The Descender

So hot, it felt like his body was melting…

His consciousness seemed submerged in a hot spring, overwhelmed by a drowsy languor.
Everything before him was a hazy blur.

His body felt as though it were being gently caressed by thousands of warm hands…
No, this wasn’t real.
He should be dead.
His chaotic consciousness clung to its last shred of rationality, images from his life flashing before him.

Though he was already dead, emotions lingered.
As past scenes replayed in his mind, Kant still felt a deep sense of reflection.

Having lived two lives, he hadn’t surpassed the lifespan of an ordinary person.
The pain and inferiority of losing an arm were etched deeply into his soul.
No matter how much effort or sacrifice he made, he could never truly integrate into the world.

“You’re a cripple, a Deficient One, rejected by the world.
For someone like you, death might be the best choice…”

For a moment, his weary consciousness found a trace of relief.
His coalesced thoughts, freed from obsession, seemed ready to dissipate.
Yet, things didn’t end there.

“Outsider, please open your eyes.”

A voice Kant had never heard before resounded, its divine cadence like a mighty hand, gathering his fading consciousness and rousing it to clarity.

Kant opened his eyes—or rather, in terms of consciousness, he gained clear vision.

As soft light came into focus, the grand, boundless figure before him left the newly awakened Kant in awe.
The overwhelming emotion far exceeded what a human could bear.
A flood of incomprehensible knowledge surged into his mind alongside the vision, threatening to tear his soul apart.

Excruciating pain nearly shattered Kant’s soul.
His survival instinct fought desperately to preserve this frail soul that had glimpsed a god’s true form, clinging to a sliver of life under the weight of divine majesty.
The gap was like a faint firefly before a towering wave, yet the torment gradually eased, becoming bearable.

When the pain subsided to a level Kant could endure, he finally saw the true visage of the being before him.

Silky silver hair cascaded like the Milky Way pouring from the night sky.
Emerald eyes sparkled with the brilliance and divinity of the cosmos.
A majestic presence could unite the hearts of all races, and an unparalleled figure shone like the brightest primordial star in the river of time.

“Are you… a god?”

Kant’s soul was still weak, but he could speak.
Though it was his first time encountering such a being, he was certain of its identity.

On the magic-infused Seraris Continent, the existence of gods was only natural.
But gods, with their lofty status, were rarely seen—99.99% of people lived and died without ever glimpsing one.

“You guessed correctly, Outsider.
My divine name is Themis, though the descendants of the elves call me the Elven Ancestor God.”

A gentle voice, nurturing as if it could foster all life, sounded softly.
Yet it wasn’t just gentle—its divine power rippled through the space.

Kant’s eyes narrowed briefly but quickly regained their calm.

As expected, no surprise there.
As a modern person who once lived on Earth, he’d heard tales of so-called gods in other worlds long before seeing one today.

Since he was already dead, what did this god want with him?

At that thought, Kant seemed to realize something important.
He hurriedly turned to check his right arm—or rather, where a normal person’s right arm would be.
As expected, it was empty.

Seeing this, Kant’s face showed a resigned “as expected” expression.
There was a touch of dejection, but he was long accustomed to it.
There was a reason why Deficient Ones, untreatable even by healing magic, existed.

The problem was fundamental—his soul itself lacked a right arm, so his body could never grow one.

“So, great god, why have you summoned me?
Is there some use for this soul of mine, or do you have some grueling task for me?”

Despite the casual tone and expression—as if he were utterly unfazed and long used to such things—the Elven Ancestor God’s face showed a faint ripple of change.

“You truly are an Outsider.
You do not belong to the Seraris Continent.”

Being called out as a foreigner by a god didn’t faze Kant in the slightest.
It was within his expectations.
If a god couldn’t even trace someone’s origins, that would be far too embarrassing.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Kant replied nonchalantly, his incomplete soul floating before the Elven Ancestor God like a kite adrift in the wind.

You might say his tone and attitude were disrespectful in the face of a god.
But to Kant, it hardly mattered.
Come on, he was already dead—his body gone, his soul incomplete.
He was as low as it got.
What could the Elven Ancestor God do besides snuff out his tiny wisp of a soul?
There was literally no lower to go.

“The moment you touched the Sacred Fruit, I noticed you.
After your death, I summoned your soul here.
You are a suitable candidate…”

Here it comes, the classic otherworld scam—some shady boss sweet-talking a foreign worker.
A suitable candidate? For what?
With his missing arm and legless state, they weren’t about to send him on some ancient cliché quest to defeat a demon king for free, were they?

As Kant’s mind raced with wild thoughts, the magnificent figure before him finally spoke.

“I believe you’re a fine candidate to become an elf.”

At those words, if Kant still had a body and happened to be drinking tea, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t have sprayed it right in the god’s face.

What did he just hear?
Was his non-European, unlucky two lifetimes finally smuggling him into Europe at this moment?
On the Seraris Continent, if someone offered you a chance to become an elf, you’d slap yourself without hesitation—because it was more fantastical than a dream.

But his modern mindset quickly pulled him back from the shock.
The stunned expression that had briefly appeared vanished, replaced by dead-fish eyes staring listlessly at the grand silhouette before him.

“So, making me an elf… what’s the catch?”

“You are not the only such existence on the Seraris Continent.”

The Elven Ancestor God didn’t directly answer Kant’s question, instead continuing on her own.

“We call beings like you Descenders.
A Descender’s soul is unique, capable of adapting to divinity far better than ordinary souls.”

“On the Seraris Continent, gods cannot intervene directly.
Conflicts between races are eternal.
Gods grant their power to individuals of a race to contend with others, but divine power is highly corrosive.
Ordinary beings are easily consumed by it, leading to their destruction.
In this regard, Descenders with their special souls are the best vessels for bearing divine power.”