For most deities, stealing faith was far easier than cultivating it.

The reason was simple.

It was no easy task to make a mortal truly worship you. Even if you displayed world-shaking power before their eyes, they might only think you were "impressive," not necessarily worthy of devotion.

After all, there was more than one god in this world. Countless bards made their living singing of divine glory. Even the weakest deity had epic verses exaggerating their might.

A god who could lift a mountain was awe-inspiring, but poems also claimed certain archmages could accomplish the same feat.

So was the god truly powerful or not?

Most mortals had no way of knowing. They relied on vague comparisons and gut feelings.

This made spreading faith extremely difficult. You had to patiently demonstrate your greatness, explain your doctrine, and teach unbelievers the benefits of faith and the consequences of the lack thereof.

It required time. Patience. Strategy.

But if the believer already worshipped another god, things became much simpler.

Defeat that god, and its followers would instantly understand how "great" you were.

Many deities who revered violence operated this way. Win the fight against another and prove your superiority. There was no need for sermons. The Lord of Storms was the classic example. This god of destruction loved nothing more than demonstrating authority through thunder and lightning.

Those who liked him devoted themselves to him because, of the gods who exalted violence, few could defeat him. His followers never dwindled, and he had no need to actively proselytize.

But such an approach had limits. The Lord of Storms could not defeat the Lord of Dawn. Thus, his faith remained a minority. If your divine authority was violence, yet you lost to a god embodying light, why not worship light instead?

That mentality stifled expansion.

But none of this concerned Ambrose. He did not intend to become a god. He merely wanted to harvest some faith.

The present situation was perfect. The redcap had clearly invested significant effort tricking these kouto into worshipping him as a deity. All Ambrose had to do was step in, eliminate the redcap, and skip the tedious missionary phase entirely. The kouto would kneel to him directly.

It was a gift delivered straight to his doorstep.

While the redcap greedily absorbed the kouto's faith, Ambrose descended onto the beach, bathed in moonlight.

A black cloak draped over him. Beneath it, his body gleamed silvery-white, dazzling under the lunar glow.

The kneeling kouto were drawn to that flash of silver. One by one, they turned their oversized fish heads, staring at him with vacant curiosity.

The prayer faltered. The redcap's supply of faith dwindled.

The redcap roared in fury.

"Kneel to me, you stupid fish! I am your god! Even if the sky falls, you shall finish your prayers!"

Chastised, the kouto obediently turned back and resumed their ritual.

The flow of faith resumed, but the redcap did not relax. He stared at Ambrose cautiously. After years in this plane, the redcap had slaughtered countless species. Yet the figure before him felt... strange.

At first glance, he seemed to be a silver-armored warrior, the classic image of a paladin. But there were no divine sigils, no sign of which god he served.

Stranger still, the entire figure radiated death and darkness. As a creature of evil, the redcap was acutely sensitive to such auras. It felt as if it were facing a lich.

An undead paladin? Surely not. More likely, this was an oathbreaker.

Paladins who violated their vows suffered divine backlash. Depending on the oath, consequences varied, but most oathbreakers underwent personality shifts as they descended steadily toward darkness and evil.

What was an oathbreaker doing here?!

Ambrose paid no heed to the redcap's suspicions. He walked steadily toward the altar.

The redcap raised its hooked dagger and roared, "Stand back! I don't care what you are. Cross me, and you'll face divine wrath!"

"Divine wrath? Perfect. I've been meaning to slaughter a god."

Ambrose did not slow.

"Who are you?!" the redcap screeched.

"Who am I?" Ambrose hesitated briefly, then extended his right hand.

Dense darkness coalesced in his palm, forming a towering staff taller than a man. Dark green energy, death incarnate, flowed along its length, as if threatening to stain the sky itself.

His silhouette grew imposing, almost godlike—far more so than the hunched redcap.

This staff was one he had used in his adventuring days. Now that he was a lich, its utility had diminished considerably. But that hardly mattered. It looked impressive.

"I am Tarasin, Tarasin the Endless! Remember the name of the one who grants you death."

He flicked the staff. Invisible force seized the redcap, hoisting him high before hurling him dozens of meters away.

