The Quest Is Simply To NTR All The Heroes

The dog's massive foot was just inches away from turning Roland into a pancake when—

WHOOSH!

A spear shot down from the heavens, slicing through the air like it had somewhere important to be, and slammed straight into the dog's chest.

The mutt didn't even get a chance to whimper before it was nailed to the ground, the tip of the spear stopping right below Roland's crotch.

Roland stared at the weapon impaling the dog and then at how close his own precious assets had come to being skewered.

"Well, fuck me sideways," he muttered, half in relief, half in sheer disbelief.

Every cat, dog, and possibly Roland's future ghost collectively gasped. Their wide eyes traced the spear's trajectory upward to the broken edge of the bunker.

And there, standing like a goddamn heroic wet dream, was a silhouette. The sun was conveniently right behind this guy's head, making him look like the lovechild of a myth and a disaster movie. You couldn't see his face, but the attitude was loud and clear: I'm here to save your sorry asses.

It was almost like a divine figure had descended into this chaotic shitshow, except it wasn't divine intervention. No, it was much worse. It was Kaisen—probably grinning like a jackass.

"Holy fuck! That's the crazy human!"

Muttered voices bounced around the bunker like someone had just detonated a gossip bomb.

Even the cats—who moments ago had looked like they were about to soil themselves—were staring in shock, their fur puffed up like someone had hit them with static electricity.

Roland, still sprawled on the ground and clutching his ribcage like he was auditioning for a really bad soap opera, gazed up at Kaisen.

That goddamn perfectly-timed, drama-loving bastard.

The same guy he had cursed just minutes ago was now standing there, looking all heroic and probably smirking like he knew exactly how cool he appeared.

Roland, meanwhile, had just come this close to being splattered into a feline pancake.

And then, something even crazier happened. Roland started laughing—actually laughing.

Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, his chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder, but he couldn't stop.

The absurdity of it all hit him like a brick to the face. His insecurities, his jealousy, all of it seemed ridiculous now.

All those insecurities, of wondering if his wife found Kaisen attractive... it didn't fucking matter anymore.

Not that it had ever made sense to begin with. Kaisen didn't have eyes for a middle-aged woman like Rodalina.

Hell, with that face and those moves, Kaisen could probably charm the panties off the kingdom's damn princess if he wanted to.

Roland laughed harder, tears streaming down his face, half from pain, half from pure jealousy.

Relief washed over him. He wouldn't have to live with his insecurities anymore.

If this human wanted to learn about his culture, then Roland would gladly welcome him into his home. Hell, he might even let him take the best spot at the dinner table.

...

Of course, Kaisen had been watching the whole mess unfold for quite some time. How could he not?

He was on a level so far above the pathetic bunker magic that it felt like watching a toddler try to build a sandcastle with a spoon.

'Damn it, I should've thrown that spear with more precision. Missed the mark by a hair. Fucking angles'

Kaisen cursed to himself, shaking his head slightly. But really, with the way the dog had been standing, half-posturing like a big-shot, it was a miracle Kaisen even got close.

Still, he knew Roland would be groveling with gratitude soon enough, probably already planning to throw open the doors of his household for some good ol' "cultural exchange."

Kaisen smirked to himself.

'If only he knew the kind of culture I'm about to be learning.'

With the elegance of a goddamn deity, Kaisen leapt off the broken edge of the bunker. There was no frantic flailing or the usual clumsy crap that came with falling from a height.

Nah, Kaisen was descending like a slow-mo superhero, gracefully drifting down as if gravity itself was giving him a free pass.

How was he pulling that off? Well, magic, obviously. He was manipulating the mana in the air, making it do his bidding to float him down nice and slow.

No need to disturb gravity when you're a higher-level magician who could practically rewrite the laws of physics if he felt like it. And the best part? Not a single damn person in that bunker could sense a thing.

He was that good.

"How?"

Hne of the cats gasped, eyes wide as Kaisen descended like some kind of goddamn deity on a mission.

