Ariana remained at a distance, watching.
The goblins were her creation and, whether she liked it or not, she had grown fond of them. They hunted, fought, and killed because that was how they had been designed—not out of conscious malice, but out of instinct, out of survival. When she had created them, Ariana had envisioned the goblins she remembered from her past life, and because of that, she could not expect them to be much different. They were contesting territory. For now, that was all.
She flew over the area near the cave and, from above, noticed that there was still movement there. Many goblins had stayed behind—males and females alike. The females rarely went outside; they remained within the cave, caring for the newborns, ensuring the colony continued to exist. The remaining males divided themselves between guarding the entrance and searching for food along safer routes.
It was a crude organization. Simple. But real.
And even so, Ariana knew—those who had gone to attack the great tree would not return.
Inside the cave, the Goblin King was furious. It was unmistakable. He slammed his fists against the stone, growling at the emptiness as if he could strike his enemy with hatred alone.
“Cursed tree…” he muttered.
Ariana watched the scene and could not help but shake her head.
So foolish… she thought, without any satisfaction in the realization. It was not contempt. It was the bitter coldness of one who sees a wrong choice becoming inevitable.
She turned away from the cave, leaving them to their defeat.
“For now, I won’t observe the goblins any longer,” she murmured to herself. “They have already been defeated. I want to see how they evolve… how they’ll try to overcome this.”
Then Ariana took flight and headed toward the wolves’ territory.
They had spread to many corners of the continent, with smaller packs migrating to distant forests, but this was still the largest pack. And as soon as she approached, Ariana noticed the difference: there was coordination here—an instinctive order that did not rely on a throne of bones.
The strongest rotated their watch. Others slept. The females stayed with the pups, protected. The most capable males went out to hunt and returned without fanfare, as if obeying an ancient rhythm that Arcadia merely allowed to exist.
At the center of the pack stood their leader.
A massive white wolf, motionless like a living statue, with light-blue eyes shining in contrast against the night. He did not seem restless, nor hungry.
Only attentive.
As if the forest itself spoke to him.
Ariana let out a slow breath. Arcadia was functioning better than she had expected.
With that in mind, she decided to visit the World of the Dead.
A simple gesture of her hand tore space open before her, forming a silent rift. Without hesitation, Ariana stepped through.
Darkness enveloped her.
When her feet touched the ground of that world, the first thing she saw was a long line of souls. They walked slowly in a single direction, expressionless, without resistance. One by one, they disappeared into the void, pulled back toward Arcadia.
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Ariana could clearly sense that flow. It was not violence. Nor punishment.
It was return.
The cycle at work.
She observed in silence for a few moments before grasping the true weight of it.
Arcadia required attention.
The World of the Dead did as well.
And despite being connected, they were distinct places.
Ariana frowned slightly.
“System,” she called. “Can I create something… a creature to manage this place? Like Aeralith does in Arcadia?”
The answer came immediately, impersonal.
[Yes.]
[The greater the accumulated mana and invested power, the more efficient the created entity will be and the better it will perform its assigned functions.]
Ariana did not hesitate.
An idea had already taken shape.
I’ll create a god of death.
A subtle—almost dangerous—smile appeared on her lips.
She opened the System’s shop and purchased a Life Creation Card. Using it would reduce the direct strain on her body, limiting the consumption to energy that exceeded the card’s capacity. Holding it between her fingers, Ariana shattered it without ceremony.
In the next instant, her eyes turned black as the void.
The World of the Dead trembled.
Arcadia responded.
A colossal vortex of energy formed before her, violently drawing mana from both worlds toward its center. The air warped. Space groaned.
[Minor Deity Creation in progress…]
[Required energy insufficient.]
[Utilizing host energy.]
[Risk detected.]
[Searching for alternative method…]
[Absorbing entities.]
The souls around Ariana were torn from their paths, dragged into the vortex. Luminous fractures appeared across the goddess’s skin, clear signs of the absurd cost of her decision. Her power was being drained in real time.
Even so, she did not stop.
[Creation complete: Goddess of Death.]
[Congratulations. You have created your first administrative deity.]
The black glow in Ariana’s eyes faded. The vortex began to dissolve, and the weight finally struck her.
Her legs gave out.
Before she fell, two arms caught her.
“My goddess…” a soft, deep voice said. “I should be the one kneeling.”
Ariana lifted her gaze, exhausted.
Before her stood a woman of striking beauty. Skin pale as ivory. Deep black eyes. Long, dark hair cascading like a silent veil. Her appearance resembled Ariana’s, yet her presence was different—heavier, more absolute. An unfathomable aura emanated from her, making the World of the Dead itself seem smaller by comparison.
Ariana drew a slow breath.
“You will rule this place,” Ariana said, her voice low, nearly spent. “The World of the Dead will fall under your administration. You will oversee the transition between the world of the living and the dead and ensure that everything functions as it should.”
She paused briefly. Her body still bore the creation’s weight.
Ariana glanced around. Many of the souls that had once calmly followed the cycle were gone, consumed in the process that had given form to the divinity before her. The realization was unavoidable—this creation carried a cost that could not be ignored.
Upon hearing Ariana’s words, the Goddess of Death knelt without hesitation, bowing her head in absolute respect.
“Yes, my goddess,” she replied.
The Goddess of Death remained kneeling for a moment longer—not out of obligation, but acknowledgment. When she rose, the World of the Dead reacted.
There was no burst of light, no sudden change in scenery. The transformation was silent, almost imperceptible at first glance. The currents of energy that once flowed diffusely began to align, guided by a newly born will. The void ceased to be mere emptiness; it gained direction.
The souls that had gathered in disordered lines slowed. Some stopped entirely, as if awaiting instructions that had never existed before. Others, wandering aimlessly along the dimension’s edges, were gently drawn back into the main flow. There was no pain, no fear.
Only correction.
The Goddess of Death raised one hand.
The gesture was simple.
Distant floating islands began to move, slowly adjusting their positions like pieces of an ancient mechanism finally being assembled. Luminous paths formed between them—ethereal routes linking previously isolated points. Souls now followed clear routes: arrival, brief waiting, transition.
Ariana watched in silence.
She felt the weight of the World of the Dead lessen upon her—not because it had become lighter, but because someone was now supporting the structure. The constant drain of mana that had once fallen upon her was now filtered, distributed, stabilized.
The Goddess of Death turned her gaze forward, black eyes reflecting countless echoes of past lives.
“Cycle stabilized,” she said, her voice both soft and profoundly deep. “The souls will not be lost. The return will be ordered.”
As she spoke, the world itself seemed to affirm her words. Unstable rifts closed. Excess accumulation points dispersed. The silence ceased to be oppressive and became…
Functional.
