Strongest Existence Becomes Teacher-Chapter 222: God Of War

Hall of judgment, God Realm

The Hall of Judgment felt different now.

Quieter.

Emptier.

Like a place that had forgotten it once housed gods.

Zane walked through the vast chamber with slow, casual steps, battle-torn white shirt hanging in ragged strips around him. Holes still marked where flames, ice, and wind had struck. He didn’t bother fixing it. One hand rested in his pocket while the other held a skewer, steam still rising from the glazed meat as he took another bite.

Behind him, Eirenyssa followed, pulling more skewers from her dimensional pouch like a dutiful attendant at a festival rather than a battlefield. She handed him another without a word.

Zane chewed, eyes half-lidded, scanning the ruined hall as if searching for something he’d misplaced.

"Hmm," he muttered. "She’s still here."

They turned into a side corridor branching from the main chamber—dark, partially collapsed, pillars cracked from earlier tremors. Broken tables lay overturned. The air smelled of burnt mana and fear.

In one corner, behind a shattered stone desk, someone trembled.

Lilithara.

The once-proud Goddess of Hexes crouched low, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders shaking. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She had heard everything. The screams. The explosions. The silence afterward.

She had felt the high gods leave.

And then... nothing.

No presence returned.

No signal.

No command.

They were dead.

All of them.

She tried to quiet her breathing, tried to shrink into the corner, tried to pretend she didn’t exist.

It didn’t matter.

A face appeared upside down above her.

"...Found you."

Lilithara screamed.

"Aaahhh—!"

She scrambled backward on instinct, hands slipping on the smooth floor. Her legs failed her halfway. Panic swallowed any attempt at dignity. She tried to crawl, tried to move, but her body refused to obey.

Zane tilted his head, still upside down, chewing calmly.

"What’s wrong?" he asked mildly. "Where’s all that attitude now?"

He reached down and grabbed her by the head, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Her hands trembled uselessly against his wrist. No spell formed. No curse activated. She couldn’t even speak.

"Come on,try fighting back."

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

For a moment, he just looked at her.

Then he let go.

She dropped back to the floor, barely able to hold herself up. Her breathing came out in broken, shallow bursts. And then—

A smell.

A pool of liquid beneath her.

Sharp smell.

Embarrassing.

Unmistakable.

Lilithara froze.

Eirenyssa’s face twisted instantly.

"...Disgusting."

Zane exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"...Yeah."

He shook his head, almost disappointed.

"Alright, alright," he said, tone flattening. "I’ll leave you."

Lilithara didn’t react. She couldn’t. She just stared at the floor, shaking.

"You know what," Zane continued, casual again, "I’ll even call this mercy."

He crouched slightly and placed a hand on her head—not violently, just lightly, like one might touch a frightened animal.

"Your three big leaders should be coming back soon, right?" he said. "The ones the others were waiting for."

Silence.

"You can tell them what happened," he went on. "Explain things. Cry. Whatever helps."

He stood up and turned away as if the matter no longer interested him.

"Come on, Eirenyssa."

She followed immediately.

Neither of them looked back.

They walked down the corridor, Zane taking another bite from his skewer as if this were just another casual afternoon. Behind them, the Hall of Judgment remained in ruins, and in the corner, Lilithara stayed curled on the floor, shaking—alive only because the monster who had destroyed everything else had decided, for reasons known only to him, to leave her breathing.

.

.

.

Outside the Hall of Judgment, the god realm had fallen silent.

Bodies lay scattered across floating platforms and fractured crystal pathways. Divine soldiers, officers, mid-gods—some torn apart, some reduced to ash, some simply lying still as if sleep had taken them mid-battle. The golden sky above remained unchanged, serene and indifferent, as though nothing of value had been lost.

Zane stepped out of the ruined citadel, finishing the last bite of his skewer. He tossed the empty stick aside and glanced over the battlefield one more time, not with pride or regret—just mild acknowledgment, like someone looking over a finished task.

Then he turned to Eirenyssa.

"Let’s go back, shall we?"

She nodded at once.

"Yes, my lord."

They began walking across the broken white stone, her steps light but cautious. After a few moments, she spoke again.

"My lord... what should I do now?"

A pause.

"Should I return to Everion?"

Zane looked at her briefly, thinking.

"Hm. You can go back," he said, "but not yet."

She blinked.

"Those three big leaders of this realm are still away in that other meeting place," he continued casually. "They’ll come back eventually and see this mess. You are already wanted for them if you go now they’ll just capture you."

Eirenyssa gave a small nod.

"I understand."

"So come with me for now," Zane said. "Stick around. When they show up and things settle... then you can leave."

"Yes, my lord."

He reached out and took her hand without ceremony. There was no grand spell circle, no visible distortion—just a slight ripple in space around them.

And then they vanished.

The god realm remained behind, silent and broken, its battlefield untouched as the last witnesses disappeared.

Time passed.

In a distant corner of the god realm, space rippled softly—like fabric disturbed by an unseen hand.

Three figures stepped out.

Hooded.

Silent.

And heavy with power.

The moment they appeared, the surrounding space seemed to bend inward. Their presence alone carried a weight that surpassed the high gods who once ruled this realm. These were the three great leaders—the highest authorities the god realm possessed.

For a few seconds, none of them spoke.

Then the figure on the left, a feminine voice beneath the hood, spoke quietly.

"...I cannot sense most of the gods," she said. "Only a few faint ones remain."

On the right, a hoarse voice answered, low and seething.

"...Who dares to do this...?"

The middle figure raised a hand slightly.

