Dawn Walker-Chapter 92: The Scroll That Should Not Exist

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There was mostly information about weapons class and grade. Materials that needed to forge them. He already knew about them. Then Sekhmet saw another thing.... a second bundle.

Rustle... rustle...

The old cloth shifted under Sekhmet’s fingers as he opened the second bundle, more carefully this time. He had already seen the first lines, but his mind had refused to accept them without confirmation. Some things were too large to digest in one glance. Some things needed a second look, like a blade you thought was dull until you held it under the light and saw the sharp edge waiting.

The Dawn House library was quiet. Quiet enough that he could hear the faint breathing of the mansion itself. Quiet enough that the pages made small sounds when he turned them.

Flip...

The scroll inside was not paper. It was something older, something treated. The surface had a faint sheen, like dried skin or pressed bark. The ink was black but not faded. If anything, it looked sharper than modern writing, as if the author’s intent had become part of the material and refused to weaken.

Along one side of the scroll, burned into the material like a stamp, was the Dawn House sigil.

Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.

He had seen that sigil since childhood on crates, ledgers, seals, and auction documents. He had thought his father invented it. He had thought Dawn House was a merchant brand, a name made for business, a symbol made to look respectable in a city full of predators.

But the scroll looked millions of years old.

It was impossible.

And that meant it was real.

Sekhmet read.

The first lines were not poetic.

They were cold.

They were structured.

They were knowledge written for people who lived so long that time became an inconvenience, not a rule.

It described godhood in the Null with a clarity Sekhmet had never heard in the streets or in the training grounds.

It said, in simple terms, that the threshold most mortals thought was "godhood" was only the beginning of the beginning.

Sekhmet read the requirements again.

Battle power. Chaos purity. A specific baseline.

The scroll explained that when one’s overall battle power reached one hundred thousand and chaos purity exceeded fifty percent, the individual could step into godhood.

Not as a great god. Not as a pillar of the realm.

As the lowest of the low.

The most fragile god that still counted as divine.

Sekhmet’s throat tightened slightly as he absorbed the idea.

He had thought godhood was a wall you climbed over and then the world changed.

This scroll made it sound like a door you opened and then discovered there were a thousand more doors behind it.

The scroll continued.

It explained the nature of divine paths.

Gods did not simply become "strong."

They became focused.

They became embodiments of a concept, a force, a principle.

Not always moral, not always grand, not always noble.

A god could master earth.

A god could master fire.

A god could master thunder.

A god could master dust.

A god could master fog.

A god could master gold.

A god could master water.

And it did not stop there.

The scroll spoke as if the list was endless because it was endless.

Anything that existed could become a path. Anything that could be defined could be mastered. Anything that could be understood deeply enough could become law.

Sekhmet’s eyes moved down the scroll.

The author gave examples.

Not for entertainment, but for clarity.

A "water god" was not one singular thing.

There could be multiple water gods.

Their power might look similar to ignorant eyes, but their understanding could be entirely different.

One water god might be a master of waves, turning oceans into weapons, raising walls of water, crushing cities beneath tides.

Another water god might be a master of rain, controlling precipitation, drawing moisture from air, drowning armies with endless storms.

Another might be a master of rivers, bending flow, shaping currents, carving canyons with a gesture.

Another might be a master of ice, freezing rivers mid-sentence, binding enemies in crystal, making winter obey.

All water.

Different laws.

Different understanding.

Sekhmet’s mind pictured it immediately, because he had seen gods fight in stories, and he had always assumed power was power.

This scroll said power was language.

Understanding was grammar.

A god was not just a strong being.

A god was a being who learned to speak a law so fluently the Null itself listened.

His fingers tightened on the edge of the scroll.

The author described what happened after "low godhood."

A low god was not automatically accepted into the God’s Hall.

The Gods Hall was not a club for anyone who hit a number.

The Gods Hall was where true gods gathered.

True gods were those who learned the law of their chosen power to a high level, those who refined understanding beyond brute force, those who stabilized their divinity so completely that their existence became part of the realm’s structure.

A low god was still incomplete. They had divine energy, yes, but their foundation was shallow. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

They could die.

They could be devoured.

They could be broken.

They could be erased by those with deeper law.

Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.

He reread one line twice.

The scroll stated that to become a true god, one must deepen their law until their power was no longer merely chaos energy shaped by will, but a principle that could impose itself on reality.

Sekhmet leaned back slowly, exhaling.

He felt strangely sober.

He had been excited by his rapid growth, excited by sixteen thousand battle power, excited by purity rising from eleven to twelve, excited by blood awakening increasing, excited by the idea of climbing quickly.

But this scroll reminded him that the path was long.

Not just long.

Endlessly deep.

"So even if I reach one hundred thousand," Sekhmet thought, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "I will still be... nothing."

Not nothing in mortal terms, but nothing in the eyes of the old monsters who called themselves gods.