Avesta Volume 4: Remorseless Paradise of the Fallen - Translated by @ashmxt.

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 Interlude: ■■■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■ – Translated by @ashmxt.t

1
“What does all of this mean!”

Amidst the girl's frustrated screams, I silently observe her.

I empathize with her emotions, understanding their raw intensity. Yet, I find myself unable
to mourn or share in her anger. I have endured this countless times before, and now, such
responses seem utterly inappropriate. Genuine, potent emotions have long eluded me,
unlike her. All that remains within me is a profound weariness and detachment. I can only
sigh at my foolish, dreary fate and ponder the next iteration of this farce.

“What do you think? Obviously the truth of this wretched world.”

"So... you knew this from the beginning?" she asks.

"Indeed. But what would have been the point of me discussing it? Would you have
listened?" I reply, tinged with a hint of mockery.

The girl hesitates, mutters some obscenities, and shoots me a frowning glance. I can't help
but envy her sincerity. However, a sense of pity for her also stirs within me. Surely, she
would find greater happiness in oblivion, free from knowing anything. In a way, her
indignation is the emotion of a person robbed of their peace. Even though she understands
the futility of directing her anger at me, there is little she can do about it. Yes, everything
continues as it always has.

“The previous Nadare reacted in a similar fashion. And now, it is your turn to become the
new Nadare."

"Don't call me that!" she retorts, rising to her feet in a surge of emotion.

She attempts to scream her name, "My name is... My name is..."

She whispers, as if grasping for something. Yet, she fails to complete the phrase, and the
realization of this reality contorts her face with a grimace of horror. As someone who has
witnessed this chain of events many times, I explain everything to her without hesitation,
just as I have done in the past.

"This Word holds a different weight. Regardless of whether you remember your true name
or not, you are unable to utter it, thereby denying the current reality due to your status. The
title of Nadare, like mine, has existed since the conception of the universe."
Therefore, it cannot be resisted by the feelings or personal history of any individual.
Regardless of personal desires, once chosen as Nadare, one is fated to live as Nadare. No,
perhaps it is more accurate to say that it is precisely those "people of this kind" who
become Nadare. The girl continues to regard me with a somber expression and grits her
teeth as she whispers through them.

"I would never... accept such a world. I will destroy it all, without a trace."

"Please, hold nothing back," I respond. "Do you believe I doubt your capabilities?"

"I'm not saying that.”

"I just don't have high expectations."

I do not goad her on but rather state the reality as it is.

How long will she maintain her original intention?

From my own experience, I know that previous Nadare behaved similarly at first. They
seethed with anger at the world's injustice, seeking vengeance against all things. Yet, after
seven or eight centuries, their fervor waned. They came to comprehend that they were
mere toys of some vast entity. They lacked the qualities to justify the unfathomable power
suddenly bestowed upon them. However, they were not foolish enough to remain oblivious
to this discrepancy.

“Indeed, I believe that wise mediocrity is an obligatory trait for anyone inheriting the title
of Nadare. You and I are opposites, our positions as distinct as black and white. Yet, we both
play the role of scales embodying the balance of this world. That is why I cannot obliterate
the concept of Nadare, and you cannot eliminate me. I understand that this may not satisfy
you, but if you truly desire to alter the current circumstances, you must abide by the rules.”

"So... I must cast you aside with the Fractured World and initiate the game anew?"

"Yes, and someday, a hero will emerge, wielding me as a weapon to strike you down. Does
that not warrant salvation?"

Unlike me, you possess the option to relinquish your post. You need not endure this
fruitless struggle indefinitely. I feel sincere envy, genuine jealousy. Based on the examples I
know, in two or three thousand years, you will bid farewell to all of this.

But I, on the other hand, will be compelled to continue indefinitely.

Yet, I am already overwhelmed with an indescribable revulsion towards everything.

It seems I am not the only one who is discontented here. Unbeknownst to me, Nadare's
demeanor has undergone a subtle transformation. While her black and white eyes still
blaze with rage, there is something else mixed within them — melancholy and joy, the
notion of sympathy for a fellow sufferer.

"Have you dwelled in this world for so long that you have forgotten how to express your
emotions? Observing you only reinforces my belief in the abundant flaws of this world."

“I do not deny that final statement. As I mentioned, you and I…”

"That's enough talk about our duties. Speak your mind, Divine Blade," she interrupts, her
anger resurfacing, her tone growing even rougher. "I will never forgive this world. And it
seems you share the same sentiment. Therefore, there must be something we can do,
especially since we personify this wretched destiny."

“...”

"I won't ask you to collaborate with me. However, do something on your part as well. Until
you accept this condition, I will not trigger the Fall of the world."

"Do you wish to confine me within the Singularity forever?" I ask.

"Indeed. Perhaps this move will also make a difference.”

Her unexpected idea surprises me, to say the least. I have never witnessed such a
development. The previous Nadare spoke of many things, but they were resolute in
resuming the game. Regardless of their rebellious spirit, they ultimately remained slaves to
the Avesta. Moreover, enduring my company indefinitely was not something they desired.
Swiftly, they pushed matters forward by collapsing the world and, in the end, vanished
without effecting any change.

However, this Nadare urges me to become an accomplice in her rebellion. She does not
conceal that if I refuse, she is prepared to prolong this discourse for an eternity.

What is happening?

Is it different from before?

Or is it I who has changed?

Suddenly, in the midst of my introspection, the face of a boy flashes before me.

"Very well... let it be. Truth be told, I have a few ideas of my own."
As I utter these words in a whisper, they shock even myself. Yet, the words flow, one after
another, without pause. Furthermore, I do not notice how they grow increasingly fervent...

"Just the other day, I left someone who could have been a genuine savior to die. Through my
own foolishness, I missed an exceedingly rare opportunity. It could be said that you became
Nadare, in part, due to my fault."

"Oh, so you're a great sinner like us?" she quips.

"Sin... Indeed, regret gnaws at me. I should not have allowed that child's miracle to go
unfulfilled."

I whisper, carving the sentiment into my very being. Yes, I must atone for my mistake.
Though belatedly, I comprehend that this is my true desire. I genuinely wish to embody a
fragment of the prayer he left behind.

"I do not know precisely what I can accomplish, nor can I predict the outcome. It might
result in a veritable hell on Earth, so abhorrent that no one can even bear witness to it."

"Nonetheless, it is far preferable to the current situation. Even if the playing field is reduced
to a desolate wasteland, a victory is a victory."

"This world must change... No, its demise should be the objective. That is what I will aspire
to."

“I seek an unparalleled hero, one who will reign as the sovereign of the new universe after
obliterating everything and everyone. I believe that in order to save 'everyone' who errs in
all things, it is necessary to reduce them to rubble at least once. Hence, I wish to encounter
someone audacious enough to shatter me, their symbol. I cannot promise anything, but I
will exert my utmost effort. Will that suffice, Nadare?”

"For now. We can only pray that our next encounter will not mirror the past," she responds,
her smirk unsettlingly sinister.

Nodding, she raises her hand above me, her expression wearied.

"Needless to say, this is my first Fall of the world. I have yet to master it to the same extent
as my predecessor, and I am not accountable for where you will be cast."

"I do not mind. It always unfolds this way," I assure her.

"Hmph, you remain insufferable," she retorts, her gaze tired.

With that, Nadare channels the divine power embedded within her name.
"Perhaps this time, you should expect some extraordinary turn of events?" she suggests
before we part ways once again.

Though our agreement may have been a fleeting verbal pact that barely qualifies as an oath,
the fact that everything did not proceed "as usual" resonates within our souls as we embark
on our separate paths. To commence, I find myself hurtled into an entirely uncharted
expanse of space, drifting aimlessly for about a millennium. It unfolds much as before, and
in that regard, my expectations are not met.

Thus, I have no reason to undertake anything out of the ordinary, opting instead for a
tried-and-tested method. Just as Nadare wields the Fall of the world, I possess my own
power.

Part of it entails perceiving and hearing every corner of the universe, thereby keeping
myself apprised of ongoing events. If necessary, I could initiate the call myself. However,
this time I reasoned that I should witness everything with my own eyes, silently enduring it
as punishment for my transgression. In doing so, I once again keenly feel the woeful state of
this universe.

Everyone is engaged in bloodshed. Doubtless, they relentlessly repeat a war where blood is
washed away by more blood. Good and evil. This clash of opposites permeates every facet,
but there is no room for free will. The prescribed way of life is utterly confining and stilted,
and everyone squanders their lives in this absurd puppet show.

Under the setting sun, a man and a woman stand, their embrace tight and their love
professed. Yet, amidst their affection, they ruthlessly butcher the child under their very feet,
reducing it to small, scattered fragments. Oblivious to the gruesome act, they step callously
upon the remains, their words of endearment lingering in the air.

Across the vast expanse of the universe, a flock of animals lurks in the shadow of a forest
thicket, casting longing gazes upon a family toiling in the fields, their mouths watering as
they impatiently await the arrival of nightfall.

On a battlefield turned chaotic brawl, two armies bellow with cries of pain and rage, while a
tree with a grotesque human face sprouting from the sea of blood rends them all to
mincemeat, absorbing their very essence through its roots.

The knight who issues orders to defend the country meets his demise under the crushing
weight of a fifteen-legged beetle, and a similar fate befalls an old woman in fervent prayer.

Men returning from a hunt hang the carcasses of animals, adjacent to which human bodies
swing ominously. Both groups revel in laughter and satisfaction, content with the work they
have done, knowing that they will not hunger for a considerable time. Children leap with
glee over the suspended corpses.
In the distant mountains, an armed faction marches forward, ablaze with righteous wrath,
seeking retribution. A whispered query from a girl inquires about the nature of happiness,
only to receive a response from a young man, dismissing its worth. Together, they plunge off
a cliff, their shattered bodies releasing a poisonous smoke that blankets and extinguishes
all life indiscriminately— people, animals, plants, and insects.

No matter where I look, all living beings relentlessly tear each other apart, consuming,
breaking, and quarreling without end, caught in an endless cycle of killing and dying.
Amidst this chaos, familiar figures, once recognizable, have been twisted beyond
recognition.

The sacred child, born into the world as the embodiment of "universal" hope, has forgotten
all, descending into a state of utter destruction. He roams the universe, seemingly in search
of lost memories, devolving into an entity far removed from its original essence. Despite his
fall, the youthful wonder within him remains unparalleled, destined to become the most
formidable of the Demon Kings1 in this era.

Another figure emerges— Lanka, the daughter of my creator, and his wife, Madurai. Unable
to bear the harsh reality, Lanka sought solace in the embrace of madness. He locked himself
within a realm of dreams, hoping to drown out the past through sleep, but instead birthed
nothing but nightmares. Undoubtedly, he will continue to sow tragedy for years to come,
destroying countless souls.

The tyranny of Nadare, which instigated this turmoil and perhaps prevented its resolution,
finally wanes after approximately five centuries. While she quelled her wrath a little earlier
than usual, I am unsure of her intentions. Our positions stand in complete opposition,
rendering me incapable of discerning her motives. Nevertheless, as we pledged at our
parting, I have chosen not to dwell on her actions and instead focus on my own endeavors. I
will exert my utmost effort.

Over a thousand years since my farewell with Nadare, I have at last arrived on a certain
planet. The initial chaos that accompanies the commencement of a new cycle has subsided,
marking the advent of a long era where asuras are now known as Yazatas, and devas as
Daevas. Although distorted, tranquility has returned to the world, and I prepare myself for a
new battle. However, in truth, nothing has truly changed, and I find myself waiting once
more.

My body, a mere sword, lacks the ability to walk independently with legs. By default, I
require a soul to find me and take the first step. Nonetheless, I do not fret over this matter.
The sight of me instills horror and revulsion in all things dark, rendering them unable to

1
I’ve changed the translation for King of Evil → Demon King as it is a more correct
translation, and doesn’t confuse people from Chapter 15 and onwards bc of Nadares
nickname.
touch or even approach me. Consequently, white flowers blossom beneath my immovable
presence, attracting creatures that feed upon them.
Thus, a sanctuary is formed, destined to be hailed as sacred ground sooner or later. This
allows me to continue as I always have. Intelligent lifeforms begin to deify me, and the
process I have repeated ceaselessly since the dawn of creation unfolds once again.

I absorb their fervent entreaties, growing stronger as a result. As I mentioned before, this
strength has accumulated since the very inception of the universe, immeasurable even to
myself. Cloaked in a seemingly ordinary sharpness, I am capable of rending the heavens.

When I endeavor to save someone, the miracles I unleash rival the divine will of dualism.
Thus, those who extol me are naturally curious about my intentions.

"From which celestial realm have you descended upon us?”

“What have you accomplished, and what desires stir within you?”

“For what reason have you graced our presence?"

Naturally, I am able to respond. However, to hear my "voice" with utmost clarity, one must
possess a sixth sense of corresponding strength. In the present era, it would require a
Yazata who stands out even among their own kind— a being that becomes my priest.
Typically, compatibility with me leans toward the female sex. Though it is difficult for me to
ascertain my own gender, I am, in broad terms, akin to a woman.
Thus, after two hundred years of waiting, the vessel that presents itself this time is a girl. In
other words, she becomes the priestess of the blade— the embodiment of human form that
shall be my flesh and blood, carrying forth my words to others. It is the duty of priestesses
to uphold the purity of their lineage, passed down through generations. In turn, I act in
accordance with their will, but only when absolutely necessary and to the appropriate
extent. I vanquish Daevas, baptize infants, and occasionally bestow profound insights. In
due time, a hero shall emerge. Only those who can harness my full potential will be able to
extricate me from the earth.

"When the chosen one of fate makes themselves known, prostrate yourself before them and
offer them all your prayers."

For centuries, I have relayed this message, and my faithful flock has obediently complied.
Thus far, everything has mirrored my previous experiences, repeated countless times.
However, this does not mean that I am determined to adhere to the beaten path. A sense of
inexplicable certainty overcame me. This time is different. Perhaps it is due to my
contemplation of self-destruction, Nadare's actions, or the longing for the sacred child... I
know not the cause, but the first sign arrived with the appearance of the black reaper.

"Have you come to slay me, Daeva?"

The man who shattered the sanctity of sacred ground and stood before me was a true
harbinger of death. One glance revealed the life he had led thus far— the very same killer of
whom popular rumors speak. Through his Commandment, he possesses the ability to
glimpse the future.

"By forsaking sight and even memory... Have you renounced the past and present to gain
omniscience? Is that why you delude yourself into believing that you are a judge, the arbiter
of others' destinies? It is indeed charming, but I suspect you cannot see my future."

Speaking softly, I addressed the murderer, who stood dumbfounded, consumed by anger
and horror. Naturally, he was no hero, nor did he possess the power to directly harm the
Divine Blade. When I referred to him as charming, it was purely ironic— nothing more than
a small-minded individual, overly proud of his limited abilities. Yet, it would be unfair to
dismiss him as untalented. After all, he became the first representative of the black side to
set foot on sacred ground, a feat that defies mere chance.

"If you desire my death so ardently, why not serve me in achieving it?"

"I submit. Here and now, I take a new oath. Henceforth, I shall be bound by your command."

The response came swiftly, once he realized he was no match for me. This man promptly
reduced himself to a mere instrument, yet he keenly felt the chilling touch of the accursed
blade. Proof of this lay in the fact that his Commandment, in exchange for unwavering
loyalty, cursed its owner with inclement luck. In other words, he remained loyal to me while
retaining his position as a Daeva.

This amused me. The fact that I perceived it as such heralded the beginning of Avesta's
inexorable decline.

"Reveal your identity, O ominous man.”

“— I am Montserrat. From this moment forth, I shall serve at your side."

How pleasant it was to meet, for it instilled in me an unwarranted belief. Soon, salvation
and demise will befall me.

2
And so, I discovered my first master, and I would like to believe that she would also be my
last. The duty she entrusted to me was to ensure her death, a task that required my
unwavering strength. Speculating about what lay beyond that pivotal moment, what
awaited me "after," would be the ultimate betrayal. For I was in the presence of the eternal
Divine Blade, the greatest weapon of the white side, existing since the very birth of the
universe.

Through our pact, I gained glimpses of her memories, and I was filled with awe. She was not
one to be subdued by my feeble powers, and I could only marvel at my own audacity— how
could I have ever thought I could challenge her?

Therefore, I swore to faithfully carry out my duty. Her death would be the grandest
performance in the universe, a spectacle that every Daeva would dream of witnessing from
the front row. I, too, found great delight in this role and resolved to master it with utmost
dedication.

This is the truth of the being known as Montserrat.

A century passed like a fleeting moment since I became the servant of Lady Ahura Mazda,
the Divine Blade. My Commandment granted me glimpses of the near future, as she had
said, by renouncing my sight and memories. To be precise, my memories encompassed only
events of a single day. Each morning brought me a new order, and while I felt embarrassed
by the inconvenience, I also relished the opportunity to devote myself to my purpose with a
fresh mind.

With each sunrise, I eagerly anticipated my rebirth. And so, I embraced my life as a
murderer with fervor. Though my connection with the mistress remained a secret, I
constructed mountains of bodies in nearby cities and villages. From an external
perspective, it may have seemed that I was eliminating potential candidates for the Divine
Blade, but in truth, I was separating the wheat from the chaff.
I aimed to keep the unworthy away from the mistress, ensuring that only the true hero
would turn their gaze upon this planet. I transformed myself into a terrifying, formidable
calamity that could not be easily overcome. I pledged to be a great adversary worthy of a
heroic epic. During this time, I acquired the moniker "Surgeon of Slaughter." The logic
behind it may have been somewhat primitive, but perhaps that is why it resonated.

