Path To Godhood Begins With Marrying Wife And Gaining SSS Rank Skill

At the side of an inn, two men sat quietly with glasses of drinks before them. The air was calm, but the talk between them was not.

"I'm still wondering why you gave away the dungeon," Baron Bragot said, his tone annoyed.

Baron Fenwick took a sip and replied calmly. "I don't think it matters anymore.Does it really make a difference anymore?"

Bragot clicked his tongue, staring at him.

Fenwick let out a tired breath. "I already lost it. It fell into his hands. Now it's his."

"Hmph! Don't play those tricks with me, old man Fenwick," Bragot said with a sharp look. "I know you too well, you foxy bastard."

Fenwick smiled faintly. "Oh? Then what about you,Bragot?"

Bragot raised his eyes and sighed. "The Slate Mine can last long. Thank God I changed the bet from the metal mine to the Slate one, or I would've been ruined by now."

Fenwick's eyes glimmered.

Baron Bragot then muttered,"But the dungeon… you think it's empty? Or maybe there's a boss monster inside that you couldn't handle?"

The moment Bragot apolw this, Fenwick's lips curved into a small smile. Bragot froze, staring at him.

"Wait. Don't tell me it's really—"

"Kyaaahh!" A sudden scream cut him off.

Both men turned toward the window. Outside, people were gathered in the street, cheering and shouting with joy. Through the crowd, they saw a noble marching out proudly, followed by soldiers.

Women screamed his name. "Sir Ethan! Sir BlanksEthan!" they cried. Some even shouted that they would serve him, as long as they could stay by his side. Their voices were full of love and madness.

Bragot frowned and slammed his fist on the table. "Damn it. This kid is something else. Thank God I didn't bring my family here, or they would have fallen for him already."

Fenwick's hand froze on his glass. His eyes lingered on the sight outside. What Bragot said wasn't wrong.

Ethan really had something about him,akin to an otherworldly charm.

The world was vast, filled with many gifted people, but Ethan stood among the best. If there was a god of beauty, he might have personally carved such a man.

Bragot leaned back with a mocking smile. "I still don't get it. How did that kid break through? You've fought your whole life, yet you lose to a boy like him."

"Even at the same level,you have years of damned experience yet you were beaten like this."

Fenwick was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he said softly, "It's different. Very different."

Bragot looked at him, waiting for more.

Fenwick sighed. "It's nothing to hide. Without the dungeon, it's almost impossible for me to break through to Advanced rank. I used five breakthrough potions just to reach where I am now."

Bragot's eyes darkened. He understood. He lifted his glass and drank it all in one go, then poured another.

"If potions were enough to reach the Advanced rank, we barons wouldn't be stuck at the late stage of Intermediate for the rest of our lives," he said bitterly.

The truth was harsh. The breakthrough potions only gave a thirty percent chance, and the success rate fell as one climbed higher. Taking many of them only weakened the body and soul.

It was even worse for knights. Their strength came from belief. Relying too much on potions meant they no longer believed in themselves. Without true belief, they could never form their aura.

"Faulty belief will never turn into aura," Fenwick said quietly, staring into his glass.

Bragot listened in silence.

"That kid…" Fenwick continued. "I don't know how much potential he has, but if he can master his belief, he'll climb higher than any of us. Still, men like him often grow too proud. Their belief turns into arrogance. And when people keep praising them, it only feeds their ego."

His lips curled into a faint grin, cold and knowing.

Bragot sighed and shook his head. "You always look for faults in others. Stop it, old man. Just drink and let it go. Don't try to cover your loss with empty words."

The two men fell silent again. Outside, the cheers for Ethan grew louder, echoing through the night.

Fenwick lifted his glass slowly and looked into it. The reflection trembled in the red liquid, almost like blood.

He smiled faintly but didn't say a word.

...

The night was dark and heavy clouds hung low over the edge of Ruthiana. A group of cloaked figures moved silently along a narrow mountain path.

Their faces were hidden, but the men and women they led behind them had pale expressions, blank eyes, and stiff movements as if they were no longer alive but only shells. They walked like puppets without strings, guided only by the figures in front.

At the base of the mountain, a hidden entrance opened with a faint grinding sound of stone. A secret passage stretched into the depths, dimly lit by torches that gave off a faint blue flame. The people shuffled in, one after another, until they reached a vast chamber that opened into a wide cavern.

The sight was enough to make anyone pause. Inside, piles of gold and silver glittered under the torchlight. Treasures of every kind were stacked in mounds. Jewels sparkled, weapons of fine craftsmanship lay heaped together, and ancient artifacts hummed faintly with strange power. Among it all, workers moved like shadows, excavating and gathering the riches into ordered piles.

The cloaked group stepped inside, and the sound of their boots echoed across the stone. They raised their right arms in unison and greeted with deep voices.

"Hail the Lord of Abyssal. Glory to the Abyss."

At the center of the chamber rested the most striking sight. A massive dragon carcass lay stretched across the floor, its huge wings folded against its broken body. The once-mighty beast was reduced to bones and dried scales, yet even in death its presence was overwhelming. The air around it carried a faint pressure, the memory of its power.

The central figure stepped forward. His name was Rahar, and strange tattoos covered his face and arms. His voice was rough and filled with irritation.

"Has all the important things been cleared up?"