"Enough," came an older, measured voice. "We go to the Hall of Judgment first."

The feminine one nodded faintly.

"...There is still someone alive there. A low god."

Without another word, all three flew forward.

They stopped abruptly moments later.

Before them stood something vast—broken, half-burned, and still faintly glowing.

The divine world tree.

The woman’s voice sharpened.

"...This is... the world tree...?"

The air grew heavy instantly. Pressure surged outward in waves. If any high god had still been present nearby, they would have been forced to their knees—or crushed entirely.

"Cease your anger," the central figure said calmly. "We confirm the situation first."

The pressure eased. The hooded woman exhaled slowly, regaining control.

Then all three vanished again.

They reappeared outside the ruined Hall of Judgment.

And saw the aftermath.

Bodies everywhere.

Gods, officers, soldiers—strewn across shattered white stone. Many had clean holes through their heads or chests, blackened from within as if something corrosive had eaten through them. Others were headless. Some were cut into pieces. Some... were no longer recognizable as anything that had once been divine.

Silence lingered for a moment.

Then the figure on the right stepped forward.

A different pressure filled the air now—crackling, unstable. Thunder rumbled without clouds.

A bolt of lightning crashed down.

The hood and cloak of the rightmost figure burned away in an instant, revealing a tall, muscular man with long aurora-blue hair flowing down his back and sharp silver eyes blazing with fury.

"Abyssals...!!" he roared.

"This is dark mana... How could an Abyssal be here...? How dare they—"

"Enough."

The middle figure’s voice cut through the storm like a blade.

"Calm yourself, Zoltar."

The thunder god’s jaw tightened, but the lightning faded. He exhaled sharply and forced himself still.

The three leaders descended to the ground together.

Without another word, they began walking toward the shattered Hall of Judgment.

They moved through the ruined corridors in silence.

Footsteps echoed faintly against cracked white stone. The halls that once carried authority now smelled of blood, ash, and something far more unpleasant.

They turned into a smaller chamber near the inner wing of the citadel.

The door hung half-broken.

When they stepped inside, a foul odor immediately hit them.

Zoltar’s nose twitched in disgust.

"...What is that smell...?"

Their eyes adjusted.

In the corner of the room, sitting on the ground in a trembling heap, was a woman. Legs folded tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She sat in a small pool of her own urine, rocking slightly, eyes unfocused and full of tears.

She was mumbling under her breath.

The hooded woman on the left stepped forward and slowly lowered her hood.

Her face came into view—luminous, almost unreal in its beauty. Golden hair flowed like liquid sunlight down her shoulders, shimmering with its own radiance. Her skin glowed softly, and her sapphire-blue eyes, ringed with gold, scanned the figure on the floor.

"...She was," she said quietly, "a low goddess. Lilithara... I believe. Goddess of hexes."

Zoltar frowned deeply.

"What happened to her...? She looks... broken."

He stepped closer and crouched slightly.

"Hey. What happened here?"

The reaction was immediate.

Lilithara’s head snapped up.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH—!!!"

She screamed and scrambled backward on the floor, slipping and clawing at the ground.

"Get away—get away—! I’m sorry—I’m sorry—!"

Zoltar froze, startled.

"...What the—"

"Aurolis," the hooded middle figure said calmly, "calm her. She is in deep trauma. Whatever did this... broke her mind."

The golden-haired goddess nodded.

She lifted a hand gently, and a soft golden light formed in her palm. It floated forward and wrapped around Lilithara like warm sunlight.

Slowly... the shaking stopped.

Lilithara’s breathing steadied. Her eyes focused.

Aurolis spoke gently.

"Calm down. Tell us what happened here."

Lilithara blinked, recognition dawning.

"...You’re... the three great leaders..."

Her lips trembled.

"I have to tell you... about—"

Suddenly her expression twisted.

Her eyes went wide.

"AHHHHHHH—!!!"

She screamed again and thrashed violently, looking around in blind panic.

"Zane—!!!"

Her gaze darted across the room, the walls, the ceiling.

"No—! No—! He’s here—! He’s everywhere—!"

Zoltar stood abruptly.

"Aurolis, what’s happening?!"

Aurolis frowned.

"...I don’t know. My calming spell... isn’t holding. Either it failed... or her trauma is too deep."

Lilithara looked at all three of them with pure terror.

"We’re all going to die... Nothing can win...!! He’s everywhere...!!"

Then—

Her body swelled slightly.

And exploded.

A burst of flesh and blood splattered across the room, leaving only fragments behind.

Silence.

Zoltar stared, stunned.

"...What the hell is happening...?"

He looked at the dark residue lingering in the air.

"...Dark mana...? Here? In the god realm...?"

His jaw tightened.

"And that name... Zane... what is this—"

"Calm yourself."

The middle figure’s voice cut through sharply.

Zoltar clenched his fists, anger rising.

"...Aren’t you angry, master?"

Before the middle figure could answer, Aurolis spoke quietly.

"Zoltar. You don’t understand. Master is... the most furious among us right now."

She turned slightly toward the hooded central figure.

"You know how he feels about that dark mana. He was there... at the beginning. He fought at the very top against the Abyssals."

She paused.

"He is... the God of War."

The middle figure slowly lifted his hood.

An old face emerged—lined with age but carved from steel. Grey hair streaked with black was tied back in a long ponytail. A deep claw-mark scar ran across the left side of his face, crossing over a white, pupil-less eye. A long grey beard framed his jaw.

His remaining eye burned quietly.

"Ares."

Silence filled the ruined chamber.

The war god stared at the blood-stained floor where Lilithara had stood.

And said nothing.