The Scum Emperor's Redemption System

[Warning: Old Content]

The steam from the hot springs still clings to Argider's skin as she steps out, her hair damp and heavy against her back. For once, she feels… lighter. A small, fleeting sense of normalcy lingers—until she opens the doors and sees the chaos unfolding before her.

The palace courtyard is in complete disarray. Couriers run frantically, their arms stacked with parchment. Messengers yell over each other, their voices rising in urgency. Soldiers, usually disciplined, move in barely contained panic. And at the center of it all, a group of high priests stands, their robes billowing as they argue in frantic, hushed tones.

Argider blinks. Then, instinctively, she takes a step back inside.

Nope. She's not dealing with this today.

Unfortunately, fate has other plans.

A guard spots her—one who clearly hasn't yet been briefed on the unspoken rule of do not involve Argider in divine-level disasters until absolutely necessary. His eyes widen in realization, and before she can retreat into the sweet embrace of denial, he shouts, "She's here!"

Silence.

Every head turns toward her. A beat passes. Then, chaos erupts anew.

"What are you?" one of the high priests demands, striding forward with a look of unhinged reverence and fear. "A celestial omen? A divine catastrophe? The rebirth of something beyond mortal comprehension?"

Argider stares. What?

Another priest, slightly less dramatic but still clearly in distress, bows so deeply she worries he might snap in half. "Great one, please, we must understand the anomaly that shook the heavens! The balance of divinity itself has been disrupted!"

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. What?

And then, as if the universe itself decided to throw everything at her at once, another wave of disaster strikes.

A second group approaches—the royal envoys of several rival nations. Their expressions range from distrust to outright hostility. One particularly well-dressed representative steps forward, gaze sharp enough to cut stone.

"This phenomenon," he says coolly, "bears all the marks of a divine weapon."

Argider barely refrains from groaning. Here we go.

"Our scholars," he continues, "believe this could be an act of aggression. An unprecedented show of power meant to establish supremacy." His eyes narrow. "Tell us, Saintess—was this an accident?"

She has never wanted to scream more in her life. YES, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! Does she look like someone who planned this?
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Before she can answer, another voice cuts in.

"This isn't just about war," a scholar says, stepping forward with wild excitement. His ink-stained fingers clutch a parchment filled with diagrams and hastily drawn calculations. "We've been tracking the celestial shifts, and based on the intensity and range of the divine fluctuations, we have reason to believe…" His breath catches. "That a new god has been born."

Argider chokes. "Excuse me?"

The scholar nods enthusiastically, eyes shining with academic zeal. "Your awakening was unlike anything recorded in history! You didn't just disrupt the divine order—you rewrote it! The cosmic energies realigned to accommodate your existence!"

"That's not how any of this works," she says weakly, but no one listens.

Another scholar waves a scroll excitedly. "Some of us hypothesize that you were once a god and have merely reawakened! Others suggest that you are an entirely new divine entity, formed through unprecedented convergence of celestial forces—"

A high priest gasps. "Then she is the prophesied one! The harbinger of change! The long-awaited—"

"NO!" Argider finally snaps, hands flying up. "I am not a new god! I am not a divine weapon! I am not an omen of war! I didn't plan any of this! Do you think I wanted to almost tear reality apart?!"

Silence follows. A pause. Then someone hesitantly asks:

"…So what are you?"

Argider groans. She doesn't know! She's been trying to figure that out herself! She was hoping for a peaceful day to process things, but no, now there are cults forming in her name!

Yes, actual cults. She spots them in the background—groups of civilians on their knees, praying toward her with fervent devotion. A man is writing something feverishly on a parchment labeled "Gospels of the Saintess' Divine Rebirth."

This is officially the worst day of her life.

Then, just when she thinks it can't get worse, the final, inevitable disaster strikes.

A presence washes over the palace.

It's subtle at first—just a ripple in the air, a hush settling over the courtyard. But then it deepens, growing heavy, like the world itself is shifting in response. The ground vibrates beneath her feet. The very fabric of reality bends as someone powerful arrives.

A voice, smooth and ancient, cuts through the silence.

"At last," it murmurs. "I've found you."

Argider freezes.

