I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 157: Fix It, Then Nap

Belphegor sat slouched on a throne that looked like it had been formed from melted mist, dreamroots, and the concept of a couch that gave up halfway through being built. He looked every bit the deity of sloth—towering, beautiful in a disheveled sort of way, with robes made of woven haze and a coffee mug dangling lazily between two fingers. His eyelids were half-closed like they'd been weighted down by eternity itself. His aura didn't crush the soul—it made it want to cancel plans, find a blanket, and forget ambition existed.

Across from him, Isaac stood with his arms crossed, unimpressed. Sylvalen hovered beside him, her composure cracking with every second of divine indifference radiating from the throne. Lira, despite having more discipline than most mortals, was already on the verge of her third yawn—and failing.

Belphegor tilted his head slightly, as though even movement was a kind of concession.

"So," he murmured, the deep, sleepy drawl of someone who hadn't spoken aloud in centuries, "you came all this way… just to complain."

Isaac didn't blink. "Your subconscious dream nearly pulled the world into a continent-wide nap coma."

The demon lord blinked slowly, processing this at the speed of molasses.

"Mm. And you make that sound like a bad thing."

"You put entire cities to sleep mid-step," Isaac snapped. "Entire armies froze in place. Clerics were praying in their sleep. The World Tree began withering at the roots."

Belphegor took a sip from his freshly conjured mug. The aroma of something rich, dark, and possibly divine wafted into the air. "Rest is important. Maybe the tree was just… tired."

Isaac rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're aware of the damage?"

The Great Demon offered a slow shrug, the kind that said: I'm aware of many things, and care about none of them.

Sylvalen had heard enough. Her voice was sharp, noble, unamused.

"Is this truly how one of the Seven Great Demons behaves? We expected an ancient terror. Instead, we get a celestial couch cushion with an opinion."

Belphegor blinked once. Then again.

"Excuse you," he said flatly. "I am exceptional at what I do. I am the paragon of inaction. No one in the cosmos can avoid effort like me. Not even Ymir. And he's literally frozen."

Lira muttered under her breath. "This is worse than trying to wake Isaac before sunrise."

"I heard that," Isaac said.

"Exactly," Lira replied.

Isaac took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. His tone was firm, direct.

"You clearly have power. More than enough to fix all of this. So why not just… fix it?"

Belphegor blinked again, considered that for a moment, then very slowly—almost comically slowly—lifted one index finger.

He didn't chant. Didn't roar. Didn't invoke laws of sleep or summon the lullaby of eternity.

He simply pointed.

A pulse radiated outward. Silent. Soft. Almost accidental.

And yet the effects were instant and absolute.

Across the Abyss and the upper world, the haze of the dream fog cleared like it had never existed. The oppressive pull to rest, to forget, to dissolve into spiritual slumber vanished in a heartbeat. Cities stirred. Villages blinked awake. Birds remembered how to fly. Yggdrasil itself pulsed with renewed clarity as its rootlines strengthened beneath the surface.

[World Dream Saturation: 0%][Yggdrasil Rootline: Stable][Divine Sleep Protocol: Sealed by Authority – Belphegor]

Isaac stared in silence.

"…That's it?"

Belphegor yawned. "You wanted me to fix it, not audition for a divine theater troupe. Simplicity is efficient."

Sylvalen's jaw twitched. "You could've done that at any time."

"I could've," Belphegor agreed, sipping his coffee again. "But no one asked nicely."

Lira inhaled like she was about to scream.

The sloth god leaned back, adjusting himself in a reclining position that looked mathematically engineered to maximize comfort and minimize dignity.

"Now that the melodrama is over, I'd like to lie down again."

Isaac raised a hand. "You're just going to nap? No declaration of intent? No rallying your forces? No, I don't know—apologizing?"

Belphegor looked offended by the very concept.

"Do you know how long it took to not get involved with anything? I'm not about to ruin my clean record."

Isaac sighed. "So that's it. You're done?"

"No," Belphegor replied. "I'm calibrating my sleep schedule around planetary emergencies. It's very technical."

Sylvalen shook her head. "You're impossible."

"And you're loud," Belphegor said without opening his eyes. "We're even."

There was a long silence, broken only by the gentle sipping of coffee and Lira attempting not to strangle her own sanity.

Finally, Belphegor set the mug down and, to Isaac's surprise, opened one eye fully. The glow in it was muted—but far from dull. Beneath the layers of indifference, something sharp and ancient stirred.

"You're the anomaly," he said quietly.

Isaac met his gaze. "I've been called worse."

"You broke things that shouldn't break. Skipped limits. Devoured pieces of gods. Woke me up. I'm not thanking you for that."

"Didn't expect you to."

"But I am paying attention now. And that… is extremely rare."

Another long pause.

"You'll need more than just power to deal with what's coming."

"Advice?"

"No. That was already too much effort."

With that, Belphegor reclined once more. His pillow adjusted itself as if it too wanted a nap. His body shimmered faintly, folding gently into the mist like he was dissolving into apathy again.

"If anything else breaks, please direct complaints to literally anyone else."

Isaac gave him a long, flat look. "Noted."