"Many thanks, Your Excellency. I will take my leave."
Locke bowed respectfully toward the Death Sovereign upon her throne. With a sweep of divine power, he wrapped Cole within it and instantly departed from the Sovereign's palace.
They descended to his waterside residence halfway up the mountain. Locke withdrew his divine power, allowing Cole to steady himself.
Taking a seat, Locke looked at him calmly.
"Now then… should I call you Cole, or Corwell?"
Cole raised his head. In his eyes lingered both fear and resentment.
The fear was for Locke's overwhelming strength.
The resentment… for the life he had lived.
For being denied the chance to reach the Saint level. For being confined by his own son within Locke Manor. For dying alone.
"'Cole' was the name I bore in life," he said at last. "Since I've already died once… call me Corwell."
"I see."
Locke nodded.
He understood.
This was Corwell's way of severing ties with his past—and with him.
"Very well."
"In life, your attitude after our parents' passing made it difficult for me to truly accept you."
"And later, when you defied my wishes and sought to sacrifice innocent souls for power… I was completely disappointed."
"Still, no matter what, you were my younger brother. That is why I asked the Sovereign to retrieve you from the Sea of Undead and restore your memories."
"Now that you have chosen the name Corwell… it means the bond between us ends here."
A flicker of regret passed through Corwell's heart.
In life, he had relied on Locke—becoming the ruler of Locke Territory, gaining resources that allowed him to reach the peak of the eighth rank.
Without that support, he knew he might not even have reached that level.
And now…
This Locke was far stronger than before.
If he had his backing again—
Perhaps he could go even further.
"Bringing you out of the Netherworld and restoring your memories… that was my decision."
"So, I will give you two choices as compensation."
"Speak."
Corwell did not refuse.
The stronger Locke was, the more valuable his "compensation" would be.
"The first choice is for me to send you back to our home—the Frostsnow Plane."
"There are countless material planes in this world. Ours is just one of them."
"Above them lie the Seven Divine Planes and the Four Higher Planes."
"And here… is the Netherworld, one of those four."
"You should already feel it. Though you are Saint-level, here your strength is no different from that of an ordinary mortal in a material plane. You couldn't even break a stone."
"In the Divine and Higher Planes, Saints are no better than slaves—the lowest of the low."
"Only by becoming a god can one truly stand as a person."
Corwell lowered his head, a trace of regret surfacing.
"So," Locke continued, "your first option is to return to the Frostsnow Plane."
"With your restored memories, you know what a Saint represents there—power, status, freedom."
"I choose that—!"
The words nearly escaped him.
But after over two million years in the Netherworld, Corwell had long since lost the impulsiveness of his former self.
"What is the second choice?"
"If you do not wish to return, then I will give you three divine sparks."
"Refine them, and you will become a Highgod—able to survive in the Divine and Higher Planes."
"A Highgod…"
Corwell's eyes lit up.
Godhood.
Something he could never have achieved in life.
Just as he was about to answer, Locke spoke again.
"Before you decide, I'll explain what that means."
"Above Saints are gods."
"Gods are divided into Demigod, God, and Highgod."
"But even among Highgods, the disparity is immense."
"The strongest are thousands—tens of thousands—of times stronger than the weakest."
"Those who become Highgods by refining divine sparks… are the weakest."
"And they will never improve further."
"In the Frostsnow Plane, there are only three gods: the founding emperor of the empire, Celes; the Pope of the Radiant Church; and the plane overseer stationed by the Sovereigns."
"Celes and the Pope are Highgods. The overseer is a God."
"If you return, only those three surpass you."
"And if you are fortunate… you may even comprehend the Laws yourself and become a god on your own."
"But if you stay here and choose divine sparks…"
"Then in the Netherworld, there will be countless Highgods stronger than you—many who could kill you without effort."
Corwell fell silent.
If he returned, his safety would be assured.
But godhood… would remain forever out of reach.
For over a million years, he had stagnated at the Saint level.
He knew his limit.
But here—
He could become a Highgod.
Even if only the weakest.
Still…
That was something he could never achieve, even in millions of years.
He looked at Locke.
Still the same as before. Calm. Detached. As if nothing in the world could move him.
And for some reason—
Something stirred within Corwell's heart.
He had lived long enough.
Another few million years… would only be more of the same.
In that case—
"Big brother… I choose to refine the divine sparks and remain in the Netherworld."
That single phrase—big brother—made Locke pause.
For a brief moment, he seemed to see the past again.
A small boy crying, clinging to him, unwilling to let him leave.
"…Sigh."
Locke exhaled softly, his expression easing.
"In life, you had affinity for the Earth Laws. After death, you gained affinity for the Death Edicts."
"You can only choose one."
"Earth… or Death."
"I recommend Death."
"The Edicts are inherently stronger than the Laws. A Highgod of the Edicts is also slightly stronger than one of the Laws."
"In that case… I choose Death."
"Very well."
With a flick of his hand, Locke produced three divine sparks of the Death Edicts and handed them over.
"The Netherworld is not safe. Stay here and refine them. Once you have some ability to protect yourself, you may leave."
"…Understood."
Taking the divine sparks, Corwell turned and walked away.
But as he stepped into the residence, he froze.
The layout—
It was identical to their childhood home.
In that instant, a long-forgotten memory surfaced.
Back then, during a family meal, Locke had once asked—
"If people can regain their memories after death and live again with power… would you choose that?"
Their father had laughed.
"Your mother and I are content with one life."
Their mother had smiled.
"We've had enough. Why live again?"
"Besides… who knows if I'd choose your father again?"
"One life is enough."
Standing there, Corwell suddenly understood.
Perhaps… even then, Locke had been thinking about all of this.
As for himself—
He knew what he had been.
Even if he had succeeded in reaching Saint level through sacrifice…
He would never have gone further.
Becoming an undead had given him affinity for the Death Edicts.
Yet he had once dreamed of comprehending them on his own?
What a joke.
Without hesitation, Corwell entered the room that had once been his.
And began refining the divine sparks.
—
In the main hall, Locke sat quietly.
He did not know what memories Corwell had recalled.
Back then, he had wanted his entire family to become gods.
But reality…
Was merciless.
To refine a divine spark, one needed at least Saint-level strength.
His parents had been ordinary people.
They never had that chance.
T/N:this chapter was so sad. I really despise Locke's brother to be honest.
⭐ Enjoying the story?
You can read ahead and support the translations by joining my Patreon! Your support helps me update faster and take on more projects. Thank you for reading!
Read up to 50 chapters ahead!
patreon.com/AminaSims
Next Bonus Chapter at 500 powerstones