Backworld, City of Luck —

A massive teleportation array had been established in the very heart of the city's central park.

When it finally activated, brilliant light spilled across the plaza, and waves of humanoid figures began to emerge one after another.

Countless human Awakeners arrived through its glowing gates, their faces filled with awe and disbelief.

But they were not the only ones.

Alongside them came the many races of the world—beastfolk, elves, and other wanderers of the void—as well as those once branded prisoners.

These beings followed the flow of spatial energy, stepping through the portal with cautious anticipation.

Yet, the moment their feet touched the ground of the City of Luck, nearly all of them froze. Something felt… wrong.

The air itself seemed thicker, charged with an ancient and unfathomable force.

The more experienced among them—especially the former prisoners who had roamed many realms—immediately realized what that aura was. It was the breath of the Backworld.

These prisoners had long heard of this mysterious realm.

Their knowledge far exceeded that of ordinary humans or common Awakeners.

To them, Backworld was not a legend—it was a forbidden name whispered among those who sought to ascend beyond their limits.

Even among the Demigods, stories of Backworld circulated like sacred scripture.

It was said that within this sealed dimension lay the key for a Demigod to ascend to true Godhood.

That, in truth, was the greatest secret of the Backworld.

Rumor claimed that to break through from Demigod to God required entry into an ancient Seal of Origin, a domain hidden somewhere deep within the Backworld.

But the seal did not open freely—one had to pay a price.

A price so devastating that even the proud Demigods would shudder.

Many had tried. Most had perished.

Some had returned alive—mad, broken, corrupted beyond recognition.

The stories told that the sacrifice demanded was so immense that even beings of the Demigod Rank could not bear it.

And so, throughout the ages, countless Demigods had given up on becoming Gods, resigned to remain forever beneath the threshold of divinity.

None of the prisoners would have imagined that one day, they would set foot in the Backworld without paying that price.

And all of it… was because of Daniel.

He had done what even the ancient pantheons could not—built a teleportation gate leading straight into the Backworld.

Normally, such a feat would require an elaborate sacrificial ritual involving god-tier materials and the life force of tens of thousands.

Even for a Fake God, gathering such offerings was nearly impossible.

For an ordinary Demigod, it was unthinkable.

Yet Daniel had achieved it as if it were nothing more than a simple construction project.

No one could comprehend how.

The prisoners, Awakeners, and scholars stood speechless, trying to process what they were witnessing.

"Is this… really the Backworld?"

"This can't be! We didn't perform any offering—how can this be possible?"

"Has the rule changed? No, impossible—the rules of the Backworld never change!"

They quickly realized that this could only mean one thing—Daniel had somehow bypassed the ancient laws.

It was his doing.

The realization sent chills down every spine.

If a single human could break the natural barrier to the Backworld, if he could connect it through a mere teleportation array, then what couldn't he do?

The more they thought about it, the more terrifying Daniel seemed.

And amid the fear was an overwhelming wave of gratitude.

They had chosen to follow him out of desperation, for survival. Yet now they were witnessing miracles.

If they had not surrendered to Daniel, they would never have stood here today.

Because the Backworld was not only the gateway to Godhood—it was a treasure trove of opportunities.

Ancient relics, sealed god-essences, and the remnants of long-fallen divine beasts lay buried across its lands.

To a Demigod, it was paradise and hell intertwined.

In particular, the Old Gods that once ruled this realm had left behind fragments of their divine power—perfect materials for those seeking to steal or forge a god-position.

Of course, few knew the darker side of this world—the corruption.

The Backworld was cursed. It was said to radiate a contamination that eroded mind and flesh alike.

Yet strangely, as the newcomers wandered the City of Luck, they found none of it.

No miasma, no whispers of madness, no creeping decay in their souls.

Those few who did know of the corruption were utterly dumbfounded.

"How… how is this possible? The Backworld's pollution should affect everything here!"

Soon, the answer revealed itself.

The City of Luck was protected by the divine grace of Luck Goddess Luke herself.

Under her blessing, no corruption could invade, and no madness could thrive.

At the same time, Daniel issued a decree through the power of the Human Emperor's Command.

The order was clear and absolute:

Anyone who arrived through the teleportation gate must remain within the City of Luck.

No one was to leave without permission.

Even so, the flow of new arrivals continued.

Countless Awakeners poured in, driven by curiosity, ambition, or sheer greed.

But the moment they entered, they were stunned.

This "city" did not obey the rules of any world they knew.

Its structure, atmosphere, even the laws of magic—everything was subtly different.

And the most shocking thing of all—

The city was full of God-ranked beings.

Everywhere one looked, divine pressure rippled through the air. Yet these Gods were… off.

Their eyes were empty, their expressions distant.

They behaved like zealots, kneeling toward the central spire where Daniel stood, chanting praises with religious fervor.

It was both awe-inspiring and disturbing.

That was the true nature of the Tree of Faith Daniel had planted.

When he first created it, Daniel had deliberately suppressed its power to prevent his human followers from becoming mindless puppets.

He valued intelligence and individuality among his people.

But when it came to the creatures of the Backworld—he held no such restraint.

They were already hollow, their existence little more than a husk. Turning them into believers cost him nothing.

Still, the influence of the Tree was not absolute.

The stronger the target, the weaker the effect.

The Fake Gods, for instance, retained fragments of their will.

The Tree's power could erode them slowly but not fully enslave them.

The Tree's reach was proportional to Daniel's strength—and now that his power had surged to near-divine levels, its roots spread across the City of Luck like invisible chains of faith.

For those beneath him in rank—ordinary Demigods, lesser entities—resistance was impossible.

And so, throughout the city, the Fake Gods stared skyward toward Daniel's throne-like altar, their minds swirling with unease and suspicion.

Who was this man, this thief of their faith?

Before they could ponder further, a tremor spread through the heavens.

A suffocating wave of darkness swept over the city as an ocean of Dark Mist cascaded down from the void, blotting out the stars.

Within that mist pulsed an overwhelming divine aura—one that belonged unmistakably to a Fake God.

Kate, who stood beside Daniel, instinctively summoned his weapon.

The dense mana around him surged like a storm ready to break.

But Daniel raised his hand calmly.

"Not yet," he said softly.

Kate hesitated, confused.

He did not understand why Daniel would stop him in the face of such a threat.

His instincts screamed danger.

The truth was—he no longer remembered Gulis.

When Daniel used the power of Erasure, the existence of Gulis had been completely wiped from the memories of all but Daniel himself.

To Kate, the concept of a slain Fake God simply did not exist.

That was why he felt nervous now, standing before a presence that radiated godlike malice.

Daniel, however, was composed. His voice was quiet but firm.

"Let me handle this. If I fail, you may act. Until then… watch."

As his words faded, the Dark Mist above began to shift and writhe like a living thing.

It churned violently, then began to grow eyes.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of bestial eyes, slit-pupiled and glowing with malevolent light, opened across the darkness.

Each eye turned slowly, focusing on the City of Luck below.

The sight was horrifying.

Even seasoned warriors felt their sanity tremble.

Many of the newly arrived human Awakeners paled, their knees buckling as they looked up at the monstrous canopy.

"What… what is that!?" one shouted hoarsely.

"Is that… a Fake God?"

"My gods… it's too powerful! We're not supposed to be here!"

"Run—if we don't get out now, we'll all die!"

Their voices echoed through the trembling streets, swallowed quickly by the encroaching dark.

And at the center of it all stood Daniel—unmoving, his eyes locked on the storm above, ready to face the new godlike threat that dared to descend upon his city.

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