Err… Darius was left speechless. "So the Gods of Elysium and the Demons of Armadon are half-baked trash that are merely posing to be something they are not?"

"That's right! There are many requirements for becoming a True Lord of Faust, but the most basic one to wear this title is to know the name of the True Creator of this world! Those self-proclaimed Gods from Elysium and meatheads from Armadon actually think themselves to be the highest powers in this world! Tell me, what do you think of them?"

Darius wrung his lips. When the Master of the Plains of Death put it like that… the Gods and Demons of Faust really looked like ignorant fools who were playing house…

"My Lord, I beg your forgiveness for my blasphemous words. They were uttered in total ignorance of the truth." Darius apologized as he bowed once more.

The entity seemed to be somewhat appeased by the young lad admitting his mistake, waving his arm magnanimously. "I can still smell the scent of your previous world on your soul. You have only spawned in this world for... a few months at best. I shall overlook your offense, just do not do it again. Another True Lord of Faust would be less lenient than I am."

Darius nodded subserviently. "My Lord, before we begin the trade, would it be possible to learn more about you?"

The being seemed surprised by this and rubbed Marasmus' chin thoughtfully. "Hoho, are you that curious? Aren't you scared that I will exterminate you for daring to lust over knowledge beyond your means?"

Darius smiled and spoke honestly. "In the pursuit of knowledge, personal sacrifice is acceptable."

The entity nodded in agreement. "Well said! As for me, most know me as the Master of the Plains of Death! However, my real name is something you might have heard before."

With a booming voice, this True Lord of Faust spoke powerfully. "I'm Thanatos, Titan God of Death!"

Darius felt his body shiver at the revelation, for it revealed something he had briefly entertained, yet didn't dare to pursue. It also explained why his Branded Servant, the almighty fierce Gunner, had been shaking like a rabbit ever since Thanatos had taken over.

After all, the Giant race were the descendants of the almighty Titans, most of whom got sealed in Tartarus by the collective efforts of the Gods. The life goal of every giant was to become closer to their mother, Gaia, and also release their ancestors, the Titans, from their prison.

Darius's mind couldn't help but shift. He remembered the legend of the formation of the Plains of Death. Previously he had recounted up until the segment where the powerful Necromancer Empire had been sieged by the various empires of Faust due to fear.

The Necromancer Empire had routed all foes into nothingness and even raised their corpses to replenish their numbers. Not even a day later, they had continued their invasion of Armadon, a war the undead fought for reasons the history books could only guess.

Despite this combined attack of various living empires, they had surprisingly refrained from retaliating. It should have been obvious to any fool that the Necromancer Empire hadn't had any interest in fighting among these human ants for some measly gains.

However, the severe loss had triggered the unity of the various kingdoms and empires. Realizing that no force they could muster could beat these foes, they had naturally sought outside help.

This had led to a drastic change no one could have predicted.

The ones to answer the call had not been the legendary beasts of Unyris, the Ice races of Kiel, the Immortals of Pan, the Samurai of Houto, the Technology adept Gravitas, or the Moles of Pokterr.

No, the ones to answer the call had turned out to be the churches of Elysium. The various priests, paladins, holy warriors, and champions of the various orthodoxies had made their way to Fallon, different ones choosing different empires to head to.

There, they had won the favor of the distraught people and assured the kings/emperors that vengeance would be extracted. The only thing they had asked for in return had been the right to set up branch churches here and promote the faith of the gods.

It had been a rather simple request, yet all of the other continents had been averse to having the Elysium's churches stretch their tendrils onto their land and had rejected them for many years. As such, the kings and emperors had hesitated because their predecessors had warned them to never allow such a thing.

However, the initiative had been stolen from them. The agents of the church had quickly built a strong rapport with the people and with basic political manipulation, the peasants and commoners who never knew any better had cried for their kings and emperors to accept the terms!

Caught in the worst possible position for any political ruler, they had eventually been forced to accede lest they be deposed by the people. With this foundation, the various churches had instantly launched a holy war against the Necromancer Empire.

What came next had been bloody, to say the least. The churches had paid a heavy price to inflict mortal damage to the Necromancer Empire.

To make matters worse, the Demons of Armadon had seemingly been cooperating with the Gods, pressuring the empire from the front and back.

According to the next part, which to this day was heavily disputed by many scholars for how outrageous it sounded, the armies of the Gods and Demons had surrounded the weakened empire.

The various deities and demons had projected their avatars into the skies, standing over their various armies and giving them the boost in morale to rout this bunch of undead at once!

However, it was said that the God-Emperor of the Necromancer Empire, who had been silent ever since the start of the attack, had finally risen from his throne and had projected himself above his capital.

A heated battle had ensued with the single defender against almost 200 foes... and yet both sides had ended up with similar injuries.

The Gods had lost all their armies and had been forced to flee back to Elysium spending millennia to recuperate. The Demons had similarly sustained near-fatal injuries, which had taken millennia to heal.

Meanwhile, the God-Emperor of the Necromancer Empire had lost his foundation. He had raised the corpses of the armies meant to siege him and had taken the pitiful remains of his once strong forces, migrating to the northernmost end of the continent and settling there.

The aftermath of the battle had left Fallon devastated for a few centuries, in which the infamous Plains of Death appeared. The various churches had begun to spread their influence, but eventually had hit a roadblock since the people had no longer needed them.

After all, human beings were fickle. When they needed you, they would elevate you. When your necessity had run out, it depended on their whim as to whether they would show you favor.