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SSS Awakening: I Can Devour Gods to Evolve My Goddesses

Chapter 19: It Tried to Run—Only Then Did I Level Up Twice · Oct 17, 2026

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Chapter List (273)

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1 Chapter 1: A God Is Chained Inside My F-Rank Ruin 2026-10-17
2 Chapter 2: First Bite—Not the Goddess 2026-10-17
3 Chapter 3: F-Rank—and First to Advance 2026-10-17
4 Chapter 4: F-Rank Luck? The Trial Countdown Keeps Ticking 2026-10-17
5 Chapter 5: Veyra Beneath Seven Seals 2026-10-17
6 Chapter 6: I Took the Packlord’s Dominion—and Twelve Blackfang Bowed 2026-10-17
7 Chapter 7: Six Seconds—and Everyone Gets Stronger 2026-10-17
8 Chapter 8: An A Rating? No One Believes It 2026-10-17
9 Chapter 9: Hero Power Ranking—Who Is Really Number One? 2026-10-17
10 Chapter 10: Five Thousand for a Blacksteel Sword? Moonrice Sells Out Instantly 2026-10-17
11 Chapter 11: Twenty-Two Refined Swords—and the Whole Region Takes Notice 2026-10-17
12 Chapter 12: A Thousand-Centaur Warcamp—Veyra Plows Through It with One Spear Strike 2026-10-17
13 Chapter 13: Want My Mine? Pay the Raid Fee First 2026-10-17
14 Chapter 14: Twelve Gloomhoof—and Every One of Them Advances to Rare 2026-10-17
15 Chapter 15: Fifty Thousand for a Raid Writ? The First Bolt Collects Interest 2026-10-17
16 Chapter 16: Fifty Thousand to Get In—Over Three Hundred Thousand to Get Out 2026-10-17
17 Chapter 17: Four Hundred Thousand in Hand—Rank II Comes First 2026-10-17
18 Chapter 18: Rank II Reached—Tonight, the Monster Tide Begins 2026-10-17
19 Chapter 19: It Tried to Run—Only Then Did I Level Up Twice 2026-10-17
20 Chapter 20: I Killed the Epic Myself—and Got an Epic Troop Sigil 2026-10-17
21 Chapter 21: Twelve Epic Troops—and Another Epic Is Waiting 2026-10-17
22 Chapter 22: She Wasn’t Fighting an Epic Monster—She Was Fighting an Epic Hero 2026-10-17
23 Chapter 23: I Was Just Passing Through—How Did This Become a Lightning Invasion? 2026-10-17
24 Chapter 24: Break the Twelve Shadows First—Then Kill the Epic Hero 2026-10-17
25 Chapter 25: Let Her Take the Boss Credit—I’m Betting on Myself for First 2026-10-17
26 Chapter 26: You’re Betting on Seraphine. I’m Leveling Veyra Again 2026-10-17
27 Chapter 27: They Bet 500,000 on the Wrong Name—My 10,000 Pays Out 633,663 2026-10-17
28 Chapter 28 - 10,000 Aether for Gold Vein Coordinates? I Hope It’s a Trap 2026-10-17
29 Chapter 29: Twelve Thunder Javelins—and the Channel Goes Silent 2026-10-17
30 Chapter 30: The Rank II Reward Just Dropped—and First Place Was Already Mine 2026-10-17
31 Chapter 31: Thirty-Six Pieces of Old Gear—Sold to the One Who Needed Them Most 2026-10-17
32 Chapter 32: You Thought She Was His Hero? She Was Just One of His Troops 2026-10-17
33 Chapter 33: Three Hundred Gold Ore—Eclipse Muster Hall Is Built 2026-10-17
34 Chapter 34: I Want an Army That Can Cage a Monster Tide 2026-10-17
35 Chapter 35: A 900,000-Aether Hero Sigil—and an Unexpected Wild Tide Lure 2026-10-17
36 Chapter 36: Twelve Level 14 Rare Ridgewardens—the Ranking Begins 2026-10-17
37 Chapter 37: Fewer Than Three Hundred—and Cassian Takes First Again 2026-10-17
38 Chapter 38: Two Hundred Nine Learn One Formation—and a Realmwide Announcement 2026-10-17
39 Chapter 39: After the Realmwide Announcement, the Balance Comes Early 2026-10-17
40 Chapter 40: It Isn’t One Rare Squad—It’s an Epic Palace 2026-10-17
41 Chapter 41: The Balance Arrives, Rank III—and a Legendary Hero 2026-10-17
42 Chapter 42: A Million Aether—and the Legendary Hero Arrives 2026-10-17
43 Chapter 43: Legendary vs. Legendary—the Royal Hall Opens 2026-10-17
44 Chapter 44: The Royal Hall Is Mine—and Another Extreme Troop Line 2026-10-17
45 Chapter 45: A Legendary Arrives—and Aveline Has a Secret 2026-10-17
46 Chapter 46: Two Million Aether—Selling the Royal Hall Again 2026-10-17
47 Chapter 47: One Legendary Set—Enough to Push Rare into Epic 2026-10-17
48 Chapter 48: A Ten-Million-Aether Bet on the Regional Warden Seat 2026-10-17
49 Chapter 49: Environment Foundation Reaches C—and the Resource Collection Ranking Opens 2026-10-17
50 Chapter 50 - 1.56 Million Points—First Place Is Out of Reach 2026-10-17

