Galthor and Commander Oryn stared at each other in the fighting pit, ignoring the eyes of the people staring down at them from the edge.

They took measures of each other. The commander carried only a short sword and held it casually in his hand as he stared at Galthor with indifference. It seemed that although he didn't say anything, he agreed with the people who said the duel was beneath him and a waste of time.

Galthor, on the other hand, appeared serious as he watched his opponent. He carried no weapons of his own, preferring to fight with his bare hands even after Karathra tried her best to convince him otherwise.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his fingers, his brain working fast. In this Divine World, while essence users and their masters were powerful, their power was somehow straightforward.

Essence users were like some martial artists—the types in comics and books, the "boring" types. They could use techniques to channel and amplify their powers, but they couldn't use them to call ice or summon fire. Only those above, blessed by legacy, divinity, or other entities, could use those kinds of powers.

People like Commander Oryn.

Galthor flashed a smile, and then he released his aura—everything. A blast of shockwave ripped out from him, a mixture of angry red and silver, turning the air around him heavy and oppressive.

It reached higher and slammed into the rows of those watching, and they gasped as they were shoved back. The barbarians all lowered their heads instinctively, bowing before their brains even caught up.

The Jaded Lord frowned from his throne, his face flashing with a complicated expression. "He's... blessed? That's divinity! Which god would bless a barbarian?"

Down in the pit, Oryn staggered back, his indifference wiped clean as he took on a shocked look. He flung his own aura up to counter, grunting as the air around him erupted into a shockwave explosion. He looked at the chief with accusing eyes. "So you were hiding your powers!"

Galthor shrugged. "I was not. I agreed to a death duel with you, did I not?"

There was a reason Galthor's aura was so potent, and it was simply because he was a god. It was part of his being. It was one of the things that made a god, a god—and it would only grow with time.

Oryn grunted and his eyes flashed. His wings flared, opening wide, and as they did, the air in the pit seemed to tilt toward him as if he were pulling on it. He raised his sword and brought it down in one swift motion, and the air compressed and exploded forward in a vertical strike.

Galthor was already moving away from his position, avoiding the wind blade easily, but Oryn was ready for that, and in a blink, he sent more than half a dozen.

The air whined and screamed as they tore through space, moving at incredible speed that could be compared to bullets. And even though Galthor was fast, it was a different thing when confronted with six of them. He couldn't avoid one, so he didn't. His hand snapped forward, his fingers and palm covered in red and silver light as he took hold of one of the wind blades, crushing it with his bare hand.

The wind blade exploded, the resulting energy shredding the energy coating his palm and sending him back a bit. Just in time, he felt a sense of danger behind him and ducked down before he even knew what he was doing.

A short blade passed through where his head had been before the blade changed direction mid-flight and came cutting down on Galthor!

At the same time, he found that the winds around him were now as hard as metal, holding him and binding him, giving him no chance to move!

Time seemed to slow down as the blade came so close that he could see the sharp edge glittering coldly.

Galthor directed his divine aura into his legs, retracting it as an aura and instead infusing it into his body.

He exploded forward, the air restraining him shrugged away as if it weren't there. He moved his whole body to the side like a whirlwind, dodging the short sword, and at the same time, he used his longer reach to make a move toward Oryn's hand. But the commander was a seasoned fighter, and he easily let go of his sword while simultaneously blasting himself back with wind.

His short sword hit the ground a moment later, easily cutting the stone apart.

The two of them stared at each other.

No one was underestimating anyone anymore. Even everyone in the hall, including the Jaded Lord, wore serious looks as they now, for the first time, thought of what would happen if they lost.

But nobody was as shocked as Skolvar Dustfang as he watched the fight. He couldn't help but shudder slightly, especially with Karathra looking at him with such intense focus.

Down below, the mini staring competition was still ongoing as the two stared at each other.

Galthor knew that as a god, he must have all sorts of powers, but right now he didn't know what they were or how to use them. He'd searched the memories available to him from the dead god, but it all came out as nothing.

'...the Divine Interface must have all of it and how to advance them. But why the fuck won't I even know how to summon lightning or anything? All I have now is raw strength. Seriously, when I finally get my hands on a legacy, the Divine Interface better give me something good...'

In the audiobooks he'd read, the protagonist always had interesting powers up their sleeves. But then again, Galthor already agreed that his own protagonist—if he was even one—had already started on the wrong foot.

But no worries.

Galthor had listened to lots of books, and he had some tricks to play too.

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