I killed and killed, never looking back, occasionally engaging in cat-and-mouse

arrangements with the lady, all while eagerly awaiting the arrival of the hero. Lady Ahura
Mazda revealed little to me, but I understood that she sought someone exceptional. She
desired something that surpassed all boundaries, a force that could even challenge her.

It was my task to identify the one capable of such a feat. In other words, the fate of the
world rested in the humble personage of Montserrat.

Ah, are there words in the world more unsettling?

And then, one day, the lady's mind trembled for a fleeting moment, an occurrence that I still
cannot fully recall. If I were to hazard a guess, she bid farewell to an old acquaintance, and
in doing so, indulged in a moment of sorrow. However, reality unfolded quite differently.

Indeed, she mourned the demise of a Daeva named Bushyasta, but her true interest lay in
the one who had managed to defeat her. It became apparent to me that she had found a
hero to whom she could surrender herself. As her loyal servant, it was my duty to beckon
him to this land. A newfound agility coursed through me, and after six, no, nearly seven
years...

...The day had finally arrived.

"So, you are Montserrat?"

"Indeed. And may I know whom I have the honor of meeting?"

With the sacred ground behind me, I politely inquired, though it was merely a facade. I
knew well who stood before me. The very embodiment of destruction that the lady yearned
for so ardently, as if she had dreamed of it in her delirium. Even I, a lowly slave, sensed his
unparalleled power.

How resplendent.

How enviable.

How I longed to witness Lady Ahura Mazda and him descending hand in hand into the
depths of hell, to revel in their despair, to savor the ecstasy of their downfall.
"Shall I tell you where I came from? From the Sacred Realm," he began, his gaze fixed upon
me. "I came here under the premise that there resides a particularly wicked Daeva on this
planet. However, along the way, whispers reached my ears, speaking of something
intriguing within that castle behind you. To be honest, I initially dismissed it as mere fiction,
but..."

"Do you not wish to reconsider?" I asked, my voice dripping with amusement.

"Since you deny entry to anyone, it can hardly be mere rumors. Now I am curious to see
what this Divine Blade is all about."

Behind him stood a gathering of Yazatas, over a dozen in number, yet they showed no
intention of interfering in our duel. They were no ordinary rabble, for they had entrusted
their fate to the hero standing before them. Each possessed remarkable talents.

Ah, and one lady in particular exuded an air of menace. Glorious, indeed. Perhaps a legend
cannot be forged without such an entourage. With that thought pulsating within my chest,
he took a step forward.

"My name is Varhran. Please allow me passage, Montserrat."

"I am flattered by your attention. As long as you seek the Divine Blade, you may pass if you
can best me."

Without delay, I was struck by a shock that equaled, if not surpassed, my encounter with
Lady Ahura Mazda.

"You possess a useful Commandment, the ability to see the future, correct?"

It didn't take long for Sir Varhran to grasp the essence of my power. Not everyone possesses
such insight, but it paled in comparison to the impact he had on me upon our first meeting.
The sheer chill that ran through my soul was a result of his combat prowess, or rather, his
intuition. It was as if his state of mind itself was a weapon. I must admit, when it came to
one-on-one battles, I held great confidence in my own abilities and had no intention of
yielding to anyone.

After all, I could see the future a few seconds ahead, thwarting any tricks my opponents had
planned before they even materialized. Even if faced with the prospect of the planet's
destruction, one's strength requires the appropriate intention, and by foreseeing it in
advance, I could render it ineffective. Of course, an overwhelming difference in power
would be an insurmountable obstacle, but evading direct hits was not a great challenge for
me.
As an immortal murderer, I could employ such tactics without fear or anxiety. I believed
that even if I couldn't win, my ability to continue fighting without defeat was close to
perfection. And yet...

"I see. So, your power is essentially limited to shaping the most favorable future for
yourself? It all hinges on your way of thinking, and one must simply make you desire
defeat."

Not only did Sir Varhran recognize the truth of my Commandment, which even I was
unaware of, but he also devised an unheard-of plan to defeat me. Moreover, almost
nonchalantly, like an innocent child, he declared: "I like it. Hand it over."

I experienced genuine horror. It was a fear and awe unlike anything I had felt even when
encountering Lady Ahura Mazda. It sent shivers down my spine, from head to toe. You may
disagree, but I believe that the greatest form of greatness stems from knowledge. Thus, I
had sought to comprehend the future and idolized the Divine Blade, who possessed the
vastest knowledge in the universe. I took pride in my choice, considering it the closest one
could come to deciding fate. However, the pinnacle of the unknown now stood right before
me.

Whether he surveyed everything from unseen heights or abyssal depths, whether his
countenance was true or not, whether his horizons were wide or narrow— I could
understand absolutely nothing. Yet, something was clear without words: his absolute
confidence in his "victory."

On what basis?

That, too, eluded my understanding. His intentions were too transparent to label him an
ordinary fool, and only the enigmatic essence of his being stood out, defining his grotesque
nature. An indescribable monster gazed upon me, and a cry escaped from deep within my
chest.

"Oh, God, for what purpose have you placed this before me? What will be the result of our
chance encounter?"

"Oh-ah-ah!!!"

Uttering a cry so uncharacteristic of me, I swung my saw. I approached Sir Varhran as if

offering him a "victory," a strike so clumsy that it was as though I presented my head on a
platter. I had no doubt that I would only slice through thin air, but somehow, everything
turned out differently.

"Kh?!"
First and foremost, my strike surprised even myself. I had not foreseen such an outcome at
all, and in that moment, I realized I had already conceded defeat and lost my
Commandment.

"Is your strength exhausted? You seem too relaxed, Montserrat."

Despite bisecting me, Sir Varhran continued to smile, waving his blade. As the defeated
party, I could no longer resist him.

"Enough with these theatrics, Varhran. Can't we at least contemplate what lies ahead for
us?"

"Don't be such a killjoy, Nahid. That's why I can take risks, because you're behind me,
ah-ha-ha!"

"Calling it 'taking risks' would be an understatement! It's as if you're courting death!”

“Brother, dear brother, how much longer will you lie there unconscious?"

Some time must have passed, for when I regained my senses, I found myself on my knees,
bowing my head. Concurrently, I recalled the moment that sealed the outcome of our battle.
A shock beyond my comprehension had left my mind blank, which perhaps explained why I
had left myself vulnerable to the strike.

I had lost my sense of self, and in realizing my defeat, the verdict had been delivered.
Though I narrowly escaped death, my wounds were in no hurry to heal. I could feel Sir
Varhran's gaze fixed upon me, filled with undisguised curiosity. With great effort, I lifted my
blurred vision and saw only the faint glow of his silhouette, once again realizing that I had
lost my Commandment. This brought forth another thought. Since things had unfolded as
they did, I wanted, at the very least, to see his face. To discover where he came from and
where he was headed— I felt an overwhelming desire to follow him until the very end.

Thus, I not only accepted my defeat, but also found myself captivated by the hero with all
my heart.

"Good morning. It seems you're awake."

His carefree words held no hint of hostility, and his exceptional nature was evident even in
that. Despite leading the Yazatas, Sir Varhran never concerned himself with the Avesta. This
was further exemplified by how he cheerfully patted my shoulder, not to mention the fact
that he most likely... No, he undoubtedly discerned everything.

"Did you... uncover my second Commandment as well?"

"Hmm, to some extent. You seem like a true butler, so do you have a master too? And did
they instruct you to test me?"

"Yes. However, the old orders and instructions no longer hold significance now."

I once again looked upon the hero's face. Just like the first time, I could only make out a
hazy outline, but for now, that would suffice. After all, someday, I would behold the true
form of his soul.

“I swear unwavering loyalty to you. Please share your will with me.”

I did not consider my oath a betrayal of Lady Ahura Mazda. Soon, we would become allies
bound by a shared destiny. I can serve two unparalleled masters, who by definition cannot
have more than one. Is there a greater happiness in this world? At that moment, without a
shred of exaggeration, I became convinced of the purpose of my own existence.

"If you command me to die, I will swiftly slit my own throat. And if you command me to kill,
I will slay anyone without hesitation. Henceforth, my lord, I am naught but an instrument in
your hands.”

The loftiness of my voice caused the girl at his side to furrow her brow, but Sir Varhran
himself showed no signs of surprise. If anything, it amused him, as if he expected nothing
less from me. Had he even decided to turn the ill fate brought upon me by my
Commandment in favor of his own "victory"?

Ah, ah... But how?

At what stage?

I yearn to witness it all, to comprehend. I can no longer bear this insatiable desire that
consumes me. Intoxicated by the anticipation of a future still concealed from my view, I
opened my arms, awaiting the words of my master...

"Then sleep forever."

...And with gratitude, I fulfilled his first command.

◇◇◇◇◇

Since that time, as I have been instructed, I have slumbered deeply, sealed beneath the
sacred ground. One can surmise that mercy for the gravely wounded killer caused a minor
dispute, but mere mortals cannot hope to comprehend the true intentions of the master.
Even I, in the end, am left to speculate, and thus I had little interest in the exact details of
this quarrel. Yet, one can consider it a great success, for it resulted in no interference during
the fateful encounter.
I have no doubt that had a third party intervened in their conversation, my seething rage
would have surely torn them asunder. Even in my slumber, I must be prepared to carry out
the will of the master, and therefore, remaining vigilant and sharing his perspective was the
duty of a true servant.

Thus, I had the great honor, albeit from a distance, to witness this captivating scene. Of
course, I fully understood my place and thus did not utter a word, ensuring that my
presence remained completely unnoticed. I have no intention of divulging the events that
transpired below. However, should a direct order be given, I would comply. Nonetheless, in
that moment, I exemplified humility, respectfully observing the conversation of my
esteemed masters.

"You claim to desire me. But is this truly your own intention? Or are you merely acting upon
the desires of others, unable to resist their will?" Lady Ahura Mazda spoke, borrowing the
vessel of the priestess.

Though she possesses the ability to communicate solely through the mind, I was left to
wonder why she preferred a tangible voice. It may not have been effective for everyone, but
considering Sir Varhran, telepathic communication should have sufficed, stirring some
doubts within me. However, such impudence from a servant is inappropriate in this context.
I was certain that there was a valid reason for this, and thus my focus remained solely on
silence and observation.

"And what of it? Do you still wish to claim that you seek a miracle?”

“To be honest, I would rather sleep. Not because I am displeased with you, but because you
are simply too much like a hero. I feel that my efforts will once again be in vain..."

"In other words, you know what will transpire if this war persists. And from the way you
speak, it seems you have personal experience."

"Perhaps so. However, in greater detail..."

"You cannot divulge it, can you? Even if you wished to."

In response to Sir Varhran's direct demeanor, Lady Ahura Mazda smiled. Though I was not
privy to the intricacies of their exchange, I could discern the mutual affinity between them.
Both lived up to the expectations they had for one another. The Divine Blade for the hero,
and vice versa, could become a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"As a child, I vanquished a Daeva named Bushyasta. She inflicted all manner of nightmares
upon me, but I remained steadfast, causing her to resort to something especially potent.
However, in doing so, she herself descended into madness. I believe she had to confront
certain unpleasant memories that she had buried deep within. I do not know the exact
nature of those memories, but I shall never forget her visage and the words she uttered."
"And what were those words?"

"You already know, don't you?"

With a melancholic smile on his face, Sir Varhran recollected Bushyasta's final words from
his memory:

"Forgive me, father, mother. Where are you? Please, help..."

Though her voice remained unwavering, Lady Ahura Mazda averted her gaze, clearly in
pain.

"And from that, you understood everything?"

"Yes, I surmised that she had survived a cycle of Tentsui. Moreover, it was clearly against
her will. According to the rumors within the Sacred Realm, such a fate befalls those who
become so desolate in their pursuit of good or evil that they abandon their former way of
life. However, reality seems to suggest otherwise. Whatever the reason, if she had chosen
her own path, she would not have been so tormented. It appears that you have witnessed
an abundance of such instances to the point of weariness— or am I mistaken?"

"You are correct."

Within this brief response, a whole spectrum of emotions could be detected. Lady Ahura
Mazda carries upon her shoulders a history so ancient that my feeble mind cannot fathom
it. Moments later, she raised her head and spoke with strain in her voice.

"I am acquainted with Bushyasta quite well. She was the daughter of my long-lost owner."

"And what became of him?"

"He perished. In other words, I cannot boast of a single victory in my name. While this can
also be considered a form of miracle, my story remains ensnared within this spiral. Hence, I
cannot afford to be optimistic."

With each word, Lady Ahura Mazda drew nearer to the hero. At that moment, I finally
comprehended why she required the body of a priestess. Most likely, Sir Varhran had also
realized this, if not long before.

“Remember, my hero, that if you are so eager to summon a lady who is unwilling to submit,
you must pay the appropriate price.”

Lady Ahura Mazda yearns to bring an end to this fruitless history. And for that purpose, she
is prepared to undertake something she has never before attempted.
“— A horror, indeed. It seems as if you are requesting that I perish alongside you.”

"Is it truly so astonishing? Was that not the essence of such a vow? In a world where
nothing is certain, we seek something immutable, and thus we make these exchanges, these
prayers."

“Until death do us part. Until the distant day, unattainable as it may be. Manifest the vow
into tangible form, "give birth" to it physically. That is why a body of flesh and blood is
required— as nothing more than a vessel.”

"If you believe that I yearn for my own destruction, then you must also embrace that
destructive aspect. Stain your hands with that which does not belong to you."

Uttering this softly, the Goddess of the Divine Blade sank into the hero's embrace. Sir
Varhran enfolded her without a word, yet the gesture lacked any hint of meekness or
confusion. I have no doubt that he, in his own way, was already devising unfathomable
plans. After all, the hero has already received the Oath of Clairvoyance from me.

Though his perspective only raises further questions. Even now, it is impossible to fathom
the extent of his foresight.

“This concludes our agreement. Oh, what a shameless act we are committing.”

Thus, my humble being can only offer two explanations for the events that unfolded.

The first is the creation of a certain factor responsible for the universe's apoptosis. In other
words, they have chosen to entrust the future to their child, to bring it about in a rather
unconventional manner. Otherwise, such conduct from parents cannot be deemed
exemplary.

However, the second explanation is that they have elected to employ their own child as
expendable material— a bomb that will propel them to new heights.

I cannot ascertain with certainty whether either option is correct. Even if there were a third
or fourth answer, they remain utterly obscure to me. Henceforth, I shall regard all those
who share "blood" with the hero and the Divine Blade as my master. This includes their
child, as well as the priestess who lent her body, and all their descendants without
exception.

Should I not honor them as my own masters?

Show me the culmination of it all.

What shall be achieved by these two whom I have recognized as the singular absolute in
this world?
This unworthy murderer can only yearn for that day, making one wish after another,
longing for its swift arrival.

3
"There must be a limit to your foolishness— are you completely out of your mind,
Varhran?!"

The moment I learned about what had transpired, a surge of anger consumed me. Trying to
suppress the other emotions welling up inside, I let out a howl that nearly tore my throat.

"Do you even comprehend the gravity of your situation? Your life no longer belongs solely
to you!"

"Be quiet... I have endured enough of your sermons that my ears ring, Sirius."

"But it's because you never listen to me!"

I gripped my friend's shoulders, realizing that no amount of arguing would help here.
Perhaps this was becoming a recurring pattern, but that was precisely why I couldn't
forgive him this time. This was not one of those everyday matters that could be easily
brushed aside.

"Marrying the priestess of the Divine Blade... Are you telling me you're leaving Nahid?"

“Well, yes, it seems that way, but there's nothing wrong with it. She's…”

"Shut up! What do you take my sister for?!"

I was certain that I had enough time to get accustomed to Varhran's eccentricities, but this
time he had undeniably crossed a line. No one could have foreseen this. The discovery of
the fabled Divine Blade in these lands was not the most terrible part. Its confirmation as a
truly formidable weapon, selecting Varhran as its wielder, was cause enough for
celebration. The fact that the ceremonial contract had been reduced to a union with a
priestess was mildly irritating, but one could overlook such details.

However, severing ties with my sister was absolutely out of the question. I would not accept
such reasoning under any circumstances.

"Personally, I don't see that I'm asking for anything extraordinary. Yes, I exchanged vows
with the blade, but, in reality, I shared an intimate moment with the priestess. From her
perspective, her body was used without her consent, and the responsibility for that, it
seems to me, falls on the man. The very same principle you always emphasize, Sirius."

"And you... think you can convince me with that?"

"Well, don't be so coy. You know very well that you're too rigid, which is why you decided to
talk to me in secret."

The audacity of a true troublemaker left me dumbfounded, and I released my grip on my

friend. Here, in one of the castle rooms within the sacred grounds of the Divine Blade,
where I had expelled others to listen to his story, my head was now spinning.

"How many headaches must I endure because of you for you to come to your senses?
Dishonoring my sister's reputation is unforgivable in itself, not to mention the political
impropriety."

"Is it such a grave issue? If you're referring to the compatibility of newlyweds, I would
argue that the title of the priestess of the Divine Blade is equally worthy."

"It's all futile. You understand nothing."

I could only sigh and shake my head. Varhran was right— if it were merely a matter of
balancing two sides, the trouble would not be so great. Although the Blade's prominence
was nearly forgotten, if my friend continued to achieve new feats, the radiance of his new
weapon would bring him great renown.

A Legendary Hero alongside a Legendary Divine Blade— anyone, setting personal

sentiments aside, would sing praises of such a combination.

"I will become the next Holy King."

This matter had not even been put to a vote, but if left unchecked, Nahid would be bound by
that vow. She would have to endure the eternal memory of all the Ashavans known to Vohu
Mana.

"I don't think she's capable of that."

