Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP - Chapter 435: Asgardia - Drake vs Odin (2)

Chapter 435: Asgardia – Drake vs Odin (2)

For six months, Drake spent his days in a small town he eventually learned was called Ymir.

Every day, without fail, he would return to have long talks with the old beggar, Kashier.

At first, it was simply an attempt to gain more knowledge from the man.

It wasn’t that what Kashier shared was entirely new to him; rather, it was about hearing familiar lessons from a different point of view.

It was the kind of approach Ash had always encouraged in every child, teaching them to seek out new perspectives to deepen their understanding.

It was always wise to see the whole picture before passing judgment—assuming you intended to invest your attention at all.

By this point, Drake had come to regard Kashier as something of a mentor.

—-

One calm evening, the two stood outside the local barracks, a solid stone structure bearing the banner of the House of Lightning, though it was only a branch of the Pantheon, that governed this town.

There were many blooming Pantheons but none that truly stood out and this one in specific had been recruiting troops since the Era of The One began.

Kashier leaned on his worn walking stick, his milky eye staring blankly while his good eye looked at Drake with quiet wisdom.

“You’ve got some ambition buried deep,” the old man said.

“But fire without direction just burns everything down — including yourself. I suggest you join the army.” He said as his eyes went over towards the troop welcoming new recruits.

“Only if you truly start from the bottom…. will you understand all things in life.

One day, if you’re smart and strong enough, you might even become an imperial general under the House of Lightning.

Drake lifted an eyebrow.

“Why the army?” he asked, since the idea of being a foot soldier had never held the slightest appeal for him.

Kashier let out a chuckle, raspy yet warm.

“Because power without understanding life is hollow….. In the army, you’ll witness both the darkest and the brightest sides of people.” He said,

“You’ll learn what it means to follow, to lead, to sacrifice for something greater than yourself. That’s the only way you’ll truly be able to answer your question.”

He tapped his stick lightly on the ground.

“Besides… you’ve got too much talent for your own good right now. The army will teach you restraint, discipline, and maybe… a bit of humility.”

Drake stayed quiet for a while, watching the recruits train under the fading light by the barracks gates.

Finally, he nodded.

“Alright….. I’ll enlist.”

Kashier smiled — a rare, genuine smile that even reached his blind eye.

“Good lad. Come see an old beggar when you get your first leave.”

Drake gave a small laugh and placed another pouch of divine stones in the old man’s bowl.

“I will Old man Kashier.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the recruitment office.

Kashier watched him go, murmuring to himself.

“May the Universe guide you, boy… and may you find what you’re truly looking for.”

—-

Later that same evening, Drake arrived.

Unlike when Aurora had first encountered the inhabitants, he was treated no differently than anyone else.

He introduced himself simply as “Drake,” offering no surname and expecting no special recognition.

The recruiter barely looked up, stamped his papers without a second thought, and assigned him to the lowest rank of recruit.

Just like that, the son of Ash Originat and Yonna—a being born from those capable of shattering universes with a mere thought—was reduced to a humble foot soldier in the army of the House of Lightning.

—-

Drake’s first five years as a lowly foot soldier in the House of Lightning’s army were a harsh, unrelenting lesson in the true nature of power.

Over the years, it was clear that his cultivation hadn’t advanced at all.

In the verse of Pantheos, progress didn’t come from killing others or from mere meditation.

Instead, one had to live in harmony with their star, their pantheon, and reflect on the insights gained from the entities dwelling within their star.

Drake and the other Heirs, however, were a different story.

Over their first sixteen years, their power grew naturally as they lived effortlessly without trying.

When they trained against Vesper, everything came easily, yet there was no guiding entity within them.

No, even though they were tasked with building their own strength, they were still born as Gods. There was no need for such an entity— as they were already divine.

Those entities were merely a cultivator’s power given form, waiting for the day they would merge into one.

—

Every day he woke before dawn to the sound of a horn, ran drills until his muscles screamed, scrubbed armor and boots until his hands bled, carried heavy supply crates, and stood watch through freezing nights while top troops slept in warm tents.

And with his situation being as such, it didn’t take long before his first answer to his question begun to form.

“Power…. it’s not just strength here.” He would mutter to himself watching the clear division.

“It is the invisible line that decided everything.”

It wasn’t just about how he’d been treated, but also what he’d witnessed happening to others.

He’d often see a sergeant with a slightly higher cultivation base slap a recruit for spilling soup without facing any consequences.

A captain could take the best rations, the softest bed, and the prettiest camp followers — simply because no one beneath him dared object.

It felt like existence itself bent to those with more power.

The weak were trampled, ignored, or used as fodder, while the strong took whatever they wanted as if it were the natural order of things.

And every day for five years he’d take it all in with silence.

Today however, it was different.

—–

The training grounds bustled with sweat-drenched recruits, each hardened by five long years of relentless service.

Today was Advancement Day — the rare half-decade opportunity for the lowest ranks to rise.

A burly top troop with a scarred face and sergeant stripes on his shoulder stood on a raised platform, barking orders.

“Listen up, worms! Today you get your shot at something better than shit-shoveling and night watch.” His voice sounded over the training grounds.

“It’s the best of three matches. Like always the winner moves up in standing — better rations, better barracks, actual importance. And the loser goes back to five more years of hard labor.”

He paused, sweeping the crowd with a hard gaze.

“Here’s the mercy rule: if the loser can take even one round, they move on too. So fight like your life’s on the line — because it is.”

The recruits shifted uneasily. Some cracked their knuckles, others murmured prayers or last-minute plans.

The sergeant jabbed a finger at two names on the roster.

“First match — Garr versus Thorne!”

They stepped into the ring. The fight was fierce but quick, and Garr took both rounds without trouble.

Several more matches followed — some quick and one-sided, others intense and evenly matched.

Victors left with heads held high, while those who scraped through a single round moved on wearing their disappointment.

The sergeant called out the next match.

“Recruit Drake versus Recruit Odin!”

A murmur swept through the crowd at the sound of those names.

Odin’s reputation was well-known—he hailed from Asgardia, born of the Asir, a race crafted by Pantheos itself and masters of Runes.

He was a Tier 10, bearing the Primordial God Star known as the All-Father God Star.