Chapter 19: He Cut the Only Lead Himself

”It’s moving.”

Marek’s voice came from the first relay.

Cassian froze with one foot on the black-gold plate.

”Moving how?”

”It isn’t falling. Something is pulling it outward.”

The dark-copper tag was still caught at the broken edge. But a gray-white cord now trailed from its end, pulling taut every few breaths and dragging the tag half an inch toward the second gap.

The thin stone pinning the tag was already cracked. Chips were dropping through the seam and vanishing into the underground dawnlight.

Every time the gray-white cord went taut, the crack bit a little farther under the tag.

Cassian’s first instinct was to pin it in place.

His second thought was even simpler—keep the tag, keep the line, then find out who was on the other end.

The tag. The line. Whoever was at the other end.

He wanted all three.

Cutting the line first was obviously safer. It still was not what he wanted.

”Don’t touch it. Report your footing.”

”Stable.”

”Your short hemp rope?”

”Still on the warning bolt.”

The gray-white cord tightened again before the words had finished leaving his mouth.

It snapped up from outside the broken stone and brushed Marek’s short hemp rope. The hemp jerked and pulled toward the gap.

Marek did not wait for an order.

He bent, ripped the quick-release knot free, gathered the entire rope to his side, and stepped back onto the solid stone shoulder.

With nothing blocking it, the gray-white cord slid across the stone. The copper tag shifted another inch outward.

Heat surged through Cassian’s chest.

His first relay had spotted that thing. It was his opportunity. Marek was standing right there, yet he had protected his own rope first and watched the tag slip farther away.

”Throw the rope—”

”My rope.” Marek closed one hand around the coil. ”Today, you paid me to watch, report, and call a stop.”

He looked at the still-trembling gray-white cord.

”You didn’t pay me to tie my hand to it.”

Marek did not lower his eyes or explain further. His short hemp rope was already secure in his own hand.

Cassian truly wanted to order him to throw it back.

The command had already reached his tongue. Then he saw the angle at which the rope had been pulled, and the solid stone Marek had retreated onto.

He did not like the answer.

But not liking it did not make Marek wrong.

”Hold your ground,” Cassian said.

He crossed the black-gold plate. Golden light rose through the breaks below, and every step tightened his injured knee.

Each faint clatter of falling stone behind him cut another piece from the time he had left.

Marek did not come to catch him.

Cassian did not ask him to.

From the solid shoulder at the first relay, the whole tag finally came into view.

It was a finger long, its edges worn. No writing. No divine gleam. The face turned upward held only three shallow black-gold strokes, as though someone had cut a complete mark in half.

The gray-white cord passed through an old hole at the end of the tag. Its other end stretched toward the second gap.

No anchor was visible.

Neither was a person.

Crack.

The fracture in the thin stone lengthened.

Cassian crouched and turned the bent broken-chain blade over, reaching with the hook along its spine for the inner edge of the tag.

The first touch of metal sent his right shoulder taut. He switched to his left hand, lowered his center of gravity, and slid the blade forward along solid stone.

The hook finally caught the tag.

The gray-white cord snapped tight at once.

The pull was not strong.

Its direction was the problem.

If his foot slipped even half a step, it would become an entirely different kind of danger.

”The gray-white cord,” Cassian said, his eyes fixed on the tag beneath the hook. ”What do you see?”

Marek shifted his angle without coming closer.

”It isn’t anchored on our side. Every pull comes from the second gap.”

”The section against the stone is worn pale.”

Cassian saw it.

The thinnest point was caught against a sharp stone edge. He could cut it now.

Or he could wait for one more pull.

The other end might reveal a little weight. A little reaction. Marek’s short hemp rope was right there; if Marek agreed to use it, Cassian might truly be able to keep both the tag and the live line.

Cassian looked at Marek.

Marek did not nod. He simply waited for Cassian to decide.

The iron marker stood beside a seam behind them. Rowan’s thunder-spear seal faced the stone. The side facing the relay bore the two lines Cassian had carved with his own hand yesterday.

[Hostile divinity: Cassian handles it first.]

