"That being said, as the one granting your blessing, I recommend you choose between the blessing of strength, magical power, or intelligence. So, what blessing will you choose?" the red-haired man asks, seeking confirmation of my decision.
What blessing should I choose? I don't think strength is particularly useful, especially since we keep losing territory despite having strong warriors. I don't want to fight on the front lines either. The blessing of magical power is tempting, but considering that a blessing only enhances one aspect of a person, I could still use magic to some extent even without it. And intelligence? No, I'm confident enough in my intellect.
One thing I learned from my previous life is that money holds incredible power. If you have wealth, you have influence. The fact that many countries are involved in this war only highlights that individual strength has its limits. I think it's better to use my blessing to benefit many rather than hoard it for myself. That's it—I'll use my blessing to build an invincible army, rather than waste it on personal power. Besides, I refuse to lose what I hold dear because of money. Never again.
"I want the blessing of wealth," I said with unwavering confidence.
Suddenly, the temperature around me drops sharply. Frost appears across the ground near where the blue-haired man stands. His cold, piercing gaze locks onto me, and if stares could kill, I'd be long dead.
"Did you even listen to what I said?" the blue-haired man snaps, his face contorted in anger. "I told you—the blessings of strength, magical power, and intelligence are the most beneficial. Choose one of them! Don't let your past life cloud your judgment!"
The sheer pressure in his voice nearly crushes me. Still, I force myself to endure it. I gather every bit of courage and reply,
"So what if my choice is influenced by my previous life? I've lived and suffered long enough to understand the true power of wealth. People crave what they lack. Those who seek strength or intelligence do so because they were born without them. I won't deny that I lack wealth—and yes, I crave it."
"Well said," the black-haired man interjects calmly, stepping between me and the enraged blue-haired man, attempting to defuse the tension.
"Let me explain further," the red-haired man says. "Other than the three traditional blessings, the rest rarely end well. Heroes who didn't choose one of the main three often faced harsh judgment. Some were even targeted by their own people. A few… died because of the very blessing they chose. You should seriously reconsider."
"There was even a worse case," the red-haired man continues, sighing. "A hero from the fourth generation chose the blessing of beauty. He became the most attractive man on the continent—but utterly useless in war. He used his gift to seduce countless women. His end came when he was caught sleeping with a duke's wife. Since then, public opinion on unique blessings has only worsened. You'll face prejudice just for not choosing one of the three accepted blessings."
"And don't forget," the black-haired man adds, pointing toward the blue-haired man, "you'll be born in the same era as the third Demon Lord. There's a strong chance to defeat him before he becomes too powerful. That's why he's so upset—because you chose an unconventional blessing when we might finally have a shot at killing the Demon Lord this generation. So, will you reconsider your decision?"
"I still want the blessing of wealth," I declare, holding firm.
"You stubborn bastard!" the blue-haired man roars. Fangs burst from his mouth and claws extend from his fingers.
"Calm down, you overgrown dog," the red-haired man says mockingly.
"Shut the fuck up, you little finch!" the blue-haired man snarls back.
"What did you just call me?" the red-haired man's expression twists with fury. A pair of flaming scarlet wings unfurl behind him, and the air grows hot with pressure.
Their opposing powers—ice and fire—fill the room, creating a suffocating atmosphere.
"Enough, you two," the white-haired woman says flatly, stepping between them. Her expression remains unreadable. "As always, we will respect the hero's choice."
She turns to me, her voice calm but resolute. "Let me ask you one last time. What blessing will you choose?"
Though the blue-haired man's pressure is overwhelming, my decision hasn't changed.
"I want the blessing of wealth," I say with all the conviction I can muster.
"As you wish," the white-haired woman replies, and then everything goes blurry as I lose consciousness.
Once the matter with Timothy was settled, the room returned to calm. The red and blue-haired men reverted to their human forms.
"Let's bring in the last hero," the white-haired woman said, volunteering to lead the conversation this time. A faint smile appeared on her face, surprising the others. It was the first time any of them had seen such an expression on her.
In time, the fourth and final hero also chose a unique blessing—not one of the three orthodox ones—but this time, there was no conflict. The white-haired woman handled everything diplomatically.
Afterward, the gods discussed where each hero would be born.
Each of the four gods oversaw a territory. It was their responsibility to guide the hero born within it.
"Four heroes—one chose strength, one chose magical power, and two chose unique blessings," the red-haired man summarized.
"We had a real chance to defeat the Demon Lord this generation… and only two heroes chose battle-suited blessings?" the blue-haired man grumbled. "If it were up to me, I'd give all of them the blessing of strength and send them to hunt the Demon Lord immediately."
"Whatever," he added with a huff. "I'll take the one with the strength blessing to the Averin Empire, like always."
"I'll take the one with magical power to the Canossa Republic," the red-haired man said nonchalantly.
"Wait a minute," the black-haired man cut in. "The Odivets Empire is in the direst state. Shouldn't we send one of the more reliable heroes there—the one with strength or magic?"
"It's fine," the white-haired woman replied.
She was in charge of the Odivets Empire, a region in the southeastern continent suffering the most. "You seemed interested in the hero with the blessing of wealth," she said to the black-haired man.
"It's not that I particularly want him," the black-haired man replied. "But I have the right candidate to be his parent in my territory."
"Then you can have him. I'll take the last one," the white-haired woman said.
"But your territory—" the black-haired man began again.
"It's fine," she insisted. "I don't think the situation there can be salvaged easily, even with an orthodox blessing. And I believe the final hero is more compatible with my territory anyway."
"...Well, if you say so," the black-haired man relented.
"It's settled then," said the blue-haired man. "I'm leaving."
He took his leave, transforming in the distance into his true form—a colossal wolf-like divine beast known as Fenrir.
"I'll be going too," said the red-haired man, shifting into a massive bird wreathed in flames—the Phoenix.
"Those two still can't get along, even after thousands of years," the black-haired man sighed. "One of them even loses his temper when reminded of his past form. I don't mind being called by mine."
"Oh? Then I suppose it's fine if I call you 'Old Turtle'?" the white-haired woman teased.
"Go ahead," he said with a grin. "Then I'll call you 'Little Cat.'"
"Sure. I was a pet cat once," she answered with a rare smile. "I'll take my leave now."
"Good luck. You'll need it," the black-haired man said.
Luck truly is on my side this time, the white-haired woman thought, transforming into her true form—a majestic, winged lion known as the Manticore.
As she departed, the black-haired man murmured to himself, "Time to visit that treacherous woman first."