Journey to Planar World

The Upper World (Tenkai)—or what humans usually refer to as Heaven—was, in essence, nothing more than a tedious golden cage.

The place was a boundless expanse of space filled with pristine white marble pillars and glass floors that reflected the radiance of an eternal aurora sky.

There was no night.

There was no day.

Time seemed to stand completely still there.

A heavenly breeze blew gently without end, carrying the sweet scent of nectar, wiping away every form of hunger, disease, and death. For mortal humans, this place might be the absolute pinnacle of all happiness.

Yet for the gods who possessed eternal lifespans, this static, perfect beauty was nothing short of a agonizing curse.

In a realm where everything could be brought into existence with a single flick of Arcanum, there was no longer any such thing as struggle. There were no tears, no surprises, and worst of all... no entertainment.

The gods merely sat in silence upon their golden thrones, staring down at mirror-like pools of water that displayed the Lower World, yawning broadly as they gambled with dice whose outcomes they could predict from the very beginning.

It was precisely because of that endless boredom that the seeds of a longing for dynamism began to sprout within the hearts of every god.

Pioneered by Ouranos, who was the first to harden his resolve to descend and seal away his Arcanum, the other gods followed him in droves. They chose to relinquish their omnipotence for the sake of experiencing the bittersweet nature of life, intrigue, struggle, and the warmth of mortal emotions in the Lower World.

However, not all gods abandoned Heaven.

In the deepest recesses of Heaven, far beyond the grand marble pillars, lay an endless sacred altar known as Lethe—the Ocean of Soul Ripples.

That place was an airtight vacuum enveloped in eternal darkness. Yet strangely, it never felt truly dark.

Luminous lights emerged from billions of spiritual energy orbs floating upward from the Lower World.

Every time a human or living creature breathed their last in the Lower World, their soul would ascend toward Heaven, drawn magnetically toward this ocean of ripples.

In the center of the altar flowed a river of liquid light, shimmering in silvery blue. The newly arrived souls would plunge gently into the holy water.

This process was the most magical yet terrifying moment in Heaven: the Cleansing of Essence.

Upon touching the silvery ripples of water, the silent screams of past sins, memories of love, grudges, pain, and even their names in the Lower World would peel away one by one from their soul’s core. Their memories were erased completely until they returned to being pure, blank slates.

Once their essence became as white as snow, the river’s current would push the faceless souls toward a giant spiral vortex at the end of the altar—casting them back down to the Lower World to begin a new cycle of reincarnation.

Yet, not a single soul could cross this cycle unsupervised.

Standing atop an obsidian bridge that bisected the river of light was the god who ruled over the entire flow of death and rebirth.

The God of Death, Hades.

His appearance stood in sharp contrast to the surrounding silence—formal, extravagant, and deeply intimidating all at once.

He was a tall man possessing a cold, commanding handsome face. His long, silver-white hair glistened as it swayed in the spiritual wind, styled sharply and standing upright at several points on his head, framing a face that appeared utterly flawless. On his breathtaking forehead, a dark leaf-intertwined tattoo was clearly engraved, symbolizing absolute dominion over the realm of death.

His sharp left eye stared boredom into the stream of souls, while his right eye was concealed beneath a specially designed eyepatch—hiding the mystery of a power that could not be unleashed recklessly. From his left ear hung a row of small piercings holding a pair of bead-like earrings, which chimed softly whenever he moved his head. A spiked choker wrapped around his neck, adding a hint of danger beneath his meticulously tailored attire.

Hades wore a formal, luxurious coat with a high collar that extended proudly up to his upper chest. Golden badges bearing noble insignias adorned the left and right sides of his coat, emphasizing his status as one of the highest gods in the pantheon. Below, he paired it with long white jeans that hugged his slender legs perfectly, and a pair of uniquely checkered shoes that stepped soundlessly across the obsidian floor.

Leaning his body against the railing of the bridge, Hades’ gloved hand occasionally rose, lightly snapping his fingers to brush aside or suppress rebellious souls attempting to resist the memory erasure process.

”My turn to descend to the Lower World is still way too far down the queue.” Hades muttered softly, his tone laced with dissatisfaction. ”Heaven really is the most tedious place imaginable...”

As Hades was staring mindlessly at the expanse of silver water ripples, his open eye suddenly caught an abnormal glow from one of the soul orbs that had just been drawn toward Lethe.

Clicking his tongue, he crossed his arms over his chest with an expression full of annoyance.

”Tsk... Which god had the nerve to act so recklessly and mark this person’s soul?!”

It was no longer a secret in Heaven that the gods who descended to the Lower World often ’marked’ mortal souls that managed to catch their attention or capture their hearts.

When those humans with beautiful souls breathed their last, the occult mark would ambush their souls at the boundary of death, stashing them away privately and confining them inside the god’s temple in Heaven so that the chosen soul could accompany them forever, untouched by the cycle of reincarnation.

Hades narrowed his sharp left eye, scanning the color and aura of the radiance enveloping the unfortunate soul before shaking his head.

”Judging by the pattern and that obsessive gleam... this soul was most likely marked by Freya.” Hades remarked with a faint, cynical smirk. ”Compared to the other gods down there, that woman really is always the one hoarding the largest collection of souls.”

Suddenly, Hades’ expression, which had been relaxed and filled with boredom, shifted drastically as he realized a presence was standing not far from him.

(When did he show up here? Why couldn’t I feel his presence at all? I guess I was just being careless...)

That was the most reasonable explanation the God of Death could come up with at the moment.

Hades narrowed his left eye, staring at the ’unknown god’ before him with a cold, expressionless look, before demanding in a voice heavy with authority.

”Tell me, who are you? Your face is unfamiliar. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you here.”

His gloved hands remained crossed over his chest.

”And you should know, this place is strictly off-limits to anyone without my permission.”

The overwhelming pressure of a high-ranking god’s aura suddenly erupted from Hades, filling the surrounding atmosphere—a pressure capable of making it difficult for an average god to even draw breath.

Yet, facing that deadly wave of existence, Charlie did not budge in the slightest. His facial expression remained relaxed, as if that pressure were nothing more than a gentle breeze.

”My name is Charlie Avalon.”

He looked up at Hades, who stood tall upon the obsidian bridge, and offered a faint smile.

”And it seems you’ve misunderstood, God Hades. The main reason why you don’t recognize me... is because I am not a god.”

Of course, when viewed from the perspective of Little Garden and the Transcendent power he had awakened, Charlie was essentially a god.

However, it was indeed true that he was not part of the pantheon of gods originating from this world.

Naturally, there was no point in explaining the intricacies of inter-dimensional affairs to Hades.

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