"That's precisely why I cannot let it happen. Think for a moment, Varhran— your
relationship with Nahid has become public knowledge. Partly due to my actions, but what
will occur if we defy the accepted truth? This would undoubtedly lead to a tragic tale of how
my sister became a plaything of love and then shouldered the burden of a Holy King to bury
those wounds. It may sound sentimental, but such beauty is fleeting. The pathos of those
marching toward their demise. It doesn't sound like a script that leads to a flawless
epilogue. I... will not tolerate tears from anyone dear to me."

More precisely, I wish to dispel the misconception that tears are admirable. Tears are not a
sign of strength. They are something that should not be shed if one can achieve their
desires without them.
"A value system that romanticizes tears only serves as a crutch for those unable to live
without them. In a society where this is taken for granted, there can be no true peace or
victory."

"Then what do you intend to do with the tears the priestess sheds now?"

"For me, it is enough to make it seem as though they never existed."

I answered without the slightest hesitation, and something in Varhran's gaze immediately
shifted. However, in the next moment, he let out a weary sigh.

"You're quite predictable. Allow me to say a few things, Sirius."

With a tinge of pity for me, my friend slowly continued.

"Of course, this is just my perspective, but it seems to me that you're desperately concocting
reasons to fix everything. If we're talking about means of endurance, don't you think you're
inadvertently following their path as well?"

"..."

"I don't particularly fancy tears myself and would prefer they didn't exist. Even my
stubborn buddy here is secretly a crybaby."

"You're just imagining things."

I replied curtly and turned my back on him. In any case, this conversation had reached its
conclusion.

“Are you going to kill her?”

"Yes, I will confront the priestess. If you wish to stop me, you'll have to kill me first."

I spoke with unwavering determination, yet Varhran did not utter a word or raise his sword
against me. Undoubtedly, he recognized my weakness. He realized that a worthless man
named Sirius was incapable of killing a woman for the sake of a grand objective.

And indeed, not only did I refrain from confronting the priestess, but I also proposed to
make her my wife... It is not for me to judge, but such actions only elicit wearied
astonishment.

I have been told that I impose my methods on everyone, and while there may be some truth
to it, I can't help but wonder what my true goal is— and I cannot provide an answer...
I am but a paper-mache figure, uncertain and transient. Perhaps that is why I strive to mend
the holes in my consummate friend's dream.

After all, I possess nothing of my own. This is the extent of my abilities.

◇◇◇◇◇

The ruminations of a small-minded individual inevitably lead to shallow conclusions,

leaving them exposed to the cynical mockery of reality. Such is the way of the world, and
even the formidable challenges surrounding the Divine Blade offered no respite from this
truth.

The priestess, Quinn, bore a child— a child whose father was undoubtedly Varhran.
However, the pressing question was not about the father, but rather the identity— or rather,
the essence— of the mother.

By all accounts of heredity, Quinn was the mother, but the oath to Varhran left her body at
the mercy of the Divine Blade. How, then, should this perplexing situation be interpreted?

Conventional wisdom would dictate that Quinn was indeed the mother, but the
circumstances leading up to this union deviated far from the norm. It was conceivable that
the Divine Blade had orchestrated this outcome, seducing my friend, Varhran, for a purpose
beyond mortal comprehension.

From such a perspective, their child could no longer be considered human; it was an
enigmatic entity, foreign and ominous, and should have been preemptively eradicated as an
ill omen. Yet, I had never managed to instruct Quinn to rid herself of the unborn child, and it
seemed that she, too, wrestled with doubts.

Despite the intrusion of this creature into her body without her knowledge, the fluttering
heartbeat awakened a surge of emotions within her. When her maternal instincts stirred,
she couldn't help but regard the child with love.

Given the existing bond between us, I could not bear to witness the bewildered girl dissolve
into uncontrollable sobs before me. Varhran, however, charged ahead without regard for my
concerns.

The Divine Blade, an incomparable weapon, imbued him with a frightening radiance as he
soared to ever greater heights. Naturally, the reason I couldn't reveal the true origin of the
blade despite its illustrious triumphs was self-evident.

A sacred artifact of such magnitude could not have been serendipitously stumbled upon in
a field. Any discerning observer would assume that a cult must have venerated it, and
inevitably, discussions about its history would eventually reach the ears of a person named
Quinn, exposing the fact that she carried a child within her womb.
The initial assumption would likely be that the child was Varhran's heir. The possibility of
some strategist from the Drujvant faction distorting our relationship and shamelessly
unveiling it to the public was not to be discounted, as it could have dire repercussions on
our reputation and morale.

In such a predicament, where I couldn't bring myself to kill both mother and child, there
was only one course of action available to me: to send the newborn to distant, unknown
lands and shroud its lineage in obscurity. The only individuals privy to the truth were the
three of us directly involved in the affair and a handful of maids entrusted with Quinn's care
within the sanctity of our grounds.

Naturally, I refrained from disclosing any details to Nahid, ensuring that I had successfully
concealed everything. However, an unexpected— or perhaps, in retrospect, entirely
predictable— obstacle appeared on my path.

Varhran expressed his desire to adopt the child as his own. I had no inkling that he
harbored any paternal inclinations, but his resolve on this matter was unwavering. His
proposition had its advantages; with the child under his close supervision, it would be
easier to monitor his development.

Even though my friend's father was not of noble origin, he was a sociable Yazata, and
besides, he just joined the ranks of the dead. Since we always take the number anyway,
polygamy within reasonable limits is not prohibited, and therefore it was possible to refer
to the fact that this is just an illegitimate son left by him.

Unable to find a way to dissuade Varhran from his conviction, I eventually yielded to his
proposal. There were merits to his plan, after all.

The child was named Magsarion— a true child of fate, who was destined to go against
established norms.

◇◇◇◇◇

In the depths of my despair, where all that remains is a frantic stillness, tears well up in my
eyes as I gaze upon the sorrowful scene before me.

"Dance and tread, the purest entreaty... Rise and fight, virtuous youths... This is our sacred
Commandment, the Avesta granted to each and everyone..."

Oh, my friend... My cherished dream and eternal hope, the universal hero I loved like a
perpetually exasperating younger brother!

He met a death so foul and repugnant that no one could fathom its depths. Witnessing this,
my sister lost her peace of mind and now gazes out the window with vacant eyes,
wandering through the realm of dreams.
"How resplendent is the radiance of your blade... You bestow upon me the light of hope
through your courage..."

Once, her words formed a joyful hymn that reverberated throughout the Sacred Realm.
Nahid's words and music possessed a mysterious power that ignited the fighting spirit
within our warriors on countless occasions. But now, the song of the star princess carries
no blessings.

The great man who should stand at the forefront of all is no more. Only I remain, wretched
and powerless, incapable of anything.

"I see a wondrous dream, so reveal it to me... So that the cherished day may come soon..."

My broken sister's gaze falls upon the child, a parting gift from my friend.

Do you place your hopes upon him, Nahid?

It is futile, utterly futile, for all is in vain. Observe how he awkwardly wields his tiny sword.
There is not a trace of talent within him.

How can you see him as the heir of a hero when doubts linger as to whether he could even
become a Yazata?

Moreover, he is shrouded in nothing but malevolence, a ferocity that makes one's hair stand
on end.

Hatred, bloodlust, and resentment emanate from the child like a black flame.

"...When your beautiful blade becomes the light of all."

It is not so, Nahid. Perhaps you are unaware, but this is nothing more than an offspring
carrying an inherently inhuman element from its conception.

Yes, you should have witnessed it yourself— the truth that that which is not born of man is
destined to become a monster, regardless of its resistance.

It was during our battle against the Fourth Demon King in the past. When we infiltrated his
lair, I took it upon myself to rescue the captives and civilians. The Demon King himself was a
full-fledged beast devoid of reason, his fanaticism surpassing all others, was he not?

"Because... at that time, I was prepared to witness something grotesque. Shredded remains,
defiled remains— whatever it may be, I had no doubt that I would behold a mountain of
corpses... But as it turned out, I was far too naive."
As I made my way through the miasma-filled cavern, something beyond my feeble
imagination was revealed before my eyes.

Only the women survived. Dozens, hundreds of women, all with limbs severed, tongues torn
out, stripped of their dignity... They swarmed about so chaotically that they resembled a
swarm of insects. And every single one of them lay there, with swollen bellies, pregnant.

Why am I speaking of this?

After all, no one listens to me.

It is a distant memory, long since left behind.

Foolishness, nonsense.

That is truly what it is, and yet I continue to speak, unable to cease.

Despair overwhelmed me, worse than death itself. Trapped within that lair, they could
neither escape nor call for help as the monsters violated them day after day.

What did they consume?

Do not ask, for it is already evident.

They were all driven to madness, and it seemed that I, too, was on the verge of losing my
sanity. And yet, I managed to grasp their meager desire.

"Kill us."

Thus, after releasing all the captives and standing alone...

"I pierced them. Pierced them. Pierced, pierced, pierced, pierced... Convincing myself that it
was the duty of a holy king, I pierced, pierced, pierced, pierced... And then, hairy clumps of
flesh started wriggling out of their bellies— multitude of green, many-headed centipedes
with monkey-like scales... Various monsters attacked me, but I pierced them as well. I
hacked, tore, beat, crushed, and killed until none were left... Hahaha, no wonder I never
received the Divine Blade's blessing. Where should I go, as a being so worthless, so foolish."

Ahura Mazda bestows special power upon those who engage in prolonged battle with it.
Alone, we were always feeble, but with this miracle, we could stand against even a
high-ranking Daeva. It was a phenomenon that strengthened our vassals. And as a natural
consequence, more and more people around Varhran received this gift, yet he consistently
evaded it.
Despite being the one who captivated me the most, despite walking this path alongside the
hero for the longest time, that miracle never descended upon me. And rightly so.

From the very beginning, I shunned and cursed the Divine Blade.

To the one who seduced my friend with unknown tales, gave birth to a sinister progeny, and
cast a shadow over the entire Sacred Realm, I harbor nothing but hatred. And yet, if we
were to emerge victorious...

If she had only granted us that, I would endure anything. But she failed to fulfill even that
most heartfelt plea and sent my friend to the next world.

"I... cannot forgive this. This discomfort seems to cling to me. It is nothing like the warmth
you once bestowed upon me."

Accompanying these words is a bitter laugh directed inward. Even now, I try to conceal my
true intentions. After slaughtering all the unfortunate women within the lair of the fourth
Demon King, I stood amidst oblivion as Nahid embraced me from behind. Though it brought
solace to the deep wounds within my soul, why did I also sense a profound dread?

I do not wish to comprehend its meaning, so I imprisoned my sister within a cage of frozen
time. Now that Varhran is gone, I fear facing Nahid. Thus, to be honest, it brings me greater
tranquility to confine her within the distorted realm. It is cruel, inhuman, and unbearable,
but at least it does not evoke fear.

"This entire world is awry, as if a deranged mother has enclosed it within her embrace. I
pledge that I shall do everything in my power to vanquish her. Sleep now, and may your
dreams be of a new world."

Concealing myself behind my abilities, I halted Nahid's flow of time. In the final moments,
my sister's gaze slowly turned towards me, as if smiling, laughing, mocking...

No, it was merely my imagination.

Overwhelmed by indescribable horror, I recoil, avert my gaze, and depart from the room.

“Ah, Quinn... My beloved wife, I yearn to meet you as soon as possible.”

I cover my face with trembling hands and utter these words in a breathless voice. Even at
the cost of my life, I cannot bring myself to confess my love, and yet I continue to pray that
you remain safe and alone...

Now that I have lost everything, abandoned by all, you are my final sanctuary. An
instrument that cannot be replaced. With all my heart, I implore you not to forsake me, yet I
lack the means to ascertain your well-being...
I learned of her death three years later.

It took me ten years from then to realize that our daughter had become the new Demon
King.

Chapter 13: To Love Only You – Translated by @ashmxt.t

1
He left an abysmal first impression. When greeted with a smile, he callously disregarded it,
leaving the extended hand hanging awkwardly in the air. Understandably, this triggered a
frantic response from the girl, her mouth agape, who then exploded with anger, vowing to
exact revenge on him at any cost.

Some might find it surprising that such a trivial incident held such significance. However, at
that tender age of five, she was shielded from the harsh realities of life by her loving
parents. She had yet to witness the cruelty of the world, and her faith in its inherent beauty
remained untainted and pure.

That's why she felt betrayed, and the pain was unbearable. This jarring experience, her first
taste of failure in life, took root in her heart and never left. Had he shown outright hostility
towards her, the encounter would have taken a completely different turn. Their interaction
would have likely escalated into physical confrontation, a brawl of sorts.

Although it still wouldn't have been a pleasant encounter, as a mere episode from the lives
of two children, it would have fit within the realms of normalcy. But in reality, he didn't even
reject her; he simply acted as though he didn't notice anyone else— an enigmatic behavior
that left an inexplicable lump in her throat.

"What did I do to deserve this? Why is he treating me like this?"

Until she found answers to these questions, she vowed not to let him off the hook.
Consequently, she resorted to taunting him, pouring her genuine intensity into it. However,
she was never capable of true malice.

While others showered the boy, who refused to cooperate with anyone, with reproaches
and lectures about the importance of harmony, and teachers lost hope in teaching him
anything, only she waged a solitary battle to make him recognize his surroundings. When
things reached a boiling point, she openly challenged him. Yet, even in this act, her dignity
shone through, for she never resorted to underhanded tactics. In truth, what others saw as
"bullying" from the outside resembled more a model of care for her fellow human being.

Despite his consistent disregard for her, which only fueled her anger, she persisted every
single day.

Two years after their initial meeting, she distanced herself from him somewhat, not out of
surrender or fatigue, but because she painfully realized that she had been wasting her
energy. It was time to contemplate the next step. She wasn't inclined to change her direct
approach, as it went against her character. However, if challenging him to a fight wasn't
feasible, then what other options remained?
Perhaps, she thought, she could try being kinder to him. She believed that his behavior
stemmed from a lack of belief from others, and she could fill that role. Maybe his
mischievousness would diminish, even if it required her to show sympathy. But it wasn't an
easy task, as she didn't know how to lie. Moreover, she had to consider the implications of
their relationship if she succeeded. These thoughts consumed her as she pondered her new
predicament.

"Do you have feelings for him?"

That's what the older brother of the boy she despised asked her, a universally acclaimed
hero whose exploits were already known even to her. She considered it an honor that he
addressed her, but his words felt utterly inappropriate.

The shame burned within her, and her face flushed instantly. Especially since her everyday
struggles were, to a large extent, due to the fact that the esteemed hero had abandoned his
role as guardian.

Adults are utterly useless, she thought, frustrated that they didn't take her seriously just
because she was a child. She was merely standing up for herself out of dignity. Her
superiority was clear to her, and she justified her actions as a means to save face. In reality,
it could be deemed a battle, driven by an impulsive surge of emotions, in which she aimed
to make him notice her. She longed for him to acknowledge her presence, to become
something he couldn't ignore. Thus, she firmly believed that this wasn't a saccharine-sweet
first love, but a duel where her honor was at stake. However, it didn't take long for her to
realize the naivety of her belief.

"What... are you doing here anyway?" she questioned, her voice barely audible due to her
helplessness.

“Are you stupid… What will you achieve with that?”

Her words resonated with the truth. One swing of the sword couldn't undo the havoc
wreaked upon their shared reality. Though she couldn't witness the demise of the Sacred
Realm and its hero, it was not hard to imagine.

And even his swings themselves were agonizing to watch. His unstable stance shifted his
center of gravity, causing his entire body to waver from side to side, while the sword itself
was too large for him. The burden, ill-suited to his physique, led to unsightly convulsions, a
sight she, as a model student, could only deem an unimaginable disgrace.

He hadn't achieved anything yet. The boy, who couldn't even be considered a loser, had
chosen this moment to display his agility, seemingly determined to showcase his bad
temper. Frankly, it was disheartening to witness. Yet, no new reproaches came from her, and
she couldn't depart with a weary smile.
Because she knew he was serious.

There was no room for hesitation beneath his feet as he relentlessly trampled the ground,
propelling himself forward, obliterating any opposition. His shoes were tattered and worn,
and both his bare feet were drenched in blood up to his ankles. His hands fared no better.
The skin had peeled off completely, hanging from his forearms, and several fingers were
broken.

Still, the boy pressed on. Occasionally, blood oozed from his mouth, as if he were biting
down too hard or had injured his tongue. His nose and ears also bled, mingling with sweat
and dust, making him a truly terrifying sight. Like an infernal creature spawned from the
depths of hell, consumed by bloodlust and hatred, he wielded his sword, again and again.

Strangely, the girl found it beautiful, and in that moment, Alma finally understood.

"I just despise you. You do as you please. You're impossible to understand... Always alone,
yet seemingly content with it, dragging me along all the while, as if cursing me."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, the warmth of her sorrow evident. She was captivated by
him, and she knew it would only lead to her ruin. Without a doubt, her future held no
semblance of tenderness or tranquility; it would be a cruel demise. And the fact that she felt
a certain pride in this realization served as undeniable proof of her deviation.

"Yes, that's enough for me. You don't have to look at me; I'll be the one watching you."

She accepted her fate, even if it meant withering away in the depths of despair. However,
the facts remained— she had met him, and she had seen him. Since destiny had decreed
that this curse, this resurrected soul, crossed her path, she was prepared to traverse even
the depths of hell on Earth.

From now on, her life belonged to him.

“Magsarion, I…”

A gust of wind from another swing drowned out the remainder of her sentence, but that
prayer imprinted itself upon her heart. Since he had ignited the flame of her existence, she
would live and die solely for him.

This, she knew, was her happiness, an oath she would never betray.

