Lord of Entertainment-Chapter 311: Daedalus

(3rd Person POV)

Arthur was inwardly worried about the future. He had attempted to peer beyond the present using his current power, but all he saw was fog—thick and impenetrable. 'Tch... I can't see anything,' he thought, gritting his teeth. His glowing eyes dimmed.

Beside him, Enyalius noticed the shift. He cleared his throat lightly.

"I know you're powerful, young man," he said, voice calm. "But trying to glimpse the future with your current strength? Not wise." His tone darkened. "You could've seriously injured yourself. And trust me... divine injuries aren't just unpleasant—they linger."

As Arthur's eyes fully dimmed, he simply curled his lips into a smirk.

"Injured? I'm not that fragile."

Enyalius rubbed the back of his head, awkward. "I didn't say you were." He glanced down at Arthur's hand—specifically the ring and bracelet. "Still... those artifacts of yours aren't something any ordinary deity should be holding."

His eyes fixed on the Devourer Ring, narrowing slightly.

"I've been meaning to ask... which Daedalus gave you that ring?"

Arthur raised a brow. "Daedalus?" He glanced at the ring, then back at Enyalius. "Now that you mention it—your expression tells me this ring isn't something even gods normally carry. Who are the Daedalus exactly?"

Enyalius nodded, his expression solemn. "They're rare. And dangerous."

"I don't know what variant your ring is... but any ring in the 'Legendary' tier is a creation of the Daedalus. They weren't gods—had no divine authority, no blessings. But their craft? Their creations were enough to make gods envious."

He paused, then added, "Back in my time, the Daedalus were already dying out. Scattered across the Divine World. Their power stemmed from something called the «Primordial Fire». Weak on its own... but when infused into tools? Even gods bled."

His gaze dropped to the ring again, voice thick with disbelief.

"To think... you carry one. A god like me could only dream of owning a Daedalus artifact."

Arthur listened silently. The more time he spent with Enyalius, the more he learned—how much he didn't know.

"You said they were going extinct during your time." He tilted his head. "What about now? Do you think any of them are still around?"

Enyalius let out a long sigh. "Honestly? No idea." He glanced back at Arthur with a puzzled look. "And to think you're wearing one of their creations... I assumed you knew. But it seems you don't."

Arthur remained quiet. 'I can't exactly say it was rewarded by the system...'

He cleared his throat and shifted the subject. "Anyway. You're free now. But you'll need to adapt."

He crossed his arms. "I know your hatred for Solarus runs deep—and I don't blame you. But right now? We don't have the strength to face them. We need caution."

Enyalius flinched. His jaw tightened.

"Now that you remind me..." he muttered, his tone low and bitter. "Yes... I still have to get my revenge."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Hey. Keep your war-god instincts in check," he said flatly, then pointed at the belt on his waist. "If you can't, I'll happily return you to your old place—chain and all."

Enyalius instinctively stepped back at the mention of the chain. He stared at it, then sighed heavily and shook his head.

"...Fine."

Arthur felt a quiet relief as he glanced at the belt coiled neatly around his waist—the sentient chain that once bound the God of War, now his personal artifact. The fact that Enyalius hadn't acted out since his release was proof enough: the chain still had influence.

With a sigh, Arthur turned to him. "You've been gone for centuries," he said, folding his arms. "Might be time to catch up. The world's changed... quite a bit."

He let out a small chuckle. "You'll find out soon enough—it's not all swords and divine temper tantrums anymore."

Enyalius stood by the tall window, eyes narrowed as his divine senses swept across the skyscraper.

"This structure... circular. Efficient. Modern." He nodded slightly, then turned his gaze outward, scanning the rest of the city. "...But the city itself? I'm not impressed."

Arthur raised a brow, curious. "Not impressed?"

Enyalius's tone held a hint of superiority. "Minor changes, yes. But fundamentally... it's still the same. Kingdoms under me a thousand years ago had more grandeur than this."