[Names and old military records: sealed. Not to be taken outside.]

The dark-copper tag might not be a record.

But if he kept using it to squeeze value from the other end, the first thing he would be doing was throwing that possibility aside.

Otherwise, those two lines only meant anything when they cost him nothing.

He had flipped that marker himself. He had carved those words himself. If those two lines were going to collect a price now, it should come from him.

Another piece of thin stone broke away.

The tag jerked outward, and the hook scraped half an inch across the stone.

There would be no next pull to study.

Cassian crushed the hilt down with his left hand, locked his right hand around the inner spine of the blade, and pushed the edge against the worn section.

He paused for half a breath.

The gray-white cord might lead to the Bell-Keeper. To Orin. It was the only living direction still reaching out from beyond the second gap.

He could still be greedy for half a breath longer.

The fracture split through the thin stone.

Cassian drove his wrist down.

The first stroke cut most of the way through the cord.

Something outside yanked hard. The copper tag sprang from the crack.

Second stroke.

The gray-white cord snapped.

The outer section flashed along the edge and was ripped into the darkness beyond the reach of the underground dawnlight.

The thin stone overturned at the same instant.

Cassian swept out his left hand and caught the dark-copper tag, both feet still planted on the solid shoulder.

Pain jumped through his right shoulder. His knee almost folded. He forced his weight back onto stone.

By the time he looked up again, there was nowhere left to follow the gray-white cord.

Cold.

Light.

The half-mark pressed into his palm without the slightest response.

Cassian stared at the place where the cord had vanished. His chest felt hollow.

He had the tag.

He had also cut loose the only living trail beyond the second gap with his own hand.

”Any movement left?”

”No,” Marek said.

”Did you see where it went?”

”Below the second gap. I didn’t see more than that.”

He offered neither comfort nor judgment.

Cassian tightened his hand around the tag.

He did not say it had been worth it. Saying that now would only make him sound like a man unwilling to admit he had truly lost something.

”We’re done for today.”

Marek coiled his short hemp rope and slung it over his shoulder.

He did not ask what the copper tag was. He did not ask what Cassian intended to do with it.

They crossed the black-gold plate separately. Cassian escorted Marek through the Chain Gate, waited until he had left the true entrance, then manually closed the Gate.

The short hemp rope rested on Marek’s shoulder.

The dark-copper tag rested in Cassian’s palm.

The live line was gone.

Veyra still sat upon the black-gold divine seat. The main roll lay closed beside her, and Orin’s empty slot looked like a wound that had never properly healed.

Cassian placed the tag on the roll case.

”Do you recognize it?”

Veyra turned it over. Her gray-gold eyes stopped on the three shallow strokes, and her fingers slowly tightened.

”It isn’t a name.”

”It isn’t a complete military record either.”

”Then what is it?”

Veyra looked up at him.

”The missing other half of the Third Formation mark on Orin’s name strip.”

The Shrine went still for one breath.

Cassian pressed his thumb against the half of the black-gold mark and looked toward Orin’s empty slot. The hollow left by the lost line was still there, but it was no longer quite so cold.

He had not cut that line for a piece of scrap copper.

Part of Orin had truly come back.

The name was still on the other side. The only living trail was still gone.

”Put it back at the first relay,” Cassian said. ”Don’t reconnect the original line. Just leave the tag there.”

Veyra’s answer was short.

”No.”

”The other end sent it out. It will want to know where the tag went.”

”So you want to use Orin’s record as a hook.”

”I already cut the line.”

”I know.”

She did not say he had cut the right thing.

She did not say the live line had been worthless.

Cassian looked at the hand she had placed over the copper tag.

”Which part is his record?”

Veyra turned the tag to its unmarked side and tapped one fingernail between the plain copper face and the old hole.

”The black-gold mark,” she said. ”The copper is not his name. Neither is the old hole.”

Cassian’s gaze settled on the end of the tag.

Plain copper.

An old hole.

Enough weight for the gray-white cord to pull.

He could not use Orin’s record.

That did not mean there was no other hook.

Veyra moved the dark-copper tag toward the empty slot. Her right wrist could rise only so far, and the chains drew tight with the motion.

Cassian reached out with his left hand and pressed his thumb against the tag.

Ordinary metal slid down the old groove.

Click.

The main roll did not open.

The name was still missing.

But for the first time, the slot was no longer completely empty.

Cassian left his fingertip on the cold metal for one extra breath.

Then he said, ”I want a blank copper tag that weighs the same.”

No name. No Third Formation mark. Just a matching old hole.

He would hang it at the broken edge by the first relay.

The blank could be lost. Orin’s record would not have to go outside. Marek would only need to watch from solid stone.

The next time the other end reached out—

The first thing it touched would be Cassian’s hook, not Orin’s record.

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