◇◇◇◇◇

Alma's eyes widened as she woke up from a vivid memory, one that felt too recent to be
considered a thing of the past.
Her spacious bedroom, adorned with expensive furniture, appeared chaotic and messy, a
stark contrast to her reputation as a proper and correct girl. But this was the truth about
Alma, her approach to important matters was meticulous, while less significant things were
often left to chance. Cleaning her room fell into the latter category, and she seemed
unconcerned about the accumulated dust or the presence of insects that would alarm most
girls. One could argue that this was a deliberate choice on her part, making it difficult to
draw definitive conclusions about her character. At the very least, she found solace in the
simplicity of her dreams, free from any embellishments. Since she had no desire to bother
with cleaning, she entrusted such tasks to the servants, a privilege afforded by her position.

Alma was now the beloved concubine of Kaikhosru, and as one of the twelve lords of the
holy realm, she held a prestigious status.

"Kh..." she muttered sleepily as she rolled off the bed, her face still carrying traces of
drowsiness.

Navigating through the cluttered room, she made her way to the adjacent washroom and
then to the pristine bathroom. Here, unlike her bedroom, everything was meticulously
organized, reflecting her belief that taking care of her appearance was a practical necessity
for survival. It was akin to preparing for battle, akin to tending to a valuable weapon. The
stark contrast between the two rooms symbolized this transition.

Alma diligently attended to her grooming routine, rubbing her limbs thoroughly. The
compact bathroom was designed exclusively for her use, and while some might consider it
austere for someone in her current position, it suited her just fine. In fact, she believed it
was how it should be, purposefully avoiding unnecessary distractions by keeping the
bathroom devoid of superfluous ornaments.

Perhaps it served as her sanctuary. Just as a craftsman is particular about their workshop,
she removed anything that would hinder her focus, even if she couldn't completely rid
herself of extraneous thoughts. The reason for this was not the environment itself but
rather her internal state.

Alma silently continued her self-care, tending to her "weapon," while memories of what led
to this day flooded her mind.

It had been three months since the great conflict, where almost all the arbiters of destinies
had converged, one unprecedented event unfolding after another. While Alma herself hadn't
played a significant role in the whirlwind of events, the tumultuous days that followed
made up for it. After the hostilities ceased, the Sacred Realm and the Corpse of the Dragon
Star were forcibly thrust into a new sector of space known as Nadare’s Fractured World.

This was a necessary measure to prevent them from becoming casualties in the convulsions
of the Workshop of Annihilation. Though it was disheartening to rely on the spoils of the
enemy, Alma chose not to dwell on it. However, the real troubles began afterward.
The union between Sirius and Kaikhosru continued, and the merging of the two planets
became even more pronounced. Though Alma couldn't envision how it looked from outer
space, the Sacred Realm and the Corpse of the Dragon Star had essentially fused into one
celestial body. On a map, the territory of the former appeared to encircle that of the latter.
Despite this absurd geography, the organisms on the planet showed no evident
abnormalities.

Alma couldn't fathom the theory or practice behind such a fortunate combination of
circumstances, but it presented a multitude of questions that required negotiations. Alma
had been entrusted with the management of the new continent formed from the collision of
the two planets. In other words, she juggled the roles of concubine and lord, serving as a
living symbol of the union. To deem this role important would be an understatement, and it
was understandable that she approached her responsibilities with difficulty.

Currently, she was occupied with preparing for the signing ceremony of the treaty between
Sirius and Kaikhosru, set to take place on the new mainland in five days. It was hard to
imagine that they would merely exchange written agreements, but the presence of the two
kings side by side was a sight the people needed to witness.

This event was poised to surpass the grandeur of Veretragna, demanding Alma's constant
preparation day and night. For the past three months, she hadn't even had the chance to
develop a proper city plan. Sirius and Kaikhosru had exerted their influence over the
geography, creating a temporary meeting place. Thus, she didn't have to worry about roads,
but constructing an entire city required different efforts.

Urgently developing the allocated lands became Alma's priority, necessitating the provision
of all necessary amenities and security for the builders. Most of the workers were recruited
from the Corpse of the Dragon Star, while provisions and resources were collected from
various parts of the Sacred Realm. Yet, even amidst the bureaucratic procedures, sleep was
a luxury she couldn't afford. Today alone, she had dozens of scheduled meetings, leaving
her with little time for respite.

"Ah, yes, what is it..." she sighed, half-cursing, as she stepped out of the tub.

She hadn't entirely forsaken her self-care routine but had minimized it. She opted for
minimal makeup, and in retaliation, she randomly selected an outfit from the dressing
room, filled with gifts meant for Kaikhosru. Slipping her hands into the sleeves and
adjusting her shoulders, she made her way to the office. She recognized the immense
importance of the matter at hand, but she couldn't help but feel that it wasn't the right time
for such things. Doubts clouded her mind, wondering if things would truly get better. Alma's
emotions grew even more muddled when she laid eyes on the guest awaiting her.

"Hi, how are you?" the girl nonchalantly greeted, seated at the table, sipping tea.
With a smile, she raised her hand in greeting. Alma didn't bother to conceal her annoyance
and frowned openly.

“Roxanne, what do you want?”

"Well, you have quite the warm welcome. Can't I be concerned about my dear little sister?
To take a look at her and see how she's doing?"

"Little sister…"

Those two words scratched against Alma's ears like nails on a chalkboard. It felt like she
was being taunted, and it certainly seemed that way.

"Your excessive kindness is truly flattering, dear older sister. I hope you derive great
satisfaction from it so you can leave quickly. You're nothing but a hindrance."

"Oh, oh, oh. Someone's in a sour mood today, Armochka."

"I've already warned you, not to call me that"

Alma brushed her off like an annoying fly, but Roxanne maintained the same smile on her
face. Alma found it hard to believe that this woman, who seemed so carefree, was a Daeva.
Upon closer inspection, a slight unease could be sensed, but it wasn't enough reason for
hostility. Nonetheless, Alma sighed and decided to engage in conversation reluctantly.

"Fine, I'll entertain you since you seem desperate for someone to talk to. It's the easiest way
to get rid of you, and perhaps you'll answer a few of my questions."

A significant portion of her thoughts revolved around Roxanne, and sharing them might
alleviate some of her burdens. She wasn't particularly fond of Roxanne, but an optimist
might see this as a good opportunity. Alma took her seat at the desk beside the Dragon
Jewel Princess. She was well aware of the vast difference in their strength, and in a
full-blown fight, Alma would be defeated in an instant. However, she couldn't fathom such a
scenario due to her instincts, not solely because her sister was disguised as an Ashavan.

"Pour me some tea. I might regret not wetting my throat now."

"Very well, I'll pour a cup."

And so, the two girls, who indeed appeared like sisters to an outsider, embarked on their
lighthearted conversation.

"The Sacred Realm supplies you with resources in exchange for gifts to Kaikhosru, correct?"

"Well, yes, why not? I can decide what to do with my possessions once they've been
bestowed upon me."
"Indeed, it's international trade."

"The people from the Corpse of the Dragon Star are still suffering from hunger and thirst.
Their plight has led to an increasing influx of migrants. However, as long as I'm responsible
for them, I won't entertain any complaints from you. As a concubine, my authority should
suffice."

"Yes, I observed that before coming here. As long as their work is compensated with food
and shelter, the children have no choice but to work hard. At least, we'll manage to build the
stage for the signing ceremony."

"That's good to hear."

"Why do you fret over trivial matters, Armochka? By the way, did you know that the
mainland has been given a name?"

"No, I wasn't aware."

"Arnavak."

"Why my last name?"

"Well, you're in charge of everything here, aren't you?"

"Is that so... your doing, Roxanne?"

"Oh, you guessed it? I thought it would please you. I expect great things from you, Mistress
Arnavak."

"If you can't speak seriously, it's better to remain silent."

Thus, the exchange of their current state of affairs concluded without much incident, and
this time, it was Alma who broke the silence.

"I want to know how your Commandment works."

A similar ability to deceive, as dictated by the Avesta, to recognize belonging. Alma already
had a general understanding, and even if she didn't, there was little point in asking about it
now. However, before delving into the main topic, she wanted to see if she could coax
Roxanne into revealing some of her secrets personally.

“The scope, like mine, bear a striking resemblance, yet they unfold in unique patterns,
unlikely to replicate my own experiences exactly. As for the effect they hold... Shall we delve
into it further?
"Very well," Roxanne responds with a nonchalant nod, embarking on an explanation.

"The bonds we share are not merely similar but rather diametrically opposed. I am bound
to solitude, unable to form connections with anyone," she begins, her voice tinged with a
touch of resignation.

Perplexed, I inquire, "What do you mean?"

"I have taken a Commandment of chastity," Roxanne reveals, her words weighted with the
gravity of such prohibitions.

"These restrictions are incredibly challenging for us. However, if you're asking whether I am
still a virgin, alas, that is not the case."

Even when she captured the Sahnavak clan, she never bore a child of her own. Instead, she
clandestinely adopted one, a secret she guards closely.

"Perhaps it would be easier to understand if I were to say that, in exchange for a life of
celibacy, I possess a peculiar charm," she explains. "Those around me let their guard down,
their vigilance wanes. I can subjugate Drujvants, and you can dampen the Avesta's
instincts."

"And yet... you have the freedom to choose which side to align with?"

"Indeed, in fact, I've recently chosen to walk a path of equilibrium, a fifty-fifty balance."

White, black, and grey... By selecting between these three attributes, or rather, options for
her charm, Roxanne gains corresponding strengths and weaknesses. When she embodies
the white aspect, she is considered a master of Haoma, while in her black form, her power
increases manifold, worthy of a Daeva of a special rank. And now, in her grey state, she can
wield both aspects with mediocre proficiency.

"When the Locusts invaded the Sacred Realm, I could not afford to be fully committed to
either side in Samluk's presence. Moreover, I was forbidden from revealing myself until our
kings met."
"If anything, I still feel a pang of sorrow for her. I raised such hopes, and it's a pity."
"Let it be. I believe that is how Samluk found her happiness in the afterlife," I offer,
sympathizing with the memory of my departed friend.

Though their time together was brief, Alma recognizes the essence of Samluk's character—
a person who remained true to herself and fearlessly charged forward until the end. While a
twinge of sadness lingers, Alma understands it would be inappropriate to pity such a
Yazata. Should she attempt it, she would likely face a fierce response in their next
encounter. Resolving to change the mood, Alma steers the conversation towards the main
topic. She chooses her words with care, aiming to extract the information that piques her
curiosity the most.

"How did you and Kaikhosru meet? You mentioned something earlier, about... well, you
know."

"That I'm not a virgin and so forth?" Roxanne responds, causing a blush to tint Alma's
cheeks.

It is hard to deny that those words stirred something within her. If Roxanne's initial
confession holds true, then she must have taken her Commandment after meeting
Kaikhosru. This suggests that she made the choice to live for him. Such determination
resonates with Alma, as they share certain similarities, even in the depths of their beings.
She hopes to draw parallels, seeking to find common ground. Undoubtedly, this holds
significance for both of them.

"I am aware that you have known each other for over two hundred years. However, I lack
concrete details, so I would appreciate hearing everything you can tell me."

Roxanne smirks at Alma's earnestness before nodding and refilling her tea cup. Taking a
sip, she begins her tale, and from the very first words, an unexpected jolt electrifies the air.

"To begin with, he was once an Ashavan, nearly four hundred years ago."

Alma is left speechless, frozen in astonishment, which is entirely expected. After all, she has
never heard of the Sixth Demon King passing through the Gate of the Fall. Even in his
present position, it is difficult to fathom such a transformation. Roxanne, on the other hand,
seems to relish the reaction of her "little sister," continuing her narrative in a smooth,
nostalgic tone.

"You do know that Dragon Crystal Star, or rather, what it was called before its capture, was
the planet of the Ashavans? Essentially, it was a sacred kingdom where the Drujvants were
not permitted. The only difference was the allowance of a small taint of darkness. Care to
guess why?"

Caught off guard by the direct question, Alma struggles to find an answer. Roxanne's
assertion rings true: the Sacred Realm was a planet solely owned by the Ashavans.
Although the current situation may be convoluted, any land ruled by a benevolent Star
Spirit inherently veers towards purity. So why did the former Dragon Star deviate from this
norm?

"In essence, they were used as scapegoats," Roxanne says succinctly, her tone lacking any
trace of bitterness.
"When problems arose, it was convenient to have someone to blame and punish. And I
happened to be one of them, born into that role."

"So... there were others. How many?"

Alma manages to utter, her voice barely a whisper.

"Eighteen.”

There were precisely as many Drujvants as Kaikhosru's concubines. Alma's mouth hangs
open in astonishment, while Roxanne's response remains unwavering. There were only
eighteen Drujvants across the entirety of the Ashavans' planet. Alma cannot gauge whether
this number is significant or insignificant. Nevertheless, the fact that such a system existed
raises questions about the equilibrium it sought to establish.

"And you humbly accepted such a fate?"

"Well, there was no room for jokes, to put it lightly. Yet, I couldn't fight back simply because
I was too weak," Roxanne explains.

According to her account, all the Drujvants accepted onto the planet were inherently feeble.
Although they possessed relative biological advantages, they were unable to withstand the
might of an armed detachment. In essence, they were akin to game, and Roxanne can't help
but chuckle at the realization of their limitations.

"Nevertheless, as you understand, life on planets governed by white stars is not without
accidents, diseases, or even natural disasters. Consider the two of us, sitting here, our cells
living and dying in their own natural rhythm," Roxanne remarks. "If a mere sneeze can
awaken a volcano, it becomes difficult to conceive of a world where everything remains in
perpetual bliss. However, the great dragon deity was a perfectionist and desired to alleviate
the anxieties and dissatisfactions of his children as much as possible."

"And for that, he required Drujvants?" Alma interjects, her voice tinged with skepticism.

"Yes, it was all just a facade."

Roxanne's tone remains light-hearted, void of any malice, but an eerie sensation permeates
the room. Essentially, the situation mirrors the lives of Ashavans living under the dominion
of a black Star Spirit on Earth. To ensure the ruling class of the planet could live carefree
lives, they needed the presence of the disadvantaged, whom they could conveniently
exploit. The results speak for themselves, and yet Alma finds this approach dishonorable.
Perhaps her perspective on even the rule of a benevolent Star Spirit has shifted in some
way. She can't be certain, but there's an innate desire within her to hear more from
Roxanne.
"It's quite astounding that you managed to survive."

"To be precise, they didn't want me to perish easily. After all, I served as an outlet for their
frustrations, so they slowly and tenderly tormented me. Whenever they captured me, I
would be crucified in a prominent place, and when things didn't go as planned, they would
pelt me with stones or poke me with stakes. They pushed the boundaries of cruelty,
meticulously managing their resources."

"No need to describe it so grimly... So, when they crossed that line, they sought a
replacement for the vacant position?"

"Perhaps. I never really had time to contemplate what would happen after my departure... I
wonder how long it lasted. Though, I don't think it went on for too long," Roxanne muses,
her gaze fixed on the distance as a meaningful smile emerges on her lips.

"...I distinctly remember something... No, that's where my memories begin. The moment I
met him."

She recalls a young man who gazed silently from beneath furrowed brows at the
defenseless, pitiful Drujvant subjected to universal mockery. That was Kaikhosru in those
days.

Trembling with trepidation, Alma cautiously poses her question.

"Did he decide to help you?"

Roxanne's gaze lingers on the horizon, a mixture of reminiscence and a wistful smile
playing on her lips. She takes a moment to respond, her voice tinged with a hint of sorrow.

"No, quite the opposite. He treated me even worse than the others. He picked up a large
stone and hurled it at me with all his might, striking me squarely in the face. I couldn't help
but think, 'How shameful, attacking someone defenseless.'"

She was meant to be kept as a captive for as long as possible, but he broke the rules by
attacking her with clear intent to kill. The other Ashavans scolded the young man and
forcibly dragged him away from the "precious sacrifice" to prevent further harm. But he
never relented. Day after day, he returned, inflicting even more pain upon her, despite their
attempts to keep him away.

Initially, his actions only angered her, but over time, a strange shift occurred within her. She
found herself waiting for him, even finding some twisted solace in his visits. It may sound
peculiar, but she began to see him as a savior, eagerly anticipating the next act of cruelty.
Until finally, he orchestrated a true spectacle— he decided to set her on fire. Under the
cover of night, Kaikhosru stealthily approached the crucified victim, stunning the guards.
He arranged a pile of firewood and ignited it. The wind carried the flames, transforming the
pitiful Drujvant into a fiery inferno, painting her in shades of crimson. Roxanne, lacking
formidable strength at the time, had no escape from the scorching blaze.

"I felt the heat, the pain, and the terror," Roxanne recounts, her voice quivering with the
memory. "But amidst it all, I experienced a strange sense of relief. So, I decided to express
my gratitude. It seemed he had finally achieved what he desired, and I laughed at our
twisted symbiosis. But then, he contorted his face into a horrifying grimace. It was as if he
were witnessing something unbearable, screaming with bulging eyes."

"Why?" he shouted, the question hanging in the air.

"What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered by his reaction through her recollection.

"Nothing is clear, is it? I didn't understand either, and I was about to inquire further, but
time ran out for me. I realized that the world owed me no explanations— it was no longer
my concern. And then, I witnessed the Gate of the Fall."

At that very moment, Kaikhosru plummeted, his descent abrupt and unexpected. Alma,
visibly perplexed, urges Roxanne to share what she knows— the facts that she herself is
aware of.

"Every Ashavan of the Dragon Crystal Star was bound by a Commandment to obey the rule
of the Star Spirit. It dictated that they would find joy in mocking people like me. Kaikhosru
defied this Commandment, thus violating its sacred essence," Roxanne explains.