The air distorts. A figure steps forward, emerging as if they had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves. They are shrouded in power—not divine, not mortal, but something else. Something older.

Their gaze settles on Argider, sharp and knowing.

"You," they say, a smile curving their lips. "You are more than they realize."

Argider swallows. Oh no.

The priests, scholars, and diplomats all step back in unison, their arguments forgotten. Even the royal envoys—**hardened politicians who fear nothing—**shift uneasily.

Whoever this is… they do not belong to the current world order. Their very existence bends the laws of reality.

And they are looking directly at Argider.

For the second time that day, she contemplates simply walking back into the hot springs and pretending none of this is happening.

Instead, she takes a steady breath and braces herself. Because something tells her that this—this moment, this person—is only the beginning.

The air was thick, the kind of weight that pressed down on the soul, making it harder to breathe. The unnatural darkness swallowed the palace ruins, twisting the sky into something unrecognizable. Argider felt it before she saw it—a presence, something vast and unknowable forcing its way into existence.

Then, they stepped through.

The figure emerged like a living shadow, edged with veins of gold that pulsed like molten light. Their form was neither fully solid nor entirely intangible, shifting between states as if reality itself was unsure whether it could contain them.

Their face was obscured, blurred like a forgotten memory, but the sheer weight of their presence sent a ripple through the world.

Every deity, every scholar, every mortal sensitive to the divine felt it.

A cosmic disturbance. A violation of the natural order.

Something that should not exist.

And yet, they did.

Argider barely had a second to process it before pain flared across her chest.

The divine seal left by the Ancient Deity of Order and Correction burned, its magic writhing like a living thing. She staggered, clutching at the mark as golden chains—invisible until now—materialized around her, binding something deep within.

The figure tilted their head, their gaze sharp despite the lack of discernible eyes. A smile—almost amused—played across their lips.

"Ah…" Their voice was smooth, carrying an almost intimate familiarity, like they'd known her for lifetimes. "So that's what they did to you."

Argider's body screamed at her, every instinct telling her to move, fight, flee—anything.

But she stood firm.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to straighten, to meet their gaze without flinching.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

A pause.

Then—a chuckle.

Low. Amused. Too knowing.

The air rippled again, like the universe itself was struggling to accommodate this being's presence. Even the ground beneath them seemed uncertain, unstable.

Then, softly, they spoke.

"Why, my dear Argider…" The amusement in their voice sharpened, turning into something almost fond.

"I am the only one who truly understands what you are."

Argider's blood ran cold.

Before she could react—before she could even breathe—

Argider's body locks up at the figure's words. Their voice coils around her like a whisper of forgotten truths, threading through her bones, her mind—something deep inside her reacting. A pulse of familiarity. A terrible, inexplicable pull.

Her wives are instantly on edge. Esmeralda moves without hesitation, stepping in front of her, hand gripping her weapon with dangerous intent. Faeralys's fingers twitch, magic coiling at her fingertips, calculating countermeasures. And Fialova? For once, she isn't smirking. She watches with eerie focus, her usual playfulness gone.

The figure sighs, tilting their head as if amused. "Still resisting? How stubborn." Their tone is affectionate.

Argider forces herself to move—one step, then another, despite the burning, writhing pain of the divine seal. "You didn't answer me." Her voice is steady, even as her body betrays her. "Who. Are. You?"

Silence stretches between them.

Then, finally—

They speak their name.

And the world shatters.

A pulse of something vast, ancient, forbidden ripples through the air. The sky cracks, stars flickering—trembling. The name alone bears a weight that nearly crushes Argider.

Her knees buckle.

Her mind screams.

The divine seal writhes—fighting, resisting, breaking.

Because this name should not exist.

Yet, it does.

A warm hand grabs her wrist—Esmeralda's. Real. Anchoring her.

"Enough," Esmeralda snarls, voice sharp as steel. "Whatever you are, you will not break her."

The figure laughs.

"Oh, my dear," they murmur, pleased. "She was never meant to break."

Then, as suddenly as they arrived—

They are gone.

The world stitches itself back together.

Argider gasps for air, chest heaving, divine seal cracked, unstable.

And in the silence, one truth settles:

They weren't done with her yet.