphrodite.
Her bare feet barely touched the polished stones as she moved.
She stayed close to Alex, her arm brushing his, her pink hair swaying like a waterfall.
Every so often, she leaned in with a smile that would have made kings weak.
"Do you always walk this fast?" she teased softly.
"Or are you trying to escape me?"
Alex glanced at her but said nothing, continuing forward at the same calm pace.
"You know," she said, keeping her voice low so only he could hear, "I don't do this often."
"Do what?" Alex asked.
"Walk beside someone like this. Without trying to be worshipped," she replied, and for a moment her tone lacked the usual playful edge.
He looked at her again, noticing something he hadn't before.
Her steps weren't just graceful. They were… grounded.
The usual overwhelming scent of seduction around her had softened into something more natural, like she wasn't trying to overwhelm him anymore.
And when she smiled up at him this time, her eyes were still pink and luminous, but there was a hint of something else. Something quieter.
Sincerity.
The other gods whispered as they passed:
"Is she… actually walking with him?"
"She never does that."
"Has she changed?"
Aphrodite ignored all of it.
Instead, she tilted her head, the golden roses in her hair catching the light, and said softly,
"Tell me, Alex. When you look at me now, do you still see the same woman you told to leave your door?"
Alex studied her in silence for a moment, then replied, "Not exactly."
Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Good."
For once, she didn't push further.
They continued down the broad street together, the eyes of Olympus on them, and for the first time, Alex could feel that the goddess beside him was not pretending to be something she wasn't.
As Alex and Aphrodite walked through the wide streets of Olympus, the whispers around them became clearer.
Gods, demigods, and spirits stood at a distance, their voices lowered but unable to contain their surprise.
"That's her?" one murmured.
"She's changed. Look at her—she hasn't even glanced at anyone else."
"I heard she's been refusing offers. Even the ones with treasure."
"Refusing? Aphrodite? Impossible."
"It's true," another whispered, almost disbelieving. "Two nights ago a god offered her a vault of star-silver, and she turned him away. And yesterday? A king offered his entire kingdom. She didn't even take the time to laugh at him. She just said no."
Normally, these streets would have been a constant parade of men and gods alike approaching her, each trying to buy a night of her attention with gold, jewels, or promises.
Now, as she walked with Alex, no one dared step forward. They could see it in her eyes: that door was closed.
Aphrodite heard every word of their whispers and did not react. She didn't preen at the praise, didn't smirk at the disbelief.
She just glanced sideways at Alex and said softly, "It's strange, isn't it? How quickly people talk when you change your mind."
Alex looked at her. "You've been refusing them all?"
"Yes," she said simply. "What use do I have for wealth or promises from people I don't care about?"
Her tone was quiet, but firm.
The gods who overheard that answer looked at each other, more stunned than ever.
For the first time in centuries, the goddess of beauty and desire was walking past their offers as if they meant nothing.
And all because her attention was fixed on the man beside her.
They eventually left the busy streets behind, climbing a winding marble path that led to a high balcony overlooking all of Olympus.
From there, the city stretched like a tapestry of gold and white, clouds drifting lazily below, and beyond that, a sky so clear it looked infinite.
No one else came this far. It was a place of quiet.
Aphrodite walked to the railing, her long pink hair swaying in the soft breeze. For a moment she didn't speak, only gazed at the city below.
Then she turned to him. Her expression was different now—gentler, stripped of its playful mask.
"What you said to me that day," she began, "was true."
Her pink eyes lowered slightly as she leaned against the railing, the gold roses in her hair trembling lightly in the wind.
"I have slept with many men," she said quietly. "Gods, kings, mortals, heroes… and all the races that offered themselves to me. They brought me treasures, lands, jewels, everything they thought could make me say yes."
Her fingers tightened faintly on the railing.
"And yes, I took them. I let them court me. I let them worship me. And when I was bored, I left."
She turned her gaze to the horizon.
"There were also men who caught my eye. Men I chose for myself. Not because of what they offered, but because for a moment… I wanted them. I walked up to them, and they couldn't resist me. And then," she said softly, "I left them too."
Her voice was calm, but there was no pride in it. Only honesty.
"I thought that was what love was for someone like me. A game. Something fleeting."
She looked back at him.
"And then you told me you despised me for that. That I wasn't sincere. And for the first time, I realized… you were right."
She held his gaze, her pink eyes now clear, no longer hiding behind seduction.
"That's who I was," Aphrodite said. "But it's not who I want to be now."
Aphrodite let the silence hang for a moment, the wind brushing past them. Then she exhaled slowly and continued, her voice lower now, steadier.
"I won't pretend to be something I'm not, Alex," she said. "I am a woman with heavy desires. Lustful. That part of me has always been there."
Her fingers traced the smooth marble railing absentmindedly as she spoke.
"And because of that," she went on, "I have had many children. More than I can count. With gods, with mortals, with heroes. I never raised them. I always left them with their fathers, thinking that was enough. A gift, a trace of me, and then I would move on to the next desire."
Her eyes lowered, and for a moment she seemed smaller, almost fragile against the boundless sky.
"Some of those children became great. Some lived ordinary lives. And some… resented me. I can't blame them for that."
She glanced at him, a faint but honest smile curving her lips.
"That is the truth of the woman standing before you. I've always lived by desire, never thinking of what came after."
There was no game in her words. No seduction.
For the first time, Aphrodite was speaking plainly — laying out the parts of herself she had never admitted aloud.