Five years had passed since the city massacre, and Hela dedicated herself to extensive research on the souls she had acquired, as well as the continuous influx of new souls over time.

The mortal, Augustus, had diligently fulfilled his duty. He traveled far and wide, mercilessly slaying clans of dark wizards and solitary sorcerers who derived their power from the dark dimension. In addition to his extermination efforts, Augustus also conducted soothing rituals in cemeteries of villages and small towns. These rituals aimed to calm the souls of the deceased and guide them to Helheim. However, such souls were rare, as most souls that did not find their way to the realm of the dead usually dissipated into the world.

During her research, Hela achieved a significant breakthrough. She successfully created what she called the "death worm." This small entity would attach itself to a person's soul and extract spiritual power, as well as any other dimensional energy used by sorcerers. Hela discovered that the worm also had an appetite for the magical energy utilized by wizards.

However, Hela was unable to determine if the death worm could process divine energy. She lacked the means to confront and kill any gods, and her only loyal follower was still too weak to take on such a monumental task. The gods remained elusive in Midgard, with only feeble avatars occasionally manifesting, and even then, rarely.

Over time, the death worm grew stronger, accumulating power from its host. When the owner eventually perished, Hela would gain all the amassed energy stored within the worm. Nevertheless, the creation was not without its flaws. The death worm did not grant its user immunity to death energy, nor did it enhance their physical strength, let alone offer the prospect of godhood. Its purpose was simply to convert one form of energy into the energy of death. As a result, individuals who hosted the worm would succumb to the overwhelming death energy within their bodies after twenty years.

Realizing the limitations of her creation, Hela acknowledged the need for research wizards who could assist in further refining the death worms. She also conducted a series of experiments with runes, attempting to replicate Augustus's success. However, all her attempts resulted in the death of the subjects. At best, Hela managed to prolong their survival during the transformation process.

"Now is the time to make significant strides," Hela mused. "Without the living, I cannot improve the death worms, and perhaps mortals themselves will contribute ideas to enhance them."

Hela also recalled Augustus's ability to wield death energy in his previous spells. Though relatively basic, he could create shields, chains that drained the life from their captives, and even fashion his own Necroswords. Although inferior to Hela's craftsmanship, wounds inflicted by these weapons proved slow to heal.

"On that note, with all the knowledge of magic and sorcery I have acquired from wizards and sorcerers, I can further refine my own Necroswords. The time for such improvements is fast approaching," Hela affirmed.

With renewed determination, Hela realized the need to initiate grand movements and gather more allies. The living would be indispensable in her quest for progression, not only for the enhancement of the death worms but also for the potential advancements mortals might bring. As Hela's plans took shape, she eagerly anticipated the possibilities that lay ahead, ready to forge a path that would leave an indelible mark on the realms of magic, death, and power.

Midgard.

In a secluded village, nestled within the cemetery, a pale man could be seen. The villagers shunned him, and rumors circulated in nearby cities about the traveler of death who brought both demise and solace to the departed.

The rumors were not baseless, for he had left a trail of destruction in his wake, annihilating villages that had fallen under the influence of dimensional lords seeking to encroach upon Earth. Not to mention the numerous families of dark magicians who had practiced their sinister arts and conducted heinous experiments on innocent individuals.

Augustus paid no mind to the fear people held towards him. After all, he had grown accustomed to it over five years. Moreover, he bore the weight of a mission to purge the world of the dimensional lords' influence. The burden was not an easy one, leaving him little time to concern himself with trivial rumors. Besides, as he discovered his ability to pacify the souls of the deceased, the living inhabitants cared less and less about his presence.

"I can always lend an ear to them once they have passed on," Augustus thought, increasingly adopting such notions. This shift in mindset began to manifest in his fighting style as well—more merciless and efficient. Each strike he delivered harvested lives, targeting only the most vulnerable points. No mercy, no second chances.

He dubbed this fighting style the Skill of Death, aptly reflecting its deadly nature.

Suddenly, a burly man with a massive two-handed sword strapped to his back approached Augustus.

"There you are, the harbinger of death. You have meddled too much in the affairs of mortals, and I have been commanded to end your life," the man declared.

Augustus observed the newcomer, assessing him with a discerning gaze. The warrior stood tall, clad in resplendent golden-copper armor, with an armored skirt swaying at his waist. His limbs bore the scars of past battles—wounds inflicted by swords and spears that had long since healed. At first glance, it was evident that he was a seasoned fighter, hardened by war.

"And who gave the order to kill me? Is it some city lord who resents the demise of his magicians?" Augustus inquired, though he remained outwardly calm, his senses primed for action. He was prepared to summon the goddess's sword, ready to engage in a battle of life and death.

"Hmm, these pitiful mortal rulers are beneath me. It is the gods who have commanded me to end your life. Ares is displeased that a mere mortal is committing genocide within his realm, and the stench of death offends his brother, Hades," the warrior declared.

Augustus grew cautious, for this meant that the gods had become aware of his actions and sought his demise. While he had long anticipated their disapproval, he had not expected such a swift response.

"Attempting to flee would be futile. Artemis's bloodhounds have already sniffed out your trail. You are already a walking corpse. So fight me, and let death claim you with dignity," the warrior challenged, his words filled with conviction.

The warrior pulled out his sword and struck the ground. The weight of the blade and the strength of the warrior caused a small earthquake in the area and August realized that the conflict could not be avoided.

"They called me a messenger of death and I am not afraid of death. Pitiful is the one who serves the Goddess of Death and is afraid to face her."

Augustus took a stance and summoned his sword. Ready for the conflict that should take place in the next second. After all, this is his first duel with another servant of the gods and this thought even excited him a little.