"He's—he's God's champion! No... no, he's the second coming of God!"

An old cat wheezed out, eyes practically sparkling. And that was all it took. The entire bunker erupted into a chorus of whispers, tails twitching, eyes gleaming with awe and sheer stupidity.

Even Roland, wheezing and half-dead on the ground, couldn't help but stare like he'd just witnessed the dawn of a new religion.

If Kaisen had heard that, though, he'd probably laugh his ass off. "Second coming of God? Nah, old cat. I'm worse than God," he'd say with that smug grin plastered across his face. And hell, he wasn't even lying.

Because if they knew the truth—the real truth—that their so-called divine savior was actually the puppet master pulling the strings, playing both the cats and dogs like a goddamn fiddle, this village would collectively choke on its own disbelief. They'd probably cough up blood in pure shock and die on the spot.

Kaisen had orchestrated this chaos from the very beginning, stirring the pot and watching the carnage unfold like it was some twisted chess game where everyone else was a pawn.

Of course, they weren't going to hear the truth. Not on his watch. Especially not Jacky, that bastard who actually know him. Oh, Jacky was definitely not surviving this one.

But July? He might let her off—eventually. She had that fine piece of ass he wouldn't mind smashing before things got too apocalyptic.

All in good time, though. He had plenty of cards left to play.

And finally, with all the subtlety of a catwalk model, Kaisen floated down to the floor. There wasn't even a soft thud—just an otherworldly grace that made everyone stop and gawk.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, but rather a white silk draped over him like Zeus had lent him his laundry for the day.

Only his upper body was visible, and it was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship. His chest was smoother than a baby's bottom, not a hair in sight except for the luscious mane on his head.

His muscles were so perfectly sculpted that even the gods would've sworn he was their idea of a bodybuilder's dream.

If heaven had a Yelp review, Kaisen would be the five-star, golden boy who pops in for the occasional celestial booty call.

Picture this: an angelic figure swooping down from the clouds, making love to mortals, and then zooming back up, leaving behind a beautiful, half-god baby.

Not that he actually did any of that, but if there were a divine dating app, he'd definitely be swiping right on everything.

The murmurs in the bunker grew louder, escalating into a cacophony of awe and disbelief.

Even the dogs, who had been busy trying to turn Roland into a new floor mat, were now standing slack-jawed, their expressions blank as if they'd just seen a unicorn giving a TED talk.

Kaisen's entrance was so picture-perfect, it was as if someone had dusted off an ancient prophecy and realized, "Hey, this guy's actually living it!"

Roland's labored breathing was the only thing breaking the otherworldly calm.

The dog Kaisen had speared remained stuck to the ground like a morbid piece of modern art.

As Kaisen, in all his divine swagger, sauntered over, he nonchalantly grabbed the spear, wrenching it free with a casual flick of his wrist, as if he were retrieving a fishing rod from a particularly uncooperative fish.

The dog's lifeless body slid off the spear and toppled onto Roland, who looked like he was trying to do a rather unsuccessful jig to get out from under the carcass.

Roland's desperate attempts to wriggle free were a sight to behold—think of a cat trying to escape a bath, but with added groans and the weight of a dead dog.

All the while, he was riveted by the unfolding drama, as if he'd just stumbled upon a reality TV show that promised explosive reveals and outrageous plot twists.

And oh boy, when the destruction of beauty finally happened, it was nothing short of spectacular.

Of course, this was going to be nothing short of spectacular.

How could it not be? Kaisen was the maestro of this chaotic symphony, and he'd prepped like a hyperactive squirrel on an espresso binge.

If this scene were a meal, it would be a five-course extravaganza with a side of fireworks and confetti.

Kaisen had meticulously planned every detail, like a chef with a Michelin-starred vision.

He wasn't just winging it; he was orchestrating a divine performance that even the gods would take notes on.

If his preparation was any indication, this was going to be a show-stopping, jaw-dropping spectacle of epic proportions.

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