Su Cheng stood in his divine realm, the faint, evil energy of the second key to Cyric's ruins pulsing in his hand. The clue it had provided—pointing to a volcanic mountain—was a clear path forward, another step on the road to unimaginable power. The instinct to immediately pursue the next objective was strong, a remnant from his past life's simple desire for strength, a drive that had ultimately led to his downfall.
But this life was different. His perspective was broader, forged by the knowledge of a future war that could not be won by a single, powerful god alone. The shadow of a High God's wrath loomed over him, and the "Divine Judgment" ritual was a ticking time bomb. He visualized the coming conflict not as a series of duels, but as a war between kingdoms. He saw his own ferocious demon legions, their claws and teeth sharp, crashing against a shield wall of believers clad in shimmering, rune-etched divine steel. He saw their ferocity being blunted, their attacks failing to penetrate superior armor, their numbers dwindling against an enemy whose every soldier was perfectly equipped.
His Saints were titans, but an army was more than its generals. The hundreds of demons and gnoll demons that formed the backbone of his legion were strong, but their equipment was a motley collection of looted, sub-par gear. It was a critical weakness. To face Lamov's proxies, he needed an arsenal.
This thought triggered a specific, tragic memory from his past life, a story that had become a cautionary tale whispered among solo player-gods. In the future he remembered, a humble, passionate craftsman named Daedalus who cared more for the art of creation than for amassing power, his name was synonymous with unparalleled quality. The few peak epic-rank artifacts he managed to create before his fall were considered treasures on par with legendary gear, and tales of his skill and his tragic end were still being told years later. Su Cheng didn't know the name or the rank of his talent; he only knew the end result: this man was a genius creator who was destroyed before his time.
He remembered the forum posts vividly. Daedalus had developed a reputation for his two uncanny abilities: he could consistently forge Peak Epic-rank items with stats far superior to any other epic gear, and he could do it with an almost 100% success rate. This unique potential brought him to the attention of the "Iron Dominion," a powerful and ruthless guild that treated "Gods Domain" like a corporate takeover. Their leader, a ruthless demigod named Titus, had approached Daedalus personally. "You have to work for the Dominion," Titus had declared in a widely circulated recording of the confrontation. "Your believers will be integrated. Your forge will serve us and this is not a request."
But Daedalus, who valued his creative freedom, had proudly refused. And the guild's response for this was ruthless. They used their vast resources to perform a costly divination ritual, using the unique divine signature of one of his creations as a beacon to locate his hidden tribe. They descended with an army. It wasn't a battle; it was an extermination. They killed every single one of his believers. Powerless and with his divine authority shattered, Daedalus was hunted down and killed. A genius erased before he could truly flourish.
"A tragic fate," Su Cheng murmured, his eyes hardening. "But a destiny that can be rewritten."
The hunt for the third key could wait. Securing a master craftsman who could arm his entire legion for the coming war was now his top priority. The Iron Dominion was a powerful guild in this life as well, but compared to him, they were nothing. He would not allow them to destroy such a valuable craftsman again.
But first, he had to find him. In a city of billions of gods, finding a single, struggling demigod was an almost impossible task. Unless one knew who to ask.
Su Cheng's avatar materialized once more in the mist-shrouded district of the God of Whispers. He walked the now-familiar path to the timeless library, the labyrinth parting for him without resistance. Morpheus was there, a shadow at his desk, as if he had never left.
"So soon?" the Oracle's voice rustled. "Have you already tired of hunting for keys, or has the True God's wrath proven more troublesome than you anticipated?"
"I require information," Su Cheng said directly. "The coordinates of a demigod. A demigod named Daedalus."
The shadowy figure seemed to consider this. "A minor god of crafting. Obscure. Not a very valuable secret. Why would the conqueror of the Undead Plane, who commands five quasi-divine beings, be interested in such a person?"
"I have an appreciation for true talent," Su Cheng replied coolly, his answer vague but truthful. "What is your price?"
"For the location of a simple, low-ranked demigod?" Morpheus's voice held a hint of amusement. "Let us call it... five threads of divine power. A pittance, for you."
Su Cheng didn't haggle. A sphere containing five million Faith Power materialized and floated over to the Oracle's desk, where it vanished into the shadows.
"He was in the Foundry District, on the city's lowest level," Morpheus whispered, the information flowing into Su Cheng's mind. "He is… struggling. Be careful, Christon Al. Desperate gods are often the most dangerous than others."
"I will keep that in mind," Su Cheng said before turning and leaving.
Following the new coordinates, he teleported to a part of Chaos God City he had never visited before. The Foundry District was a grimy, industrial slum, choked with the smoke of a million forges and echoing with the ceaseless, deafening clang of hammers. It was a place for low-ranked gods who sold their services as cheap labor, crafting basic equipment for larger factions, their dreams of true godhood long since extinguished and replaced by the grim reality of survival. The air was thick with the smell of coal, cheap metal, and desperation. Gods in worn-out robes haggled over scraps of iron ore, their faces etched with weariness.
Su Cheng navigated the crowded, dirty streets, his divine presence concealed, making him seem like just another down-on-his-luck demigod. He finally arrived at his destination: a humble, dilapidated workshop tucked away in a dark alley, its sign so covered in soot it was barely legible. From within, he could sense a faint but incredibly pure and unique divine energy, tinged with frustration and the bitter taste of despair. It was like finding a flawless diamond in a mountain of coal dust.
He had found his target.