Roland’s entire worldview felt like it needed a total reboot. *This* snarling Chihuahua staring him down was the Imperial-tier Beast?

All the way here, he’d been picturing what an Imperial-tier Beast should look like—he hadn’t gotten a clear view earlier because it moved too fast.

In his imagination, it should’ve been fearsome: a bloodthirsty maw, razor-sharp claws, an aura of overwhelming dominance fit for a world ruler. But what *was* this oversized Chihuahua?

Not only wasn’t it terrifying—it was kinda cute.

The Chihuahua crouched low, eyes locked on Roland like facing mortal danger, saliva dripping from bared teeth.

Molten lava trickled down its massive frame, yet left not a single scorch mark on its soft, silky fur.

Its body bore many wounds, most already scabbed over—a clear testament to an Imperial-tier Beast’s insane regeneration.

But one massive wound caught Roland’s eye. While others neared healing, this one remained shockingly raw: basin-sized, still oozing blood. White specks clung to the torn flesh inside, stubbornly preventing closure.

Roland knew instantly—only a Forbidden Spell could wound an Imperial-tier entity this deeply and suppress its healing. Which meant… a Grand Sage was still outside!

A cold jolt shot through him. *Silva’s still out there.*

Those people earlier clearly meant trouble. Even with the six divine artifacts he’d given her, facing a Grand Sage? Uncertain at best.

*“Gotta get out fast. Silva could be in real danger.”*

As Roland reached into his coat pocket, the Chihuahua tensed instantly—muscles coiled, teeth bared in a low growl, bracing for some hidden weapon.

Instead, Roland pulled out a bag of dog food.

“C’mere, big guy. Try this.” He tossed it over with a slight smile.

The Chihuahua backed away warily, sniffed cautiously once the food landed, then took a tentative bite.

Delicious!

Its eyes lit up. It gulped the whole bag down, tongue lolling, gazing at Roland with eager, hopeful eyes—*More? More?*

Roland was stunned. He’d only tested if it acted like a real dog… and it *did*.

How did this thing even *become* an Imperial-tier Beast? It’s just a dog! What about all those millennia-old beasts still stuck at Rank Ten? Total facepalm.

Roland pulled out more bags. Seeing the feast, the Chihuahua let out a joyful “Woof!”

It trotted over, lay down submissively, and opened its tooth-filled maw, nudging Roland to pour more in.

Roland was speechless. Moments ago, it wanted to kill him. Now? Food = instant loyalty. *Whose dog even is this? So embarrassing.*

Just then—a single pure-white feather drifted down, landing softly on Roland’s nose.

Before he could react, divine light flooded the dim cave. Snow-white feathers rained down, untouched even when landing on scorching lava.

The Chihuahua flattened itself instantly, silent, not even swallowing the kibble in its mouth.

Roland stood baffled. *What?! Holy light? Falling feathers?!*

A serene melody swelled from nowhere—soothing, soul-stirring. The cave’s heat vanished; even the lava stilled.

Within the radiance, a breathtaking woman descended slowly.

Simple white dress. Flowing golden hair. A grass wreath resting gently on her brow.

Where she passed, green shoots sprouted—exploding into grass, flowers, vines crawling up stone walls, crimson blooms bursting forth. Plants even sprouted *on* the lava.

She hovered midair, eyes closed, serene and flawless, radiating pure sanctity.

Roland stood frozen, mouth agape. Countless words swirled in his head… and all he choked out was:

“Holy crap.”

He *knew*—this was the Goddess of Creation. Her aura matched his statue’s exactly. Only cosmic law could make this hellscape bloom.

But… *why was she here?*

“Princess Silva,” the Goddess began, voice warm yet unshakably authoritative, “you bear a sacred mission. A great calamity looms. You, who carry Primordial Magic, are the key to salvation. Gather the Creation Relics before the forces of evil do—or all will perish. The legendary World Stone rests in that wooden box. Take it. Forge a new era.”

She spread her arms. Blinding light erupted behind her. Her voice rose, fervent:

“Step forth! You shall carve epics in blood and starlight! Command heavens and earth! Your name shall echo through eternity! The world shall turn its gaze to *you*!!!”

As her declaration faded, Roland weakly raised a hand. “Goddess… my name’s Roland.”

Goddess of Creation: “….”

Her golden eyes snapped open—Roland’s reflection clear within.

“Damn it… *you*?” she muttered, genuinely thrown.

“Who are you?” she asked, stern mask snapping into place.

“Roland. A bard.”

“Where’s Silva?”

“Upstairs. Locked out.”

Silence. Then her gaze dropped to the dog. “Wangcai. Forgotten your meat bones? You picked the *wrong* person!”

“Whimper…” The Chihuahua ducked its head, utterly chastised.

*So it’s HER dog?!* Roland blinked in disbelief. *Sister, gods keep Chihuahuas?!*

A Hellhound? A Celestial Devourer? *Something* fitting! But a Chihuahua? The vibe was… surreal.

“Ahem.” Flustered but recovering instantly, the Goddess straightened. “Since Silva isn’t here… the duty of saving the world falls to *you*.”

*You were embarrassed—I saw it!* Roland’s mind screamed. *And you’re handing world-saving duties to a random bard?!*

Exasperation washed over him. This Goddess of Creation? Nothing like the legends. Even her solemn act was transparent.

“Goddess,” Roland said carefully, “I’m just a regular bard. I can *sing* about heroes… but *be* one? Really not my thing.”

“A real man never says ‘I can’t’!” she declared sternly.

*Well. Dignity: gone.*

Before Roland could protest, she unfastened the wooden box bound by eighteen bronze chains, pulled out a smooth, multicolored stone, and thrust it into his palm.

“There. You are now fate’s chosen. Go save the world.”

She patted his shoulder—exactly like a boss dumping a critical project on an intern: *“Don’t mess this up.”*

*&%$#@!*

“Fate’s mysterious! You can’t just *handpick* someone!”

“I *am* fate,” she replied calmly.

Roland: “….”

*Right. She literally is.*

“Now,” she said, gesturing to sit. Wangcai launched into action—a dramatic leap, a slick slide—landing perfectly beneath her. She plopped down.

Wangcai panted happily, tongue out, tail thumping. *Loving it.*

Roland: “…I have too many complaints to even start.”

Ignoring him, the Goddess continued:

“The World Stone is one Creation Relic. I sealed it here after creation to stabilize the realm. Others exist worldwide: the Primordial Magic within your *future* wife’s body, the Ancient Forbidden Magic held by her maid Yenoa, the Sacred Flame guarded by the nation beside your future wife’s country, the Elven Blood of the neighboring Elvenkind…”

“Wait, WAIT!” Roland cut in. “Stop saying ‘wife’! We’re not married!”

“Oh. The Elven Blood of the Elvenkind next to your *future* wife’s country…”

“Hold on—”

“What *now*?” Annoyance flickered in her voice.

“Silva has Primordial Magic? Yenoa holds Ancient Forbidden Magic? How did *I* not know?!”

“Neither do *they*,” the Goddess said, stroking Wangcai’s fur as the dog melted into bliss. “Consider it a spoiler. Ask your future father-in-law.”

“Emperor Onid?”

“He knows much.” Her tone turned grave. “Creation Relics can birth worlds… or unmake them. Someone seeks to destroy everything. And they’ve already gathered several.”