"So... the Gate of the Fall serves as a punishment for willingly breaking the Commandment?"

"Indeed, that seems to be the crux of it," Roxanne affirms. "As far as I know, His Majesty
Sirius is aware of other instances, but this is the only one I'm familiar with. It follows a
certain logic, doesn't it? Deny your very nature, and you transform into something entirely
different."

"But..." Alma begins, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Sensing her fear, Roxanne interrupts, her words laced with a hint of urgency. Alma's world
seems on the verge of crumbling, and she cannot allow that.

"There is no record of a Gate of the Fall occurring on the Corpse of the Dragon Star. If it did
happen some four hundred years ago, maybe a bit earlier, why didn't Vohu Mana take
notice?"

"And does it matter? I told you, the esteemed Dragon God was a perfectionist. Perhaps he
chose to conceal it. Maybe he had no desire for lectures from particularly vocal
acquaintances."
Alma falls silent, unable to refute Roxanne's causal reasoning. It doesn't seem overly
contrived, leaving the mystery of Kaikhosru's anger still lingering.

What had he been trying to achieve?

What was beyond his comprehension?

A fleeting image of a boy wielding a sword, a figure from her childhood, flashes through
Alma's mind.

Men, she reflects, are so straightforward yet shrouded in enigma. Could it be her destiny to
grapple with such enigmas?

"How well do you know Kaikhosru?"

"About as well as you know Magsarion," Roxanne promptly responds, brimming with
confidence.

Alma, involuntarily, falls into silence. Roxanne's answer implies that she knows next to
nothing. Yet despite this knowledge gap, Alma feels compelled to follow him. She and
Roxanne are kindred spirits, united by the curse of zealous men. Both bewitched and
awakened from a state of living death, they have pledged their lives to one another. The
Dragon Jewel Princess, an advocate of neutrality, may seem eccentric at first glance, but
Kaikhosru always lies at the heart of her actions. Roxanne may be reluctant to admit it, but
Alma shares a similar origin and plea, which she keenly senses. Both share an audacious
desire: "I want to die for you."

It is their proud and selfish form of happiness, a self-imposed destiny.

"Well, if that's the case, I have my own thoughts. Let's make an equal exchange. If you share
everything you think about Magsarion, I'll share my impressions of Kaikhosru,"

"Are you interested in Magsarion?"

"Of course, it would be surprising if he didn't pique anyone's interest. I always knew he was
otherworldly, but..." Alma trails off, struggling to find the right words.

Roxanne lets out a dry laugh, indicating her own uncertainty about how to react. The deeds
attributed to Magsarion— overpowering Bahlavan, gutting Khvarenah, and slaying
Frederica— defying formidable opponents alone, all within a single day— such
accomplishments can only be described as extraordinary.

Rumor has it that he even vanquished Mashyana, elevating his achievements above
Varhran's.
"And yet, for some reason, you, Armochka, didn't seem overly surprised. Honestly, it
impressed me. I wondered, 'What did she see in him to believe in him so fervently?'"

"Don't exaggerate. I was just... lost," Alma admits.

"Although, in hindsight, it did seem logical to me. So, did I guess correctly? Then why do you
think Magsarion is so calm now? I expected him to unleash his wrath and lay waste to
everything in his path."

"No need to make assumptions, my foxy friend."

She had been pondering it herself even before Roxanne brought it up. Indeed, Magsarion
seemed poised to unleash his fury, especially considering his innate lack of affability. With
the power to vanquish several Demon Kings consecutively, it would have been natural for
him to continue his rampage. Yet, for the past three months, he had remained idle. Why?

"Perhaps he is studying us, trying to understand us completely before he strikes. So we

won't be able to escape."

"Really? One would least expect such insight from him."

"Indeed, Magsarion doesn't care for dealing with others. You're right about that. Moreover, I
believe that until recently, he didn't even contemplate understanding others,"

Roxanne agrees with a quiet nod, indicating her concurrence. The transformation in
Magsarion— his awakening— likely occurred between Verethragna and the alliance
meeting when he and Quinn battled Mashyana in the Sky Burial Sphere.

"Quinn might know something. She's been immersing herself in the library lately, avoiding
social interactions," Alma suggests.

"She must be seeking answers for herself. Besides, why would she willingly engage with
you?"

Alma dismisses Roxanne's complaint and presses on. She is genuinely intrigued by Quinn's
current preoccupations, but for now, the focus remains on Magsarion.

"In any case, I strongly sense that he's attempting to understand his surroundings. The
recent events are shrouded in mystery, and my thoughts are consumed by them whenever I
have a free moment. I can't fathom how both you and I can sit here and discuss our friends."

Roxanne lets out a dry chuckle.

"Ahaha, well, when you think about it, the world has become quite amusing, hasn't it? Of
course, I don't mind Magsarion killing me, but for now, I'd prefer to live a little longer. Or for
you to kill me. Although, now that I think about it, he's been like this for a long time."

Alma inhales deeply and shakes her head slowly. Yes, there have been noticeable changes in
Magsarion over the past three months, but it's not as if the foundation for those changes
didn't exist before. He had always fixated on a particular person, and his desire was so
intense that the rest of the world seemed secondary or tertiary to him.

"Magsarion only saw a hero, Mr. Varhran, nothing else. Maybe it wasn't out of admiration,
but due to a far more sinister reason. He was determined to understand his elder brother,
who died misunderstood, and the growing remorse for not finding a resolution drove him
to wield his sword in such a manner..."

Alma struggles to recall that image. Even if Magsarion had awakened from his prolonged
delusions, leading him to his current state, the answer couldn't have simply materialized
out of thin air. To finally end his conflict with a brother he couldn't comprehend, he must
have sworn back then never to become a hero.

After all, when she reflects on his face...

As Alma reaches this point, her widened eyes reveal astonishment.

It can't be…

“Is there something wrong?”

"Oh, forgive me," Alma utters, her voice tinged with confusion and apology.

She hastily dismisses the unsettling thoughts that had momentarily clouded her mind,
attributing them to fatigue. She reassures herself that everything is fine, refusing to
entertain any other possibility.

"In the grand scheme of things, I suppose I won't be able to divulge much more about him.”
“Are you disappointed?"

Roxanne questions, her tone carrying a hint of curiosity. Alma, despite her initial
expectation, finds herself intrigued by the conversation. She shakes her head, indicating her
satisfaction with the exchange.

"No, it has been quite fascinating indeed. Alright, now it's your turn..."

As per their agreement, it is now Roxanne's turn to fulfill her end of the bargain. Alma
prepares to ask her for the promised insights, but to her dismay, Roxanne seems to have
other plans.
"Oh, my apologies. It seems our time is up," Roxanne announces calmly, rising from the
table. Alma is taken aback, about to voice her frustration at the sudden interruption, but
before she can utter a word, Roxanne continues.

"You may request him to continue. Here you go."

With a nonchalant gesture, Roxanne presents Alma with a letter. Alma snatches it from her
hand, realizing instantly what it is.

"An invitation from Kaikhosru. I will handle your affairs in the meantime. So go, take some
time to relax," Roxanne informs her, her words sending a chill down Alma's spine.

Alma examines the letter, noting the unmistakable seal of the dragon. She can feel the
weight of its authenticity. But it is Roxanne's next words that truly unsettle her, stirring a
mix of anticipation and apprehension.

"He requests your presence, along with Magsarion."

2
A voice filled with embarrassment roused me from my slumber as the sun began its
descent, painting the sky in hues of fiery gold.

"Quinn... Quinn... Sorry, it's almost time..."

Reluctantly, I stirred amidst the scattered books, mustering clumsy movements to sit
upright. A library attendant stood beside me, offering an awkward smile.

“Your enthusiasm is admirable, but it's important not to get too carried away. Books, if
approached without a calm mind, can deceive or confuse you. They may hide something
crucial," the attendant cautioned me gently.

I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me, realizing the truth in their words. Indeed,
there was little point in studying when my mind was clouded with steam, and I couldn't
argue against their advice. Perhaps compared to others, I endured less stress, but lately, I
had lost sight of proportion, my sense of balance. There was a valid reason behind it all.

"We still have some time before closing, but perhaps you've had enough for today?" the
attendant suggested, their tone courteous yet firm.

"Yes, I still have other matters to attend to. That's why I asked to be reminded earlier. I
apologize for always leaving a mess behind. Until tomorrow."

"We'll be waiting for you," the librarian responded with a genuine smile.
With polite pleasantries exchanged, I departed from the VIP room of the capital's grandest
library. It was uncommon for an uncouth Yazata like myself to gain access to such an
esteemed place, but ever since our recent battle, I was treated with a near-noble reverence.
There was no need to elaborate on the reasons— I had played a crucial role in vanquishing
the four Demon Kings. Such warm hospitality became customary, and most establishments
welcomed me without charge. However, as soon as I stepped outside, I was enveloped by
the broad smiles of the townspeople.

Objectively speaking, it was only natural given my participation in the triumph. Yet, I
couldn't help but feel that I offered little more than a swinging pendulum, unable to
contribute significantly. In the past, I would have resisted such stark differences and
vehemently rejected any warm reception. Even now, I didn't derive much joy from it—
rather, I felt a certain discomfort.

However, I had resolved to make far-sighted use of these circumstances, utilizing everything
within my reach. It was crucial to settle personal matters promptly and remain focused on
the future. Hence, I immersed myself in my research, which had already begun to bear fruit.
Even though much of my knowledge was acquired on the fly, I believed it would prove
valuable. I needed to gather myself, not letting others influence me— especially the one I
was scheduled to meet today.

"Oh, it's Quinn! Wait, wait, come here, sir!" a loud voice suddenly called out, disrupting my
attempt to maintain a low profile.

The surrounding crowd immediately stirred, and I involuntarily glanced upward, hoping to
escape an encounter with someone rather awkward. How should I handle this?

"Is that... you, Ashenka? What brings you here all of a sudden?" I inquired, recognizing my
comrade-in-arms leading a group of enthusiastic boys and girls.

"It's not that I have any business with you, sir. I just noticed you seemed down, so I called
out. Are you eating properly?"
Ashenka's words came forth with a mix of formality and concern.

"Well, more or less. By the way, who are these children with you?" I inquired, observing the
group.

"They're my siblings. Today, I planned to teach them an invincible super move..." Ashenka
explained before abruptly pausing.

"Ah, yes, I understand. You don't need to spill everything. Thank you for your
understanding."
Like me, Ashenka had become a true hero. Since our fierce battle against the Locusts of
Ferocity, fame clung to her, and given her temperament, she had no qualms about
embracing it. After she sustained serious injuries, I had worried about her for a while.
However, it was evident from her current state of well-being that she had made a full
recovery.

"Maybe you'd like to join us? Have a little fun with the kids, don't be shy... Ah, no, that's
enough! Stop petting me, don't tug, sir! You'll make me go bald, attracting all this attention!"

Undoubtedly, the townspeople also adored Ashenka. Despite complaints about her
mannerisms and pompous demeanor, they couldn't help but be drawn to her, likely due to
her inherent goodness. After shooing away the curious crowd, Ashenka pointed towards the
children who had gathered behind her, their eyes sparkling with anticipation, and turned
her attention back to me.

"Perhaps you can't tell from their appearances, but these kids have promising futures, sir.
To be honest, if you were to train them, they would undoubtedly grow into formidable
individuals."

"I have no doubt about that. Our ranks have been expanding since then."

With the defeat of the Demon Kings, the Yazata ranks had swelled dramatically. A similar
phenomenon had occurred during Mr. Varhran's time, and these children, too, were like
golden eggs with limitless potential. When it came to combat matters, Ashenka maintained
unwavering discipline, and her approval of them spoke volumes.

"Seems like your enthusiasm is waning, sir. I'm trying to establish a sacred realm here,
ensuring peace for Incest and Samluk in the next generation, sir. You're not doing too bad
yourself."

"Of course, I feel the same way. However, Fer seems rather down, and Magsarion... it's hard
to gauge his mood. I'm not particularly fond of this atmosphere either. Though I understand
your concerns."
Indeed, we shared a sense of unease regarding the present circumstances. The influx of
Yazatas brought a certain level of delight, yet we couldn't help but question whether they
could truly be considered allies. The blame lay with the alliance involving the Corpse of the
Dragon Star— an unprecedented event that entailed the merging of two planets.

Furthermore, the treaty signing ceremony was merely five days away, yet it seemed to elicit
little concern from anyone besides us. The Avesta's sentiment remained unwavering, except
when it came to Kaikhosru’s clique. One could understand the populace's attitude towards
His Majesty. Thanks to his well-deserved trust and the recent victory, a surge in morale
overshadowed any anxieties, and his decisions remained unaffected. Ultimately, we
behaved in a similar manner, not opposing his will unless we had a substantial reason to do
so.
However, there was a clear distinction between accepting the status quo and genuinely
embracing it. Frankly, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been transported to an
enchanting otherworldly realm.

"I would have liked to speak with Alma as well, but she's probably preoccupied at the
moment. So, we won't be able to meet right now."

"She never spares herself. Personally, I find it easier to act than worry about trivialities.
Keep up the good work. Your unwavering behavior alone inspires confidence," I assured her,
voicing my genuine thoughts.

Ashenka scratched her cheek bashfully, accepting my words.

"So, you won't join us for the lessons, sir?"

"Unfortunately, I have an appointment," I replied, pausing momentarily to gather my

resolve.

"An appointment with His Majesty Sirius."

◇◇◇◇◇

For the past three months, I had been patiently awaiting approval for an audience with His
Majesty Sirius. However, I refused to let the time go to waste, so I immersed myself in the
library. There was so much I needed to learn before meeting the esteemed ruler.

My primary focus was on the Divine Blade— a powerful weapon wielded by Mr. Varhran
that brought about the downfall of evil. Unfortunately, ever since Khvarenahnearly
destroyed the Sacred Realm two decades ago, the topic of the Divine Blade had been
shrouded in secrecy. It was difficult to say whether Magsarion had any knowledge of it, and
even Alma, known for her sincerity, remained tight-lipped.

This only fueled my curiosity, as it seemed the Divine Blade held a significant mystery
within its history. As I delved deeper into my research, I realized that no amount of studying
would provide a complete picture. The information was intentionally hidden, leading to
contradictions and discrepancies in the records. But I was determined to uncover the truth,
piecing together fragments to reveal the obscured history. It was a challenging task, but I
had faith in my ability to succeed.

By reading between the lines and understanding the authors' intentions, I searched for
subtle hints and questions that would lead me closer to the truth. According to the
chronicles, Mr. Varhran achieved his first great feat at the age of fifteen. Over the following
twelve years, until his untimely death at twenty-seven, he defeated thirty-six first-rank
Daevas, five special-rank Daevas, and three Demon Kings. These accomplishments were
already astounding, but I suspected that the numbers were underestimated.

If the Divine Blade truly possessed divine influence, then there should have been even more
victories, yet they were absent from the records. The descriptions of the Yazatas of that
time and the overall situation in the Sacred Realm seemed vague, failing to capture the
rapid growth and the fervor that fueled their triumphs. The conflicting desires to preserve
Mr. Varhran's greatness and conceal the glory of the Divine Blade had distorted history. I
couldn't help but wonder if His Majesty had his own motives entwined within this discord.

Did the old me, the person I used to be, repulse him?

And if so, why?

It became apparent that the distortions in the records began twenty-eight years ago with
the victory over Montserrat. Mr. Varhran himself was present during that event, which
meant something significant must have occurred at that time. It marked the beginning of a
path characterized by heartlessness and ruthlessness, casting a shadow over His Majesty's
reign.

With a determination to unravel this mystery, I made my way to the royal castle. However,
upon arrival, I was met with an unexpected reception. Even the valet at the threshold
appeared perplexed, trying to decipher His Majesty Sirius’ intentions. It seemed that they
had decided to welcome me in an unusually warm manner. Instead of being directed to the
usual audience hall, I was led to a wing of the castle that was typically accessible only to the
king himself— almost as if I were being treated as a member of the family.

It was a privilege usually granted to the likes of Mr. Varhran or Lady Nahid, and perhaps
Roxanne, but I never expected such access. While on my way to the designated chamber, I
couldn't help but recall a past memory of Sirius having a certain favorite, though I never
discovered who she was. I wondered if she had any connection to the Divine Blade and
myself. Lost in these thoughts, I stepped out onto the roof where His Majesty awaited me.

He stood with his back turned, gazing out at the breathtaking landscape below— an idyllic
holy realm. However, as I approached, I heard his words, spoken with a tone of disgust.

"It's repulsive, isn't it?"

His remark caught me off guard, and my eyes widened in astonishment. For a brief moment,
I thought he had read my thoughts, but I quickly realized that it was his personal opinion, a
sentiment shared by King Sirius himself.

"Soon, things will worsen," he continued, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation.
"With someone as insignificant as me at the helm, only decline awaits my subjects. And
eventually, they will yearn for the illusory 'good.' That's what I desire, and thus, it is what
awaits my subjects. The time for the universal hero's return is drawing near."

Baffled by his cryptic words, I attempted to inquire further, but my question was abruptly
cut off, left hanging in the air. His Majesty remained silent, continuing to speak incessantly,
almost as if lost in his own thoughts.

"The goodness I advocate for is outdated," he declared.

"There is no victory, no salvation, only emptiness. So let us become the very evil that
devours evil. May the universe be engulfed in the supremacy of heartlessness. Only by
planting the rotten abyss of the fallen can we give birth to the madness of the 'righteous'—
a radiant purity. And then, I shall disappear without a trace, for in the end, I am nothing
more than a shadow of Varhran."

His words left me perplexed. I struggled to comprehend his twisted system of values— a
tragic, heart-wrenching, and utterly foolish king. The emotions brewing within me became
too overwhelming to contain.