Arthur just shook his head, amused. "We'll see how long that pride lasts after you binge-watch a few telenovelas and a couple blockbuster films at the cinema."

Enyalius frowned, clearly lost. "Cinema? Telenovela? What are these... spells?"

Arthur laughed softly. "You'll figure it out."

He turned away, his coat fluttering with each step toward the door. "I've got things to handle. I'll have Klein assist you—get you settled, help you navigate this world."

"Fine," Enyalius replied, eyes still fixated on the sprawling cityscape. He glanced over his shoulder, watching Arthur vanish down the hallway.

'What a strange boy... wielding a Legendary Ring, yet clueless about the Daedalus? Just what kind of god is he becoming...'

---

Outside the office, Arthur pulled out his Hellphone and called Klein. "I've got a guest in my office," he said smoothly. "He'll be joining Hellfire. Treat him like a high-priority recruit. Assign him one of the Park's VIP living quarters."

Klein, now back in his professional stride, gave a sharp salute. "Understood, boss. And... welcome back. I was starting to think Pacman and Musical Legends had claimed you forever."

Arthur chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, well... let's keep that between us."

Moments later, he arrived at the parking garage beneath Hellfire Park. There, gleaming under low light, waited his newest toy—a customized motorcycle pulled straight out of fiction.

It was modeled after Johnny Blaze's infamous ride: obsidian frame, glowing chain wraps, flame-tinted wheels. A divine illusion spell flared as he mounted it—fire erupted along the wheels with a low, thrilling growl, licking the air without burning it.

Arthur smirked, then snapped his fingers.

In a flicker of black light, his clothes transformed—tight leather, metal studs, and a jacket with a flaming collar. The full Johnny Blaze aesthetic.

And with that, he roared out of the parking lot—flames trailing behind him like a comet breaking free of gravity.

The moment Arthur rolled out of Hellfire Park, heads turned.

Pedestrians stopped mid-step. Drivers slowed to a crawl. Even the usual city noise seemed to hush for a beat—drawn in by the roar of his bike.

A flaming motorcycle streaked down the road, its wheels igniting the air with illusionary fire. But what truly stole the spotlight wasn't just the bike—it was the rider.

Arthur Pendragon.

Dressed in black leather with glowing seams and a smoldering collar, he looked nothing like the clean-cut director the world knew. This was a different Arthur—edgy, dangerous, and stylishly reckless.

"Holy hell... is that Arthur?" a biker muttered under his breath. His eyes widened, glinting with admiration and envy. "That bike's insane..."

Inside a nearby Fire of Hell car, a burly demon with a scruffy beard and meticulously styled hair adjusted his glasses. His eyes lit up as he caught sight of Arthur zooming past.

Without hesitation, he pulled out his trusty Impact digital camera. A quick click. Flash. The camera whirred—and a fresh photo popped out.

He grinned as he studied the image. The shot was perfect—Arthur mid-turn, the flames trailing behind him, his smirk caught at just the right moment.

"A shot like this?" the demon muttered, his grin widening. "One in a million. The media's gonna eat this up—especially with the famous director sporting a whole new look."

Around him, whispers spread like sparks.

"Was that really Arthur?"

"He looks like a devil out of a film."

"Did he always have that vibe?"

"He's finally showing his demon side..."

Unknowingly, Arthur had just launched another storm of rumors.

What they didn't know—what none of them could guess—was that he wasn't channeling some hidden bloodline.

He was cosplaying.

Ghost Rider. A fictional icon from his past life. A film he planned to direct in this world.

The flames? Illusion magic.

The outfit? Custom enchanted.

The attitude?

Just enough to impress a certain someone.

'Firfel's still pissed at my clone,' he thought, eyes narrowing behind his shades. 'Guess it's time to remind her the real me still knows how to set the world on fire.'

He revved the engine—and the flames flared higher.