---New Hope, Scouting Vessel Beetle---

“Johanson! Stop tinkering on that thing already and come up. You won't receive anything anyway, nobody is broadcasting anymore,” the voice came from the upper deck, prompting the man in question to look up from soldering a circuit board.

The room surrounding him was filled with wire, spare parts, and old technology like radios, mobile phones, and portable TVs. Some showed signs of repair and retrofitting with skills and magic. He had always been fascinated with technology and the young lady had given him the chance to expand in this field. Even though all of these devices had stayed dead so far...

“Who is to say there is nobody out there? Didn't the people from New Hope say that the central districts managed to survive relatively well? Maybe-”

“Stop you dreaming and come back up to man the radar. We have to stay vigilant in case another undead army attacks us,” the voice of the captain interrupted him sternly. Johanson sighed. The captain was not much older than him, but he was a very serious man.

He couldn't blame him. Their task was quite important. The Beetle was a small, quick vessel tasked with scouting and mapping the surroundings of their current base, New Hope. Expanding the reaches of their knowledge, they would also be the first ones to find and report threats back to the leadership.

Johanson stood up and left the room and ascended the stairs when-

“- is welcome to participate in any of these categories. Again, no matter where you originate from, you are free to participate and prove your skills to the world,” a voice blasted from the room at full volume. One of the TVs actually received a signal.

“Captain!”

…

Two hours later the crew was brooding over the transcript of the broadcast Johanson had managed to receive. They were lucky as it was a repeating signal, playing the message over and over again. However, the contents had them puzzled.

Overall, it was the announcement of a grand event that invited anyone, no matter their race or origin, to a contest of arts and power in a place called Little Gamma. The problem was not understanding the purpose of the message, but the details they couldn't know.

What was Minas Mar? Where was Little Gamma? What was the purpose of holding games in honor of Python? Who was Python? Why were they wasting their time on such a quirky event when the world was going to shit? However, one thing was clear.

“There are many questions, but we have to report this to the young lady. To promise a legendary weapon as a prize, when we are barely able to craft epic ones, should be a huge deal,” the captain mumbled seriously.

“Don't forget that this is the first proof of other districts still thriving. The date the broadcast names is in 2 months, system time. The message can't be old,” another mentioned.

“And don't forget who we owe this to,” Johanson said proudly, having proven that his tinkering was far from as useless as they had always pretended it to be. Captain sighed.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Yeah, Johanson. For the fifth time, good work...”

….

---Arandith--

“Haha, Grandfather! You promised I could go!” Polter cheered, watching the broadcast of Minas Mar. Previously, the news had only come through various channels, but it seemed that Minas Mar had not held back on the marketing this time.

The broadcast showing Seth announcing the Pythian Games was running on major channels across Chrona and reached even the furthest edges of the multi-dimensional empire. The blacksmith finally not just announced the date but also the specific structure of the Tournament. For example, it was split into Martial and Artistic contests.

The former were shows of strength, like the fighting tournament, weaponless fighting, racing, obstacle racing, and magic contests. The latter were contests of artistic skill, such as singing, dance, painting, poetry, and music.

Except for a minimum skill and maximum level to participate, anyone was free to enter the Pythian Games. Seth made it clear, that everyone was welcome. Of course, all of the speech peaked in the blacksmith once again confirming that the grand prize of the main event, the fighting tournament, was a custom legendary weapon made with the winner's specifications.

“Yeah, Yeah, but are you serious about entering the tournament? He said anyone can enter. If it's about a legendary weapon, I'm sure a lot of big shots will fill the ranks. I don't want to put you down, but I don't think you have a chance of winning,” the old dwarf said realistically.

“Still, I can also just go to watch. Don't you think it's interesting that they also allocated disciplines for artists?” Polter countered. He had been working his ass off for the past weeks for the chance to go. He wouldn't be deterred, just because his chances to win were slim.

“Hohoho, you are right. I think I will come along to see that. Although the prizes for the artist are more about honor, I'm sure there will be some great names,” the old dwarf said, looking forward to the art from other parts of the Patchworks. They had gotten a small taste of it during their visit of Chrona, the old man had a hard time believing that these attention whores would let go of a chance for publicity.

…

--- Cinema Dimension---

“Now things really start getting into motion,” Seth, the god of chaos announced when they watched Seth giving the press conference and recording the broadcast. He already enjoyed Seth taking a more active stance, especially the short trip to Kozdam.

“Hmm, I'm actually a little worried about Mike's situation,” Maahes admitted. He had no other believers in technologically highly developed worlds. The thought of a soulless creature made of metal, being able to infect and corrupt a host was in a sense even more unsettling than the soul-shattering virus.

“It is quite concerning and a little intriguing,” Hephaestus, the grandfather of technology agreed, although not as disturbed as Maahes by this development. It was more that he was bothered that they knew so little about that situation.

“I'm more interested in whether these cultivators will join the tournament, “ Apollo said with a twinkle in his eyes. The contests of artistic skill were right up his alley and they knew from Mountain's tales, that cultivators also put some weight and skill into the fine arts.

“I'm sure if they join the combat it will become even more interesting,” Seth agreed, rubbing his hands in anticipation, at which Apollo could only roll his eyes.

Meanwhile, Hermes snuck up on the vacated seat beside the Dungeon God. The System God had left a while ago and had not returned until now.

“Hey, Dungeon God, I would like to ask you something,” he approached him with a cheeky smile.

“...What is it?” the brown robe answered after a moment of silence. He didn't really want to deal with Hermes.

“You could have allowed that golem to become the dungeon master, right?”, the trickster god asked him in a whisper.

“Sure.”

The great god didn't even attempt to deny it. He could have easily bent the rules a little, or spontaneously given the golem a blessing to become the dungeon master. But he didn't.

“And Viggu? He would have been able to become a dungeon master, right?” “Yep.”

Again, he easily admitted that he had deliberately not allowed it.

“ Aren't you interested in seeing what the little blacksmith would do with the possibilities of a dungeon?”

“I am.”

“Then whyyya?” Hermes whined.

“Gods move in mysterious ways. Also, I still have a bet with System.”