"Didn't you swear she would never shed tears again?" I burst out, unable to restrain myself
any longer.

As I uttered those words, the atmosphere around His Majesty underwent a sudden shift.
Slowly, with an eerie creak, he turned to face me, yet his expression remained devoid of any
emotion. However, there was something in his gaze that weighed heavily upon me, more
daunting than any infernal scream— a somber fury combined with profound sadness,
flawed yet seething. It was the very essence of evil devouring evil.

"So, you've finally arrived," he murmured, drawing his sword from its scabbard. Each step
he took echoed with his continued speech.

"I won't call it revenge; I never had the right to such an act. But, Quinn, mark my words—
you shall witness the day when the curse that toyed with you meets its end."
Simultaneously, the sky became adorned with silver wings, and in that moment, a
revelation struck me. Vohu Mana had already fused with him, becoming one. No longer
could the figure before me be simply labeled as the holy king; it was an entity incompatible
with me, deceiving my countrymen, painting them in false colors, and now intent on
annihilating me— one of the few remaining foreign elements.

"The day of the curse's demise draws near, my beloved," he proclaimed, his voice resolute.

And so, I prepared myself for the inevitable confrontation, knowing that the battle lay just
ahead.
3
He became aware of the change as he practiced his swings amidst the vast forest, far
removed from the bustling capital.

“What is this?”

An air of curiosity mingled with apprehension enveloped him, prompting him to halt his
movements. The presence of forest creatures, once palpable and vibrant, seemed to fade
into oblivion, leaving behind a suffocating stillness. The world, as if submerged in an
invisible ocean's depths, weighed heavily upon him, and he instantly grasped the nature of
this imposing pressure. It took only a simple act of looking upward to reveal the truth. Yet,
for ordinary denizens, this phenomenon went unnoticed, taken for granted like breathing
or a heartbeat. T

hey remained oblivious to any hint of unease stemming from it. He, however, stood as the
exception— an anomaly sensing the immense power and peril intertwined within. Aware
that the once-protective expanse of white wings no longer shielded him, his reaction was
only natural.

"Little Fer!"

Moreover, it was only natural that his fellow outsiders also recognized the impending
danger. Startled by a loud and somewhat displeasing call of his nickname, Ferdows clicked
his tongue in annoyance and turned towards the source. His eyes caught sight of a nimble
girl swiftly making her way towards him, gracefully maneuvering through the forest's thick
foliage.

"Exactly! Did you see?! Surely, you see! This is a grave matter, sir, little Fer!"

"Yes, I understand. Just calm down a bit. And don't call me ‘little.’"

Stepping back from Ashozushta, who appeared on the verge of seizing him mid-flight,
Ferdows furrowed his brows in frustration.
"I know you're much older than you appear, but I've already told you not to treat me like a
child. It's embarrassing."

"Don't let minor irritations bother you, sir. And in all honesty, you truly are a 'little Fer.'
While you bask in your pretended coolness, which pains others to witness, you remain a
mere child, sir."

"Would you be silent, or did you come here looking for a fight?"

While he responded with a displeased expression, a chill coursed down his spine,
intensifying his discomfort. Ashozushta seemed to share the same unease. Though as a
newly transformed astral spirit, she was more prone to expressing herself, she keenly
sensed the gravity of the situation in her own way. Now, their mutual understanding
conveyed a singular message— Vohu Mana had readied itself for battle.

But who was their adversary?

It didn't seem likely that a Daeva had infiltrated the capital. Despite the difficulty in
believing, Ferdows whispered, almost certain of his statement.

"What is it, Quinn?"

"I believe it must be her. She even mentioned meeting with Sirius, sir."

Upon hearing this, Ferdows couldn't help but groan involuntarily. What was she thinking? It
was evident that the king was no longer the familiar figure they once knew; there was no
need for confirmation. Deliberate provocations would lead to naught but disaster— it was
nothing short of a reckless plunge into the abyss.

In his heart, he cursed her as a fool, but with each passing moment, self-loathing
intensified. After all, he was the one in the wrong. He had anticipated this day would come
eventually. They needed to challenge Sirius’ intentions, which meant Quinn had made the
right judgment— to strike preemptively rather than merely absorbing blows. It was a bold
decision, to say the least, and a far more honorable way of life than hiding behind wisdom
while accomplishing nothing.

For they existed precisely for the sake of battle. In any situation, one must press forward;
flight or indecision would not be forgiven.

"Whatever the case, we must act swiftly. We cannot let this matter be."

"Yes. However, if we are to face His Majesty, we shall refrain from using the gifts of Vohu
Mana."

Addressing the primary obstacle directly, Ferdows continued without hesitation.

"All hope lies in you, Ashozushta. I apologize, but please return to your dormant state."

"Of course, sir!"

Returning a smile to the delighted and puffed-up girl, Ferdows resolved himself. He would
not allow any more of his comrades to perish. He would endure any suffering and perform
any necessary dirty work. If need be, he would even strike down the holy king.

Feeling the intense pain once more as Ashozushta's gift enveloped him, the young man
vowed to remain an unwavering blade until the bitter end.
 ◇◇◇◇◇

After a momentary weightlessness, I find myself standing on a vast expanse of silver,

realizing that this place is not quite Earth. I am perched on the back of Vohu Mana, the Star
Spirit itself.

"How long has it been?"

I ask King Sirius, who stands before me, trying to maintain composure. I need to uncover
the truth behind his deception, how he manipulated us Yazatas into believing that Vohu
Mana was in hibernation, while he actually seized control of the celestial being's throne. I
cannot face my fallen comrades without knowing the extent of his betrayal.

"I rightfully claimed it thirteen years ago. However, I conducted a test soon after our defeat
by Khvarenah," he responds, his gaze fixed on me.

"Why would you do such a thing?!"

I exclaim, bewildered by his unexpected answer.

His cold smile deepens as he continues, "I wanted to ensure the well-being of my wife."

His unexpected revelation leaves me speechless. His Majesty elaborates, his voice laced
with a chilling tone, "At that time, Vohu Mana was on the brink of exhaustion. The defeat left
us all in a state of disrepair, so it is not entirely his fault. When the Star Spirit arrived on this
Earth, he fell into a coma-like slumber, and as his representative, I had limited means to
inquire about the outside world."

"Did this dissatisfaction lead you to view his weakness as an opportunity?" I inquire, trying
to piece together the puzzle.

"Indeed," he nods, disappointment etched on his face.

"It required little effort initially, and I had no other motives at first. But things changed soon
enough. Three years after my test, I learned of my wife's demise. While the news was
unfortunate, it allowed me to achieve my original goal. Even though I had the choice to step
back, I chose to continue my usurpation. Can you guess why? If I had stopped then, I would
not have resorted to devouring Vohu Mana. Encroaching upon a half-dead Star Spirit would
only shorten the life of the planet significantly. Yet, it was my final chance to become the
ideal Ashavan king."

Seizing a weakened Star Spirit had no future. Depriving Vohu Mana of the power necessary
for his rejuvenation would render the planet lifeless, akin to suicide. It is no wonder that
none of the Yazatas never realized the true state of affairs in the Sacred Realm. Yet, King
Sirius, driven to recklessness, was willing to sacrifice the planet's remaining life, resembling
a flickering candle.

Perhaps his alliance with Kaikhosru is an attempt to consume other stars and prolong his
own existence. However, this deviates greatly from the Ashavan way of thinking. Why did he
choose such a hellish path? I venture to explore the possibilities.

"Is it revenge? Did you desire strength for that purpose?"

He shakes his head in disappointment and locks his gaze with mine. A mysterious glimmer
flickers somewhere deep within his eyes, as if reaching the edge of the world.

"When I absorbed Vohu Mana's power, I caught glimpses of his memories. It turns out that
chaos engulfed our world during the birth of the Star Spirit. You may understand this to
some extent, but do you recall?"

Regrettably, I admit, "I'm afraid not. What do you mean by chaos?"

"Chaos in the truest sense. A turmoil where good and evil were interpreted in countless
ways, making it impossible to discern right from wrong... No, it would be more accurate to
say that it was a time to define these concepts. Vohu Mana, being the most virtuous survivor
of that era, shaped the very concept of goodness based on his value system alone."

"So, you're saying that our unity was born out of chance, and there was no inherent
harmony among us?" I ask, trying to comprehend his perspective.

"Exactly. The remnants of ancient Star Spirits, preaching their own brand of justice, serve as
proof. Those who survived the chaos of that time, after many years, failed to distinguish
between enemies and allies, for they all emerged from a past where they fought for
dominance. I can only surmise the course of events. More than two thousand years ago,
there was a monumental upheaval, larger than Varhran's demise, that upended everything
and left 'everyone' disoriented. As a result, all the noble minds were depleted, leaving
behind only narrow-minded fools. We have inherited the sins of our ancestors, tainted by a
thoughtless puppet show. However..."

King Sirius gazes up at the sky, defiance in his voice as he proclaims, "...That is why there
must be a path that leads to the peak of folly. Even if this world does not tolerate brilliant
minds and the common fool is powerless to change it, a great fool can shatter this deranged
universe. I embraced this path to see my failed reign through to the end. And for the same
reason, I will strike you down."

He turns his attention back to me and points his sword in my direction. According to him,
he aspired to become a great fool. This is his purpose in all of this. His mindset teeters on
the brink of madness, making it incomprehensible to an outsider. The betrayal of his
people, culminating in the unforgivable act of usurpation, and his self-perception as a lowly
being, all serve as pillars of his so-called righteousness. Even his wounded heart, still
mourning his deceased wife and burning with anger towards me...

Frankly, it all seems utterly nonsensical. There appears to be a profound malfunction within
his very being, and I find it difficult to even look at him. Yet, in some twisted way, there is a
hint of agreement within me. Perhaps, this is the nature of humanity? After all, humans are
not purely logical creatures with everything neatly organized. Within each of us, a complex
palette of thoughts and emotions resides.

Maybe the blind malice consuming malice can be deemed correct in its own way. And
maybe the unwavering goodness I have unwaveringly followed all this time is not as
faultless as it seems. Following established principles can be thoughtless in itself.

If for more than two thousand years in the Sacred Realm, the Ashavans merely adhered to
Vohu Mana's temperament, likening it to a puppet show is an apt analogy. Nevertheless,
despite these doubts, I am resolute and unyielding. Not out of blind obedience to orders
from above, but out of my personal duty to oppose him. By striking at the core of his
vulnerability, I have achieved more than just succumbing to the tense atmosphere. I had to
say it; it was expected of me.

Finally, I understand. His wife's name was Quinn. Her memory is one of my oldest
recollections. She is the woman who carried Frederica within her womb, deeply
intertwined with his Majesty's regrets. The woman who pleaded to be killed, but was
spared by King Sirius, eventually becoming his wife.

What did my past self do to Quinn, who departed with tearful eyes full of love?

I cannot recall the specifics at this moment, no matter how much I rack my brain, but I can
vaguely surmise. In the end, I resonate with her in a way that no one else does. Her plea has
not faded away; it continues to echo within me earnestly. It was her wish that brought me
here, to fulfill Quinn's dream. We stand here because his Majesty has been waiting for my
response.
"She wished to meet you in a much better place. However, I cannot comply with this order.”

"Ah, yes. She was such a woman. I do not deserve a wife like her, but I have never forgotten
to be grateful," his Majesty replies.

Suddenly, his sword trembles with an enigmatic quiver. A white flame emerges from the
blade, burning faintly like a barely flickering candle, gradually intensifying...

"When you appeared in the Sacred Realm, claiming to be her, I felt a sense of fate. Let me
thank you once again, my wife. I am still capable of being a despicable husband who
tramples upon your memory for the sake of my selfish convictions."

In an instant, the white flame soars from the blade, carrying both his hatred and remorse.
“All that remains is meaningless. That is why trash must be as such.”

A rapid succession of sword strikes forces me to take a large step backward. It was a
premonition of danger that propelled me too far away. This white flame is exceedingly
perilous. Instinctively, I know that it must never be touched. It possesses an essence that
defies the laws of the universe, akin to the black distortion Magsarion unveiled in the Sky
Burial Sphere. Although white is considered our color, it fails to convey that impression.

"I've been telling you, it all boils down to different interpretations," his Majesty says,
moving towards me with fluid grace.

In a lightning-fast lunge, he strikes. I barely manage to evade, but the white flames
enveloping his sword graze my hair lightly. And the outcome is astounding.

"Gah! It's..."

"The purity and righteousness associated with the color white are merely subjective
viewpoints. If you shift your perspective, it becomes a blurred, feeble, 'insignificant' color of
madness."

As my hair cascades to the ground, disintegrating before my eyes, I realize that I narrowly
escaped death by evading his strike at a terrifying rate of decay. While the flames of decay,
which proclaim the insignificance of white, surround us, it is clear that I cannot confront
him using conventional methods.

"What's wrong? Did you really end up in a dead end so soon? I can scarcely believe that this
is the once invincible Divine Blade before me.”

"No, that's not it," I correct him while deftly evading his relentless onslaught.

If this flame truly held superiority over the entire universe, it would have already reduced
everything to ashes. Even if we assume its influence is limited to the Sacred Realm, it cannot
be deemed perfect as long as there is an alien entity challenging it head-on. If His Majesty
intends to achieve his goal by trampling upon his feelings for Quinn, then conversely, he
possesses a vulnerability that can be exploited. Even if the flames have consumed him, I
refuse to surrender in the absence of alternatives.

"Do you believe that I am solely responsible for all the troubles?" I inquire, seeking clarity.

"Of course. You, and no one else, embody this world. You are the representative of a
deranged mother, and there is no longer any need to spare your life," his biting words strike
deep, and I find myself unable to refute them.
I had already gleaned a glimmer of this truth from my fragmented memories, and to deny
his accusations simply because I have been fortunate enough to forget the exact nature of
my transgressions would be an act of arrogance. Yet, beyond the accusations, my question
holds strategic significance. I merely wished to ascertain if communication was still
possible, if my words could reach him. In essence, I was testing the sound, attempting to
discern its resonance.

Thus, I realized that this flame only burns physical objects. It does not decompose light or
air, as evidenced by its continued visibility. So, the solution lies in finding a way to strike
without making physical contact. Shockwaves or vacuum waves would be the most
effective. With this realization, I take a step forward, summoning my strength...

"Ha-ah-ah!" ...and unleash a straight punch. His Majesty's face freezes in astonishment.

Surely, in his wisdom, he must be aware of the nature and extent of his power. Therefore,
my reasoning should not have perplexed him, and he must have devised a countermeasure.
Hence, I deliberately attacked in the most familiar manner, reminiscent of the "great fool"
Magsarion.

I cast aside caution recklessly, just as he would have. The fist howls, disregarding the white
flames. Abandoning any thought of retreat, its impact is somewhat weakened by the force
of decay, but not nullified. And so, the veil of flame weakens, allowing my fist to break
through and strike him squarely on the temple. His stately figure staggers backward.

Ignoring the lamentable state of my decaying right hand, I whisper, "And yet... you persist."

Even if his strength were unparalleled, this blade and armor could hardly be deemed
invincible. There are those in this world who are willing to sacrifice their very lives for a
single blow, even when others might consider it imprudent. Those who cannot fathom this,
and are genuinely taken aback by such acts, are far removed from the realm of the great
fool.

"If Magsarion stood in my place, you would not have emerged unscathed. Therefore, I
implore you, awaken, Your Majesty. Regardless of the fate that awaits the world, your
dignity cannot be considered insignificant.”

"Did you not listen to me?" His Majesty retorts, and in reply, a surge of white flame erupts
more fiercely than ever.

"I told you that I am aware of my own shortcomings. I am the one who will take hold of the
heavens and guide people toward the true light, despite being a man like me. To the birth of
a legend like Varhran..."

"That is not true!" I interject suddenly, realizing that I cannot yield now.
Though my knowledge is limited to fragments and impressions, there are certain aspects I
cannot fathom. My question is strikingly simple.

Why does he hold Lord Varhran in such high regard?

Perhaps Varhran was the mightiest being in history. Perhaps he possessed an unparalleled
perspective that resonated deeply with others, instilling a sense of epic grandeur by his
mere presence. He embodied the ideal, the dream. Many were truly captivated by his
radiance, believing in the concept of "victory.”

...But was that truly right?

Maybe my blind admiration for him had faltered recently, as I gained fleeting glimpses into
various memories. He began to assume a different guise. Like an unknown, even monstrous
entity. And even His Majesty's wife found this universal hero repugnant and terrifying.

“Did meeting him bring you happiness?”

"..."

His Majesty falls silent, unable to provide an answer. Yet, I vehemently shake my head. If we
were indeed once united, merged in consciousness, then why does he harbor animosity
toward me and not Mr. Varhran?

“Wasn’t he at one with the previous me? Then why do you hate me, but not Mr. Varhran?”

“Shut up…”

His Majesty retorts with a creaking voice, but I vigorously shake my head. If we truly
followed separate paths and upheld distinct ideals, then it stands to reason that our true
adversaries may also differ. Magsarion had chosen the role of the "universal hero." Even
though I remain oblivious to his strategy, the path he treads, and the outcome that awaits,
his battle did not commence yesterday or today.
In that case, who is my true opponent?...

The answer becomes evident.

"I will defeat the Divine Blade. For I believe that is the only way to be true to myself. You too
must not shy away from this answer, Your Majesty. Examine your surroundings closely—
for Quinn's sake as well. Who is the true adversary you must confront?"

With that, I close my eyes and fall silent for a moment. When I open my eyes once more, I
release all that has been stirring in my heart.
"You are plagued by the curse of Varhran. Until you acknowledge it, until you dispel that
curse, you shall remain insignificant!"

