An hour later, the "truce" was already failing spectacularly.
Zen came downstairs, dressed in a fresh black t-shirt and sweatpants, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. The hot shower had washed away the freezing ash of the dungeon, but it had done nothing to alleviate the bone-deep exhaustion radiating through his suppressed D-Rank core.
He walked into the dining room, expecting to find the goddesses arguing or, at the very least, glaring at each other.
Instead, he found perfection.
The mahogany table had been completely transformed. Aurelia had apparently summoned her personal Imperial Chef through a spatial rift, because the table was currently covered in a lavish, twelve-course feast.
There were roasted phoenix wings, incredibly rare draconian truffles, and a massive centrepiece of glowing, crystal-sugar lotuses.
