"I feel that not only will he not nail me to a mountain right now, but he'll actually help me."
The youth, quite certain of the strongest god's desire for the taste of defeat, shrugged and said.
"Hah? My master will help you? Are you joking?"
As if she had just heard something utterly preposterous, the Flügel maiden suspended in mid-air let out a sneer.
"If you are, I can only say you have a terrible sense of humor."
"My master will not spare any enemy."
"Artosh won't spare any enemy, that is true."
The youth, who knew full well that the god who had been the strongest for so long only knew that he was the strongest, but not what it truly felt like, shrugged his shoulders again.
"But—if I were to become a little stronger, I think he would be even happier."
"Are you kidding me?"
Jibril's eyes flew wide open. She truly never expected this person to say something so outrageous.
"It might sound strange, but it's perfectly normal for the God of War, the symbol of 'strongest,' to want to know what 'strongest' means, isn't it?"
"It is usually the weak who can understand and define 'strongest.'"
"Just as a theorem cannot prove itself, a full cup cannot be filled further. Infinite victory begins to look like the natural state of things. A god with no equal is naturally unable to know what 'strongest' truly is."
The youth lightly explained the God of War Artosh's inner desire.
"If it's you, you should be able to see something of this in the special treatment Artosh gives you, Jibril."
Jibril, suspended in mid-air, fell silent.
Although she was addicted to slaughter, it did not mean her head was stuffed with muscles.
Ever since the God of War killed the other strongest being, her seniors had said that his spirit had grown listless.
He was the victor, yet he was as dejected as a defeated man.
"The other 'strongest' came to understand what 'strongest' meant through his defeat. After his battle with the End Dragon, your master truly fell into a state of infinite victory."
The youth, likely using his psychic abilities to read Jibril's thoughts with ease, shrugged and recounted the past for her.
"For the strongest of gods, being unable to comprehend what 'strongest' means is undoubtedly a very painful thing. Therefore, it's only natural that his spirits fell."
In this world, the gods were fundamentally conceptual beings.
And once a conceptual god began to ponder their own concept, it was very easy for them to be dragged into a philosophical abyss.
Clearly, Artosh had been driven mad by this problem of self-cognition.
He desperately hoped for someone to challenge him, so that in a moment of defeat, he could understand what "strongest" meant from the perspective of the weak.
Jibril, who was doted on precisely because she dared to challenge her master, grew even more silent.
The man before her wanted to challenge her master, the God of War Artosh, and the God of War also hoped for someone who could defeat him at his full power.
He hadn't said it aloud.
If this person really did become stronger because of certain events, her master would genuinely be happy. He would turn a blind eye to some of his actions, and might even provide some assistance.
Although such a thing sounded preposterous, there was a clear chain of logic to it.
And then—
Jibril sank into deep thought.
If that was the case, then this person's appearance, his growth in power, and his eventual hostility towards her master were all things Artosh was looking forward to.
So, why did I rush out to fight him?
A feeling called regret surfaced in Jibril's heart.
"Well then, sir, who has decided to be my master's enemy, what do you plan to do with me?"
Little Jibril, hanging in the air, looked at the man who had made it clear he wouldn't kill her, and suddenly became a little anxious.
After explaining that his plan to kill the God of War had the God of War's tacit approval, he still hadn't released her, nor had he stated her punishment...
This made Miss Jibril a little uneasy.
"Emmm, about that, let me think."
Perhaps because his Origin was sealed, the man's compassion for beauties had been greatly reduced. He studied the girl's delicate face, stroking his chin in thought.
He definitely couldn't kill Jibril.
After all, she was Artosh's favorite kin. Killing her now would be a direct declaration of war against Artosh.
But if he just let her go, wouldn't he lose a lot of face?
Should he drag her back and lock her in the basement as a plush ball?
That sounded nice.
The youth, who was a magus at his core and thus not particularly opposed to such things, considered it seriously for a moment.
Sometimes, he too wanted to indulge in more... stimulating pastimes.
But those pastimes were obviously not very suitable to be used on the wives who were willing to spend their lives with him and bear his children.
If I could keep a 'plush ball' in the basement, that seems like a pretty good option.
But very quickly, he lowered his head and sighed.
If he were still alone, he could of course play however he wanted.
When you're alone, you can naturally do as you please.
But he was a family man now, and would even be a father before long. If his wives were to see that he had this kind of hobby, regardless of whether they accepted it or not, a whole heap of domestic disputes would surely follow.
That truly wouldn't be worth the trouble.
Emmm...
Besides, the other Flügel should be arriving soon.
A slightly wicked smile appeared on the face of the youth, who planned to show goodwill to the God of War Artosh by letting the offending Flügel go, while also counting on this group of Flügel to carry a message back to Artosh for him.
So, I might as well use this little bit of time to have some fun.
"For offending me so casually, you should be punished, even if you are the kin of the God of War."
"But—"
The youth looked at the girl, whose age was a mere fraction of the other Flügel, and spoke.
"When a child makes a mistake, they should be treated leniently, right?"
Hearing these words, a glimmer of hope rose in the heart of Jibril, who was pitifully young among the Flügel.
She suddenly felt that her luck wasn't so bad after all.
How ironic. In this world, there is a word called "delusion."
And her current feeling was precisely that.
And then—
Like a declaration from the Grim Reaper himself, the youth spoke with a beaming smile.
"For the Flügel, whose average age is twenty thousand years, five hundred years should be a rather short amount of time, shouldn't it?"
"As punishment for offending me, I'll just pin you under a mountain for five hundred years with your butt sticking out."