I know full well that I struck him in his most vulnerable spot with all my might. It is
inevitable that his response will be severe, and I am prepared to face it. Since I declared my
intent to defeat the Divine Blade, I have no intention of hiding from the sins of my past life.

At the very least, if I cannot aid His Majesty in dispelling his anger and grief, I do not
deserve the right to share the same stage as his callousness and ruthlessness. As I admit
this, I rise once more, assuming a stance of readiness. Yet, what unfolds next surpasses all of
my expectations.

"Quinn!"

A familiar voice resounds from above. Startled, I glance upward and behold Ashenka and
Fer swiftly approaching. Perhaps they sensed my peril and rushed to my aid? Their courage,
though commendable, resembles that of moths drawn to a flame.

"Vassals? What a nuisance you are..." His Majesty mutters.

"No, please!" I implore, knowing that they will not be able to evade His Majesty's anomaly
on their first attempt.

Standing resolutely in the path of the blade, I witness the white flame gradually piercing my
chest...

Just as I sense impending death, a peculiar sensation washes over me.

It feels as if the entire world has closed in around me.

4
The scene transformed dramatically, like a shifting haze, leaving me to observe helplessly.
Amidst the engulfing darkness, which seemed utterly bleak, two men sat across from each
other engaged in conversation. Their faces were familiar to me.

"Give me Nahid. How much longer will you deal with this?"

His Majesty Sirius asked Kaikhosru with an arrogant grin. There was no one else present
besides the two of them. Though I struggled to comprehend the unfolding situation, it was
clear that this exchange did not occur in the present. However, it didn't seem to have taken
place years ago either; it was more likely within the past three months.

It appeared to be a form of telepathy between Star Spirits, with their immense power
manifesting as a tangible image for me to perceive. In reality, it was nothing more than a
glimpse into their minds. I couldn't fathom how I had arrived here, but for now, my only
option was to observe. Given my future plans, it was crucial for me to understand the
contents of the discussion between these two renegade kings. In response to Kaikhosru's
demand, His Majesty, in a grave and commanding voice, replied with a question of his own.

"Are you saying that Alma is inadequate?"

"No, quite the contrary. I'm even pleasantly surprised by her. But precisely because of that,
it doesn't concern me. There is no balance," Kaikhosru retorted with a hint of frustration.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you understand, Sirius? I offered you my precious Dragon Jewel Princess, but what
value does Alma hold for you? She is merely a pawn, whereas our losses are not equal."

"So, Nahid will make up for it?"

"Yes, something like that. By merely exploiting Alma, you insult both her and the Dragon
Jewel Princess who took her place. And naturally, you insult me as well, a man who loves
them both. If you're willing to initiate a war, that's a different story, but if not, you better
match my sacrifice."

Objectively speaking, Kaikhosru's argument made sense. His Majesty indeed felt no
particular attachment to Alma, and her sacrifice paled in comparison to the first concubine
of the Corpse of the Dragon Star. It was understandable that Kaikhosru couldn't forgive
such a discrepancy, given how much he cherished her. However, it seemed outrageous to me
that he would demand Nahid.

Not only was she His Majesty's younger sister, but she also held a vital role as a precious
trump card in the Sacred Realm. Even though we stood on the precipice of a war between
good and evil, with Kaikhosru still a potential adversary, it would be natural to decline his
request. Hence, I assumed they would reach a compromise, perhaps involving a land plot or
something similar. However, the outcome proved far more unexpected.

"Very well. If you want her that much, take her," His Majesty calmly responded, though the
decision wasn't made in haste. Continuing, he added something peculiar.

"But don't let your guard down with her. You haven't dealt with that yet."

His voice trembled with a touch of fear, reverberating in the surrounding darkness.
Kaikhosru merely chuckled in response.

"I understand all too well, without your warnings, how terrifying women can be. And if
you're referring to Nahid herself, I know her even better than you do, Sirius."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's not difficult to understand. Since the Dragon Jewel Princess started
serving you, I've gained much insight into your inner workings. I was aware of Frederica,
for instance. Is that not evidence enough?"

It appeared that he was insinuating that Roxanne had been involved in espionage, and
while the phrasing was vague enough to conceal its true meaning, His Majesty did not
elaborate. Instead, he continued discussing the procedure for transferring his younger
sister in a businesslike tone.

"After the treaty signing ceremony, I will hand over the seal-removing device to you. From
then on, you are free to do as you please, but I won't be held responsible for what she may
say."

"That won't be a problem. If you wish it, Nahid will obey me. She is that kind of woman."

Kaikhosru's apparent mockery elicited a slightly gloomier expression from His Majesty. The
nature of their agreement remained a mystery, with the answer deferred until the treaty
signing ceremony. Hence, I had to attend. Whether to prevent it or witness it through to the
end, I was determined to participate while this colossal wave was still approaching. The
only disgrace I couldn't bear was being swept away, rendered powerless and incapable of
action.

Open your eyes, rise to your feet. Return to the real world; it is not yet time to perish.
Amidst the ensuing chaos, which only intensified matters... remember that you pledged to
seek answers despite any doubts and to continue moving forward.

This insignia, emblematic of my existence, transforms me into a formidable and unwieldy

weapon. In a world bereft of all else, it remains my sole guiding star, lifting me from my
knees.

◇◇◇◇◇

"Quinn, Quinn— get up!"

As if my inner turmoil had reached the outer realms, I found myself returning to
consciousness. The familiar sensation of being abruptly awakened mixed with a subtle
sense of alertness, tinged with a hint of trepidation. I couldn't help but imagine the sharp
blows landing on my face and the weight of knees digging into my stomach, a routine ritual
that had become oddly comforting.

"How much longer do you plan on sleeping?"

Reacting instinctively, I rolled sideways, deftly evading the follow-up attack. Ashenka's
exclamation transformed into a yelp of surprise as she fell victim to her own failed
maneuver. But I couldn't afford to repeat my mistakes. The fact that I could discuss such
matters with calmness indicated my continued existence. So, what transpired after that
intense skirmish?

"It seems you're alright. That's a relief."

"Yes, somehow we all made it through."

I nodded at Fer, who stood beside me, offering a smile in return. His gaze briefly shifted to a
specific part of my body, but it didn't raise any particular questions. My right palm had
disintegrated entirely, leaving only a stump at the wrist. Even though I couldn't feel the
physical pain, I doubted it would regenerate. Having defied His Majesty's will, I had
forfeited my access to the astral spirit's gifts, and healing the wounds inflicted by the white
flame would not be an easy task.

However, I harbored no regrets. In fact, I considered myself fortunate, having escaped with
such minor consequences. My resolve, clenched tightly in my fist, reassured me that as long
as I drew breath, there was no room for disappointment. All that remained was to forge
ahead.

"Now, where are we?"

"Good question. I wish I knew myself, but this scenery... it's rather unsettling. Something
doesn't feel right."

"Indeed, indeed, indeed! This place is incredibly peculiar!"

Ashenka somersaulted and sprung to her feet, interjecting herself into the conversation.
With animated gestures, she pointed out the surroundings, speaking hurriedly.

"We can't leave, sir. We're trapped in this garden, clearly."

Almost in response to her complaint, weightless petals began to ascend into the air. It was
evident to all of us what this place was, even if we couldn't pinpoint its exact location.

The blooming flowerbeds, the fleeting breeze's cool touch, the crystal-clear blue sky above...
everything felt undeniably real, yet somehow tinged with an air of illusion. Perhaps, it was
more accurate to say that we had stepped into a painting. Nonetheless, this ephemeral
sensation gripped my heart, evoking a sense of familiarity.

Did I know this landscape?

And if so, when could I have seen it?

"No matter how far we go, there's no escape. While there doesn't seem to be any immediate
danger, it's hard to discern what they want from us in this unchanging environment."

"So, we... Wait, hey - what's that?"

Fer's voice suddenly carried a sense of urgency, drawing my attention to his line of sight. As
I followed his gaze, we all fixated on the same focal point.

"A castle? There was no such structure here, sir."

Ashenka's observation was accurate. A colossal edifice materialized out of thin air, leaving
us all taken aback. It wasn't merely the sudden appearance that puzzled me; it was the
hauntingly familiar design. A white-stone castle towered over the surrounding flower
garden... unmistakably, it was the one.

"This is... the Garden of Bloodshed."

Everything before me resembled the territory of the murderers, a place I had once
encountered prior to embarking on my mission to Khvarenah. Though the scenery held
some differences, the castle's structure mirrored that of Frederica's dwelling. Yet, it
shouldn't exist anymore. I had been informed that it was destroyed during the battle
between Magsarion and Bahlavan. So, what did our current predicament signify? My mind
raced, searching for answers.

"That's it."

Suddenly, as if a missing puzzle piece had fallen into place, all the enigmas tormenting me
became clear.

"I believe it's a severing ritual."

"A severing ritual? What does that entail?"

"A magical act where a part of the world is cut off and sealed in a parallel realm. During my
investigations, I came to understand that the Garden of Bloodshed was created through
such a ritual."

Though my own knowledge on the matter was limited, I shared what I could. The severing
ritual was a privilege reserved for exceptional Ashavans, serving the purpose of imposing
seals. As our powers waned against the Daevas, we devised a plan B, expelling them from
our world. However, perfecting this process proved challenging, and thus the technique
existed with its limitations.

The Garden of Bloodshed came into existence to seal the embodiment of evil, embodied by
Frederica, and it was likely her mother who performed the severing ritual. This aligned
with my memories from before I was born, indicating that it was the domain of the previous
Quinn. The castle, still untouched by the murderers, once inhabited by King Sirius’ wife.

In essence, it seemed plausible that Quinn had performed the severing ritual twice. One of
the parallel worlds ceased to exist, becoming the Garden of Bloodshed, while the other
remained, now spread out before us.

"I see. But why have we suddenly been transported here?"

"I presume she had predetermined these conditions. For the sake of reuniting with her
husband."

I shared the details of my confrontation with His Majesty. In a place like this, there was no
need to withhold any information, and it felt wrong to harbor suspicions towards my
companions.

"So, if we bring Sirius to the castle's door, it will open?"

"Yes. Unconsciously, I had been following her instructions all this time."

"Please, help my husband."

"I long to meet him again in a place far more beautiful"

These were the heartfelt pleas of Quinn's. It seemed we owed our current circumstances to
her desires. The condition was that I leave a mark on His Majesty's soul. Perhaps the
conversation I witnessed between Kaikhosru and the king was a result of that. Nonetheless,
it paved the way.

Quinn still loved His Majesty to this day. The key, no doubt, lay within the lock, rendering
his wife's plea more than a mere act of insignificance.

"Let's proceed. If we've received an invitation, it's only right to respond."

"Agreed. But we mustn't linger for too long. I've heard tales of time passing uniquely within
such closed dimensions."

Fer's remark carried wisdom. In this place, frozen in time for two decades, waiting for the
clock to tick normally would prove perilous. We had to return before the treaty signing
ceremony, and we couldn't afford to squander precious moments. Exchanging determined
glances, we ventured toward the castle, enveloped in a haze of pollen.
5
Alma arrived in the capital just as Quinn was locked in a fierce battle with her library books.
There was no one accompanying Alma; she returned to her homeland in splendid isolation.
Given her current circumstances, one might not have expected her to be so carefree, but she
never boasted about her origins anyway. The title thrust upon her without her consent only
annoyed her, and she considered the overwhelming emotions she now felt as her own
personal burden.

Yet, this matter had become so personal that it had left her feeling disoriented and unable
to find her place amidst the jumble of nerves.

"Hello, long time no see" — no, that wouldn't do.

"Great weather!" — no, that's not it either.

"Hey, come here for a minute" — perhaps something along those lines, though she wasn't
entirely sure.

No, am I completely clueless?! With her head hanging low and her fingernail between her
teeth, Alma paced in circles near the entrance to the forest by the royal castle, muttering to
herself ominously. To an outside observer, she would undoubtedly appear eccentric, but
fortunately, there was not a soul around to witness her peculiar behavior. Yet, it did little to
alleviate her situation. She was grappling with the dilemma of how to address Magsarion.

The truth was, their last meaningful conversation had taken place over five years ago,
leaving her clueless as to where to even begin. She had considered asking Quinn to
introduce them, but Quinn was evidently preoccupied with her own affairs, and it would be
awkward to ask for a favor now. And even if it did come to that, the prospect itself was not
encouraging. The mere thought of Kaikhosru and Magsarion butting heads made her
stomach knot with anxiety.

She already regretted accepting the invitation, yet her heart fluttered at the opportunity to
reunite with an old friend, which in turn angered her at her own sentimentality... So she
continued to walk in circles, both literally and metaphorically, losing track of time.
Unbeknownst to her, the sun had already begun its descent beyond the horizon.

"Hey."

Regardless of her internal turmoil, the noise coming from the side began to irritate her,
causing her to raise her head and snap,

"What?! Can't you see I'm busy here?"

"It interests me what you're up to."

With those words, a tall figure emerged before her, the very cause of her distress. Startled,
Alma jumped back and let out a scream akin to a startled cat, her eyes bulging in the
figure's direction. Resting his sword on his shoulder, Magsarion appeared to sigh beneath
his visor.

"I'm tired of your antics. If you have something to say to me, speak now."

"Ah, well... I apologize."

Apparently, he had long deduced that Alma had come to see him. Magsarion had grown
weary of her indecision and had taken it upon himself to approach her. In a way, such an act
could also be considered unusual behavior. This man, devoid of any sense of propriety,
always forging his own path, had interrupted his training to engage in a conversation with
his childhood friend— a nearly miraculous occurrence. Although it bewildered Alma, it also
brought her joy, causing her heart to race faster.

"Well, how should I put it... I was asked to deliver something to you, so here I am. Take a
look at this."

Even amidst her own internal disarray, Alma managed to choose her words without
hesitation, straightening her hair and attending to other minor details. With every beat of
her heart, echoing like a hammer in her ears, she spoke with unwavering determination.
She understood that any unnecessary words would prompt him to turn away, so she got
straight to the point.
Magsarion took the letter into his hands and silently acquainted himself with its contents.

"What will you do? No one is pressuring you, so if you're against it, I can relay the message...
The meeting is scheduled in Arzang, so if we agree, we'll head straight into the dragon's lair.
There's also an option to move it here to give you an advantage. In the best-case scenario,
we may even strip Kaikhosru of his power and defeat him..."

"No, let's go."

"Is that really what you want?!"

Enthusiasm resonated in Alma's question, and Magsarion couldn't help but laugh.

"Why are you so thrilled? Do you want me to die?"

"N-no, not in that sense..."

Deliberately choosing the least advantageous option was characteristic of Magsarion, and
he fulfilled Alma's expectations by doing so. The feeling was simple and out of place, but
Alma couldn't help but be pleased that she could somewhat understand Magsarion.
Moreover, it seemed that he trusted her as a messenger. Alma was well aware that this trust
wasn't entirely genuine, but being able to assist him in this urgent matter brought her a
sense of satisfaction.

The black knight cast a quiet gaze down at Alma, a gaze so cold it seemed to pierce right
through her, chopping her into pieces. It instilled a sense of terror, yet she couldn't help but
rejoice. After all, for whatever reason, the gaze that had remained unanswered for so long
had finally found its response.

"Can I come with you?"

"Of course. It's written right here."

Admitting her helplessness at last, Alma couldn't suppress her smile or even contemplate
hiding it. And then, the rest was inconsequential. After teleporting to Arzang, they both
headed to the designated meeting point indicated by Kaikhosru. The city, once ravaged by
murderers, had never been rebuilt, and various debris still littered the streets. However, it
was difficult to deem it as abandoned ruins, for lush greenery spread in every direction.

Kaikhosru had stripped these lands of their status as a settlement, transforming them into
something akin to his personal resort. Tropical fruits and exotic flowers fought for space in
the sunlight, a display of opulence befitting the Demon King and his ideals of domination
and subjugation. A sense of hopelessness still permeated the surroundings, but within the
reach of Kaikhosru's influence, a completely different world had taken root.

It was the garden of a rapacious serpent, who claimed the lives and tears of his subjects
without a trace. In the heart of this domain, where the crystal palace once stood, a clearing
had been made, and Kaikhosru sat alone upon a platform.

Cross-legged on the grass, he held a partially consumed drink in his hand. Beside him
towered a mountain of bananas, melons, mangoes, papayas, pineapples, and various other
fruits, a clear indication of his readiness for an impending feast.

"And here you are. Well, sit down. Let's have a drink."

With a dismissive gesture, he beckoned them toward him. Alma sighed at Kaikhosru's
insolent demeanor, but Magsarion, standing nearby, strode forward without hesitation and
took a seat directly opposite Kaikhosru. Alma hurriedly followed suit, settling herself on the
grass. Their host observed her with childlike delight, a mischievous smile playing upon his
lips.

"I apologize for summoning you so abruptly, but I was confident you would come. You're
not the type to shy away from any battle, no matter what it may be."
His tone seemed as though he was speaking to an old friend, yet the underlying meaning
behind his words made Alma furrow her brow. Kaikhosru declared that this was no
ordinary gathering for drinks; it was a true battlefield. Alma hadn't been particularly
optimistic that their meeting would consist of mere pleasantries, but such an overt
declaration heightened the tension in the air. Magsarion, on the other hand, remained as
calm and composed as ever, pushing the conversation forward, hinting with his demeanor
that he had not encountered anything new.

"So, what did you want to discuss with me?"

"Don't be in such a hurry. I merely wanted to confirm something, to look ahead. Sirius and I
have discussed this to some extent, but it wouldn't hurt to discuss our 'duties' with you as
well. You want to kill 'everyone,' don't you?"

Casually dropping such a weighty statement, Kaikhosru spread his hands with grandiosity.