Telekinesis was a reliable ranged control spell.

Once, Ambrose had used it to drag a Twilight Warden from over a hundred meters away right up to his face.

Now, he used it to repel the redcap.

The redcap bounced across the sand like a skipping stone.

The kouto stared in confusion. How could their god be so humiliated?

Nevertheless, they leapt up loyally, wielding fishbone-and-stone spears, as they charged Ambrose.

It was admirable devotion, but regrettable strength. A single Thunder Wave sent them all flying, carefully moderated so as not to kill them.

"Foolish mortals," Ambrose proclaimed. "You worship a false god and are deceived. Before a true god, this pretender cannot even hope to retaliate."

He swung his staff again toward the redcap.

This time, however, the telekinesis failed. A burst of crimson light exploded from the redcap's body, nullifying the spell entirely.

"Using faith to counter my magic? Creative, but wasteful."

Mortals rarely converted faith into divine power. The redcap must have employed some Feywild technique to manipulate faith energy, granting it temporary magical immunity.

But the cost would surely be steep. Ambrose estimated he could not sustain it for more than half a minute.

Still, for a mage, half a minute against an opponent possessing magic immunity could well be lethal.

Bathed in blood-red radiance, the redcap charged. Despite its small stature, it was astonishingly fast.

The iron boots it wore seemed enchanted, propelling him forward in a blur and allowing him to cover dozens of meters in an instant. It slashed at Ambrose's knee with its hooked dagger.

The blade shimmered with layered enchantments. Ambrose could not immediately identify them, and refused to test his mithril's durability against unknown magic.

With a metallic snap, blades extended from his forearms, intercepting the dagger.

Flames burst upon contact. Ambrose felt the metal heat instantly.

Simultaneously, electricity surged through him.

"Heat Metal... and Enchant Lightning?"

Ambrose was impressed. To think the redcap could stack two different magical enchantments on the same dagger.

Against most opponents, the heated metal would have forced them to drop their weapon, skin blistering from the grip. The lightning would have coursed through armor, convulsing the wearer.

No wonder the redcap dared attack a figure clad in mithril.

But Ambrose was not wearing armor. His body itself was mechanical.

Heat Metal did not force him to release his weapon. If anything, it made his own weapon stronger. The electricity coursed through him harmlessly—and even fed a trickle of energy into his arcane core.

The redcap believed it had succeeded, but it was dead wrong. Ambrose kicked it mid-stride, sending it flying.

The strike was so fast the redcap barely registered it.

Suspended in the air, it had no time to ponder why its enchanted dagger had failed, only to suddenly find Ambrose overhead.

"How is this Oathbreaker so fast?!"

Paladins did not specialize in agility. But this one seemed to move like a high-tier ranger.

In midair, Ambrose's twin blades flashed dozens of times. By the time he landed lightly on the sand, the redcap was no longer whole.

Chunks of flesh rained down as blood splattered across the shore.

The abilities of a legendary ranger, combined with a dual-core mechanical body, produced combat power beyond even Ambrose's expectations. The feeling of effortlessly tearing apart an enemy without centuries of grinding—no wonder every transmigrator wanted a cheat code.

Unfortunately, Ambrose had only recently tasted such benefits. His previous centuries had been a bitter struggle.

He exhaled, retracting the blades smoothly into his arms. With a stylish turn, he faced the kouto, who were just clambering to their feet.

Their false god had been annihilated. Now they would kneel in worship... Right?

Instead, upon witnessing the redcap's instant obliteration, the kouto turned tail and bolted toward the sea without hesitation.

Damn it. He had overdone things and scared the fools senseless.

"Get back here!"

With another sweep of his staff, he seized the fleeing kouto and dragged them back.

"Foolish creatures! I have saved you from a false god! You should kneel and worship me, Tarasin the Endless!"

The fish-headed beings stared at him blankly with wide, innocent eyes. No kneeling followed.

Ambrose scratched his chin. This was not what he had expected. Was he missing something?

From the sea came a hoarse voice, "Give them food. Power alone is not enough. Show mercy. These kouto are simple. They follow whomever feeds them.

Ambrose turned. On the once-calm ocean, a dilapidated ship had appeared without a sound.