Alex entered the temple. The air was dark, thick with dust and the scent of ages. He immediately activated his vision ability. The structure instantly materialized in his sensory sphere: two floors above ground, but an astonishing fifteen floors descending below. Each floor was massive, at least 150 feet in height.

  He located the central cavity for the staircase and, in his typical reckless manner, simply dropped down, ignoring the spiral steps. After a few trials and errors during his descent, he got a clearer measure of his new body. It could withstand a 300-foot drop with ease; his life was only at risk at heights of 500 feet or more.

  “What can’t this body do?!” he shouted, the irritation stemming from the utter strangeness of his new, invincible existence.

  He reflected on his situation. Since entering this magical world, things had been unnaturally easy. He was greeted with a Relic-tier artifact, which the Voice of the World confirmed was worth multiple kingdoms. The subsequent items he gained were exponentially more valuable, with the Core of Hegemony being so rare he could only exchange it for prime real estate, like millions of hectares of land in a location like New York or Dubai, if he were still on Earth.

  He looked around. His normal vision saw nothing but absolute darkness, but his skill illuminated the room. The chamber he had landed in was relatively small compared to the towering upper rooms, featuring only a massive spiral staircase leading down. He reached the stairs and started his descent.

  Reina Darath was having a less-than-normal day at the administrative department of the Adventure Society. The celestial eclipse two days prior had thrown all adventuring groups and guilds across the Northern Continent into a state of frantic urgency.

  A middle-aged colleague approached her. “Any updates, Darath?”

  “Many Noble Rank adventuring groups requested access to the Spirit Domain, but the Director is halting most of them. But…”

  “But what?”

  “The First Prince of the Sun Kingdom and his group have requested access. That clever bastard used his father to get the approval of our Founder.”

  “Doesn’t he still hold only Soldier Rank?”

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  “Yes, and that’s the main issue. The Director cannot reject a request with the Founder’s approval. But a Soldier Ranker cannot survive that barren land; there’s no food or water inside that wicked place.”

  “Royalty,” the man spat the word out like venom.

  While they conversed, they were approached by two clergymen from the Church of the Hegemon. One was an elderly, short man (around five feet), and the other was a younger man (around five feet seven). They both wore combat robes in the Hegemon’s purple and gold colors. The elderly man had a green wand tucked into a holder, while the young man had a greatsword with a dark blue blade strapped to his back.

  The colleague stepped toward the older priest, while Reina, eager for a distraction, approached the young priest, who was mesmerized by a mural painted on the white marble wall.

  “The War of the Worlds,” she spoke, standing beside him.

  “Excuse me?” the priest asked, his eyes glued to the artwork.

  “The mural is a depiction of the war called the War of the Worlds. I assume your church taught you basic world history?”

  “Briefly. I am not a priest of the Scholar, so take my knowledge with a grain of salt.” The priest shifted his gaze to the main, central section of the mural, painted on a large, plain wall opposite the administration desks.

  It depicted twenty-seven figures standing around a man on his knees. His arms were torn off, his chest had a fist-sized hole, and his eyes were bleeding, the blood dripping into his open mouth—his jawbone fractured and tearing through the flesh.

  “What must a man do to receive this kind of horrible death?” the priest spoke, his voice revealing his profound disturbance.

  Reina looked in the direction he was staring. A sense of awe struck her.

  “Ever heard the name Deus Eterna?”

  “No.”

  “That figure in the middle of the mural is Deus Eterna.” Reina pointed to a figure clad in white armor—a chaotic, magnificent blend of Western knight and Eastern samurai gear, resting a hand on the hilt of a sheathed katana.

  “Nobody other than the Almighties, Founding Fathers, and Divine Beasts knows what they truly look like,” Reina explained. “They were also known by one other title.”

  “What?” the priest asked, riveted.

  “The owner of wealth so vast that the world refuses its existence. The treasure that has been hunted for gods know how many ages. The treasure that caused an entire species to go extinct. The treasure that caused the biggest war in history—The War of the Worlds—where Almighties were pushed to their full power. Where a man died, and a ‘Mad God’ was born.” Reina looked pointedly at the kneeling man as she uttered the final phrase.

  “Does it have a name?” the priest asked, barely breathing.

  “EL DORADO.”

  When Alex reached the end of the long descent, his eyes went blank for a split second—not from unconsciousness, but from pure, blinding shock.

  He was the grandson of the richest man on Earth, yet what his eyes were currently seeing surpassed every fictional fantasy of wealth.

  Alex was looking at something that could only be called by one name on Earth. The treasure that wiped out the Mayans. The treasure that drove the Spanish mad with greed. The one treasure that could satisfy the insatiable greed of man.

  EL DORADO.