"Put some spirit into it, you lot!"
"Giga! (Yes, sir!)"
At Nemea's roar, the compendium residents thrust their right fists forward in unison. This early-morning martial arts training had become an established daily routine. Under their master's orders, martial arts instruction was given every day on a rotating basis.
Beast though he appeared, Nemea was nonetheless a beast god who had attained divine status. He had once vanquished an evil deity heralded as the most terrifying of all, making a name for himself among the gods. Taking pride in possessing the supreme martial prowess among countless deities, he had proclaimed himself Divine Beast King Nemea. Yet once the curtain was pulled back, he discovered he had merely been a frog in a well.
Leave alone his overwhelmingly powerful master, he was no match even for the dragon god Fafnir beneath him. He might well have to bow before several of the subordinates under his master whose numbers continued to grow by the day.
Naturally, he had no intention of falling behind anyone other than his master in pure martial skill, but in a no-holds-barred clash, the story was entirely different. The preposterous special abilities wielded by the gods and mythical monsters gathered before his master were utterly unreasonable.
Moreover, those abilities had evolved precisely because they were linked to their master's soul through that wondrous compendium. In other words, they were essentially gifts bestowed by their master.
Originally, this Gods' Ordeal was the most grueling crucible designed to guide a god into becoming a chief god. The strength of those placed here was beyond imagination; being cast into this place was in itself proof of being a powerhouse. Yet their master was evolving these already formidable beings to even greater heights. It seemed impossible that anyone else in this world could ever achieve such a feat.
Just what kind of being was their master? He merely joked about being an ordinary human, never revealing the truth. Yet judging by the sheer, unreasonable magnitude of his existence, he had to be an anomaly even among the nameless gods.
Of course, there were those who paid no mind to what their master truly was. For instance—the ones offering their prayers outside his house at this very moment.
"......Oh, Supreme One!
Forgive the frailty of us lowly vermin!
Forgive the dull-wittedness of us lowly vermin!
Forgive the incompetence of us lowly vermin!
Under the great one's protection, we lowly vermin shall rule our domain and attain the pinnacle of glory!
We lowly vermin shall annihilate all foolish rabble who dare oppose the great one!
........."
Girimehkala was an evil god. His followers were likewise composed primarily of wicked and evil deities. The notion of gods offering up prayers sounded like a bad joke. Yet they were dead serious, treating their master as an object of devout worship.
To Girimehkala and his cohort, their master was a sacred, inviolable being. Thus, every single morning at dawn, they would offer up these bizarre, nonsensical prayers.
On the other hand—a flight of dragons was marching toward the front of their master's house with earth-shaking thuds, led by a colossal seven-headed golden dragon.
"Quiet! We are in the midst of prayer!"
Keeping his body bowed in worship, Girimehkala rolled his three bulging eyes toward the lead golden dragon.
"Ye are the noisy ones! Making such a blasted racket at the break of dawn is a bloody nuisance to our lord, is it not?!"
The seven-headed golden dragon—Ladon—shouted without bothering to conceal his fury.
"A nuisance, you say?! How dare you mock our holy devotion!"
"Revering our lord is fine and dandy! But I am telling ye there is a limit to all things!"
The two factions glared and snarled at one another. They never grew tired of this squabble. But if left unchecked, they would certainly disturb their master's slumber.
"Cease this at once! You stand before the master's presence!"
Brought to their senses by Nemea's shout, the Girimehkala Faction wordlessly withdrew into the compendium, while the dragons sprawled out on the ground where they were.
Good grief. The Girimehkala Faction and the dragons engaged in this sort of fruitless bickering practically every single day.
It was not as though they genuinely despised each other. The dispute stemmed entirely from whether one ought to offer absolute loyalty or absolute faith to their master. Well, while that applied to varying degrees to all the compendium residents including Nemea, those two groups were simply far too overzealous.
Indeed. Ladon and his kin revered their master—bearer of the special title Dragon Slayer—as their supreme sovereign, frequently offering up fruits and meats harvested within the compendium. What was more, there was another reason driving the dragons into such a frenzy.
"Morning."
"Good morning, I say!"
"Mornin'~"
Their master, Fafnir, and Fenrir emerged from the house.
"Company, ten-hut!"
At Nemea's command, the compendium residents undergoing morning training snapped to attention in unison, pressed their right fists against their open left palms, and bowed.
Ladon and the other dragons rose as well, lowering their heads with deep respect.
"Lord, here are the fruits and meats harvested from within the compendium. Please accept our humble offering."
Ladon respectfully presented a bountiful pile of provisions onto the ground.
"Oh, thanks, that helps. Though Faf... won't be able to finish all this alone. I know. Why don't we throw a banquet today? I'm pretty sure I received some fine fruit liquor from Shuten recently, too."
Shuten was a fierce god who presided over alcohol. A prickly, difficult artisan to deal with, but the brew he crafted was intoxicatingly delicious.
"A banquet, I say! A banquet, I say! Ladon, thank you, I say!"
When Fafnir threw its arms around Ladon, the dragons' fierce faces melted into hopelessly dopey grins.
That was the true reason the dragons were so enthusiastic. They were utterly head over heels for Fafnir, making tearful, desperate efforts day in and day out just to win its favor.
Their master glanced back toward the front door and called out to the silver-haired woman who was stepping out with a yawn.
"Nine-Tails, you can cook, right? Give us a hand."
"Understood, yes indeed."
Her face lit up with sheer delight at being relied upon, and Nine-Tails happily threw her arms around their master.
Lately, Nine-Tails had taken up residence in their master's house alongside Fenrir, remaining at their master's side wherever he went.
"Pass the word to Girimehkala and the others, too. All right, everyone, let's get ready for the feast!"
At their master's command, a unified roar of cheers erupted, and preparations for the banquet swiftly got underway.
Nemea watched this spectacle in a daze—a scene that, by all rights, should have been impossible.
Gathered here were proud, bloodthirsty war gods and mythical monstrosities. Their pride was boundless; the idea that a single man's word could unite them all in seamless harmony was utterly unthinkable. Such a sight could never be achieved by any chief god in existence.
"Truly an unfathomable master."
Reaffirming the absolute greatness of his liege, Nemea set off to make preparations for the impromptu banquet.