"More accurately, it's that I can't and won't settle for anything less. It's a pity, of course, but
it does have its benefits. Personally, I would prefer not to shed my own blood or that of
others. Instead, I'd rather bask in pleasure, drowning in wine and women. I'll leave the dirty
work to you, and I'll continue to observe from the sidelines until my time comes. That's why
I'd like us to assess each other's potential now and avoid unnecessary conflicts."

In other words, the battle he spoke of boiled down to the following: Magsarion's knack for
slaughter would become a tool for Kaikhosru to eliminate external enemies. It was difficult
to imagine a better assistance than having someone capable of slaying titans like Bahlavan
or Khvarenah without shedding a drop of their own blood. Magsarion himself would
eventually become the greatest threat. Indifferent to the "dirty work," Kaikhosru preferred
minimizing his own exposure to danger.

"As long as Sirius and I exist, the fall of Avesta is inevitable. When Nadare finally gets down
to business, you will kill her."

"How as your loyal mutt? And your lips, are they still as foolish as ever?"

"You don't like them? Well, that's why I want you to assess my potential."

The battle Kaikhosru spoke of involved the dragon revealing his "position" to the wrathful
warrior— as a king and a hegemony. He didn't seek absolute loyalty; if Magsarion agreed to
dance to his tune even to some extent, it would be satisfactory. That was the essence of this
feast.

"So, have a drink. Or would you prefer something to eat?"

With those words, Kaikhosru tossed a pitaya in their direction. However, Magsarion made
no attempt to catch it, and the scarlet fruit bounced off his chest. Though a different
reaction wasn't expected, it clearly highlighted the complete incompatibility between the
two sides.

"Hmm, it's not that you don't want to, but more like you can't?"

Kaikhosru's words cut through the air, his voice heavy with a mix of pity and disdain.
Magsarion's gaze burned with fury beneath his visor, his whole demeanor radiating a
readiness to attack. The thirst for blood emanating from him was suffocating, and his voice
held a weight that matched his lethal presence.

Yet, Kaikhosru remained unfazed, as if the spirit of the black knight was nothing more than
a passing breeze. He turned his attention to Alma, as if she held the key to some intriguing
puzzle.

"And how did you manage to tolerate this thorn for so long? You've piqued my curiosity."

Alma sighed wearily, her concern evident as she glanced at Magsarion, fearing his
unleashed wrath. She chose to keep her distance, dismissing herself as merely an observer.

“Yes, well… What's the difference? In general, if you want to talk, then talk to him. I'm just
here on as baggage.”

"No, it's not like that. I called you here because I wanted to talk to you, and now you are in
my domain. So, it's up to me to decide when, with whom, and how to talk."
Alma's cold objection was met with a pompous response from Kaikhosru, leaving her
exasperated. The ignored Magsarion's potential eruption added to her unease.

"You always act on whims, disregarding any conventions," she retorted, her weariness
seeping into her voice.

“Ha-ha-ha! And you understand me well, I'm glad of that!”

Kaikhosru's cynical injection seemed to please him, and a wide smile spread across his face.
He leaned forward, delving into the next line of inquiry.

"By the way, if I may ask, how do you see the two of us, him and me?"

“What kind of men? Well…”

Alma was taken aback by the question, its apparent absurdity leaving her momentarily lost
for words. She understood that until she answered, the conversation would not progress.
Even Magsarion's presence exuded an inexplicable pressure. After a brief pause, she
managed to form an incoherent response, still grappling with the strange interrogation.
"You... You're just a childish individual who has been granted too much power. That was my
initial impression. At first, I thought you were a despot who only warms up to those who
pique your interest. I don't know what it is about rejecting the captivity of Avesta, but you
gave off the air of a child playing king."

“That’s clear. However, as I understand it, now you think differently?”

“I just don’t think about it— I don’t want to say that I have a better opinion of you.”

“Unlike other concubines, Roxanne is not so simple. Not in terms of strength, but as a
woman: you can’t put her on a par with the rest, so it’s hard for me to imagine that a petty
man like you deserves her sympathy.”

In the depths of recollection, a tale emerges— the tale of Kaikhosru, a figure resilient
against the relentless onslaught of the fall. Contemplating this remarkable feat and the
cataclysmic event that spurred it, the enigma surrounding the dragon king intensifies, its
complexity deepening with every passing moment.

For Alma, burdened with the weight of this perplexing narrative, the task of articulating her
assessment becomes an arduous endeavor. The right words seem to elude her grasp,
slipping through her fingers like elusive whispers. However, much to her astonishment, it is
Magsarion who steps forward, seamlessly assuming the role of the orator, bringing forth the
words that eluded her.

"My opposite."
"Maybe so."

The two men began a dialogue, seemingly prearranged, leaving Alma puzzled yet intrigued.
Perhaps, in some sense, she had given them an unspoken signal to begin.

"She called you a jerk, and I find myself in agreement with her assessment. But let me go a
step further and declare that you surpass even the realms of jerkdom, ascending to a level
of foolishness that may take an eternity to attain. Oh, it is truly a splendid accomplishment!
Thank you for gracing us with your remarkable presence."

Magsarion voiced his sentiment with a trace of sarcasm. Kaikhosru, however, seemed
unfazed by the comment, dismissing it with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"Ah, but my dear friend, you misunderstand. That was not an insult, but rather a
commendation of the highest order. When men deem each other fools, it is a testament to
their camaraderie and respect. I humbly accept this accolade with utmost gratitude, and in
return, I offer you a gift. As for you, my humble comrade, Magsarion, you are indeed a fine
specimen, far from foolishness. Perhaps only the most ignorant of scoundrels would fail to
comprehend this truth."
A hearty laugh escaped Kaikhosru's lips, finding amusement in his own jest, while Alma
stood there, struck by astonishment. The essence of their banter remained elusive to her,
for she had never encountered such an unconventional exchange. From her perspective, it
seemed not even a jest but a puzzling declaration. Nevertheless, both participants accepted
it as an unquestionable reality, proceeding with their conversation unabated.

"It is logical to understand the system in order to dismantle it, but you and Sirius lack a
sense of wonder. They say all grief comes from the mind, while beauty comes from
ignorance."

"Do you think you can accomplish it without unraveling the secret?" Magsarion questioned.

"It would be thrilling, but alas, my instincts are sharp from birth. I understood much
without intentionally putting in much effort. Simply put, the world resembles a
multi-layered toy."

Kaikhosru replied, picking up a mango and effortlessly revealing its contents. He held it up
as if presenting a cherished truth.

"Didn't you have one of these? When you open a doll, there's another one inside, and if you
open that, there's yet another, smaller one. The concept is simple, but it was invented by a
true genius. It captures the essence. Every unit is actually a cluster of smaller particles.
Humans, animals, and plants— they're all composed of genes or cells. Star Spirits like me
are made up of even smaller organisms. What if the scale is even greater? Perhaps the stars
are the cells of an even more immense creature. In that case, what would such a creature be
called?"

Magsarion succinctly answered, "God?"

“Exactly.” Kaikhosru grinned triumphantly, nodding in agreement.

Alma, frozen in place, could sense that the revelation carried weight for the men, as if they
had known it all along.

"An organism called the 'Universe.' God named Avesta. In simple terms, we have been
merely performing puppet shows, killing each other in the biological processes of the deity.
There is no reason behind it. We were born as particles of such a being. Star Spirits serve as
miniature examples: they harness the power of the stars, just as the universe colors
everything with its destiny."

Kaikhosru, a Star Spirit who ascended by understanding the path of hegemony, had grasped
the truth of the universe— the ability to devour the great creature from within, gaining
status and power. He believed that just as a man can consume a star, the same could be
done to the universe. With relentless passion, he sought to prove it. Returning to their
earlier conversation, Kaikhosru addressed Magsarion's nature.
"You are too understanding. Your desire to comprehend every detail ends up chaining you
to that knowledge, Magsarion. There's nothing wrong with appreciating knowledge, but it's
akin to a cancerous tumor. Cancer destroys healthy cells, absorbing them, ultimately leading
to the body's demise. Yes, its destructive potential is astonishing, but in the end, nothing
remains. It's the pinnacle of genocide— every living thing vanishes without a trace. You lack
the 'attraction' to preserve everything alone. Like cancer, like a blade, you believe that once
you've killed everything, your job is done. You may think that you'll remain immutable, but
is there truly any vibrancy in such an existence? You only know how to kill, and in doing so,
you end up killing yourself."

Although she didn't understand much of Kaikhosru's theory, his last sentence was an
exception.

“Magsarion will die…”

She just can't let that pass her ears.

“Let me speak candidly. His true nature, when revealed, struck me with an unexpected
revelation. Surprisingly, Magsarion displays a deep-rooted cowardice, an overwhelming
fear of the unknown that consumed his every thought. His unquenchable thirst for
understanding became his shackles, binding him tightly in its relentless grip. It was as if he
worshipped secrets, forever concealing his face, an ordinary facade that extinguished any
hope of ascending to greatness. How could one bestow upon him the title of a king?
Without possessing the fortitude to usurp the Divine Throne and claim its dominion, his
only recourse was to accept his impending demise as a "reasonable" conclusion, an
acceptance that whispered of his own insignificance.”

In response to a caustic, but still full of compassion speech, Magsarion at first does not say
anything, only remains silent
...
"I won't die."

Magsarion responded firmly, refusing to succumb to Kaikhosru's persuasion.

"I won't yield to your persuasion. I will forge my own immutability, in my own way."

“Then will you follow the rules to the end and try to find a loophole in order to survive?
Then you should hurry up. You're already starting to disappear.”

Kaikhosru chuckled at Magsarion's resolute reply, while Alma's pale face turned toward her
childhood friend's iron visor. She realized that Kaikhosru's warning held more than
metaphorical weight. There was something about Magsarion's hidden face, something she
couldn't remember— his features, known only to her and the Holy King in the current
Sacred Realm.
"Is there anything I can do?"

Alma's voice trembled, and Kaikhosru took a step back, carefully observing the unfolding
scene. He anticipated her response, eager to glean new insights or treasures for his
ever-burning curiosity. What kind of men did Alma see in Kaikhosru and Magsarion? She
had never spoken about the latter, and Kaikhosru was intrigued to know.

It mattered little to him whether he gained fresh knowledge through her answer. The
dragon wasn't bound by the desire to "know"; he simply yearned for new treasures to
adore. The resplendent tapestry called "Man" was likely to evoke his deepest emotions.

"I care little for your thoughts, where your gaze wanders, and what actions you undertake...
I shall remain silent on that matter. But I beg of you, do not disappear from my life!"

Alma's outcry pierces the air, causing Magsarion to turn his head towards her with an irked
expression. The armor he wears emits an unkind creak in response.

"Since a young age, you have been altering the course of events. I still remember when you
pleaded with me to cease fighting."

"Y-Yes... what else could I have done!?" she stammers, her face flush with embarrassment.

Compared to the ever-steadfast Magsarion, she is undeniably capricious. Her fickleness has
been criticized, leaving her defenseless. And now, unintentionally, she allows her emotions
to flow freely.

"You are always rushing off alone, leaving me behind. All I can do is panic, worry, and
attempt to grasp even a sliver of understanding— sometimes, I find myself complaining
aloud!"

"Sometimes?" Magsarion retorts, a hint of dry sarcasm in his voice.

"Well, perhaps... more than just sometimes!"

From Magsarion's perspective, her words may seem illogical, self-contradictory, and
insufficiently nuanced for him to perceive their sincerity. What vexes Alma the most is that
she now comprehends this herself.

"Just try to understand, you fool... Ordinary people like me struggle with such burdens,"

"Then disappear. No one is forcing you to accompany me," Magsarion coolly retorts.

"You always reduce it to that!" she exclaims, her eyebrows furrowed, as memories of a
painfully familiar scene flash before her eyes.
It feels as if she has been transported back twenty years, when she still believed in the
beauty of the world, and their quarrels were all too frequent. Though those times may have
been unbearable for Magsarion, Alma cherishes every person she knew back then. She
senses the importance of those memories, regardless of what he may say. Since he
consistently disregards the emotions of others, she sees no reason to treat him with
condescension.

"I know you do not harbor affection for me, but we both detest when things do not go our
way. I have made up my mind that I would give my life for you. That is why I will not permit
your demise."

"I have already told you, I am not going to die," Magsarion retorts.

"Do you truly believe that with the way you live? Can you not look at yourself objectively?"

This time, it is Alma who appears to put Magsarion in his place. He averts his gaze slightly,
falling into silence. Alma seizes the opportunity to press on, but he raises his fervor once
more, uttering words that freeze her in place.

"What, do you wish to kill me?"

This question, too, lacks logical coherence. Magsarion was just assured that they do not
desire his demise, thus the query about wanting to kill him disrupts the chain of causality.
Yet, in his eyes, the connection is undoubtedly present.

Realizing this, Alma bites her lip, endeavoring to express her genuine sentiments. Feelings
that melt away like snow. Despite the steadfastness of her thoughts and the time spent
harboring them, they are incredibly simple, and she unleashes them in a single breath.

"I... love you, Magsarion."

In her heart, she acknowledges the cursed nature of this love, but it is also her sole prayer,
granting her the ability to immerse herself once more in the memories of sunlit days.

"Those were twenty years of torment, of unbearable hardships, where it felt as if the world
was crumbling, one calamity after another... and yet, amidst it all, you remained unchanged.
That very fact has been my salvation, even to this day."

They say fate is a culmination of happenstance, but also the product of inevitable
calculations. Perhaps it is more accurate to assume that if one's present life is fraught with
adversity, then any past happiness was merely a sinister prelude.

But still...
Despite no longer possessing her innocence, and ever since her encounter with Magsarion
descending further into the abyss of her own demise...

As long as her unwavering lover exists in this world, the days of tranquility from the past
remain unscathed. They cannot be shattered. They cannot be tainted. Stay with him, now
and forever.

"In my eyes, you are a true savior. Thank you for being alive."

And that is why she refuses to let him perish. The reason may be utterly self-serving, yet
Alma's entire demeanor hints that she can redirect a similar accusation toward him.
Unbeknownst to her, tears have welled up and escaped at some point.

"One or the other..."

Meanwhile, Magsarion mutters under his breath, as if wincing.

"I have no need for a face."

In an instant, he seizes his sword and swings it. A howling ebony streak seems destined to
sever Alma's neck, but at the eleventh hour...

"Hey, hold on. What do you think you're doing with my woman?"

...Kaikhosru, observing from the sidelines, intervenes. His colossal scimitar intercepts
Magsarion's frenzied blade, barely managing to halt its onslaught. The clash of crossed
swords ignites a shower of sparks, as a scorching haze envelops the air. The dragon and the
black knight lock eyes, equally consumed by bloodlust.

"I thought you had no interest in menial affairs?"

"That may be true, but what kind of ruler can I be if I cannot even save a single woman?"

Thus, they engage in a test of strength until the bitter end, until they are forcibly separated.
And at that moment, Kaikhosru asserts his regal will: "I have reconsidered. You shall not
live."

In an instant, a thunderous roar resonates, the planet itself seemingly echoing the
shockwave. Alma, standing nearby, remains unaffected by Kaikhosru's decree, but the very
garden crumbles to its core. Before the speechless maiden, the two men exchange blows,
casting up a dense cloud of dust.

"N-No, please... Stop..."

She tries to quell their conflict, reaching out her hand, but it proves futile. The state of
affairs cannot be mended. Physically and mentally, Kaikhosru and Magsarion have drifted
too far beyond Alma's grasp.

No, perhaps it is better to say that she has already done so, and thus cannot halt their
course.

“She is truly cursed by your actions. To release her from this curse would be the greatest act
of mercy.”

“Take her wherever you please. I shall simply sever her head first.”

Metal streaks through the air like shooting stars, leaving trails of luminous brilliance. It
would not be an exaggeration to claim that among the living, Magsarion possesses the most
extensive combat experience. However, Kaikhosru's martial prowess can only be described
as untamed.

Roughness intertwines with grace, instinct melds with technique...

In strength, speed, and tactics, his power knows no flaws. He harbors no particular
preference, making it impossible to assign a specific label to his style. Such a manner cannot
be deemed natural. While he surely honed his skills to some extent, it is more likely that he
acquired them by absorbing the abilities of others.
He is the embodiment of greed, an unyielding "lust" that lays claim to all the treasures of
the world, seeing them as mere tools. One can even detect similarities to Varhran in the way
he ruthlessly assimilates those involved into his own military might. Magsarion, of course,
has never witnessed the Commandment of his "brother" in action. Yet, an inner rage stirs
within him, a premonition.

He must emerge victorious to surpass the revered hero he. In this unbearable
confrontation, he has already gleaned many insights into Kaikhosru's character. The term
"my opposite" was not bestowed lightly, and while it initially appeared as mere intuition,
the rest of the puzzle pieces have fallen into place.

If he comprehends, he will discern.

If he discerns, he will exploit the gap.

And once created, he is capable of cleaving through anything and anyone.

A relentless, furious gaze burns with the fervor to locate the dragon's weakest point.

"It's not that I am deliberately concealing something, but I doubt you would grasp it."
On the other hand, Kaikhosru appears to dance, his blade biting like sharp fangs. If
Magsarion sought to become faceless, then it is fitting to refer to Kaikhosru as an
embodiment of that ideal. Although both lack a true visage, this man does not elicit
differing opinions from external observers. When it comes to the sixth Demon King, all
perceive him in much the same manner.

Proud.

Avaricious.

A brilliant tyrant and usurper with an insatiable craving for luxury.

Undoubtedly, this is his true nature, and his true face is unmistakable. However, as
mentioned before, he is excessively immature.

He is petty in all matters, but it is precisely this extreme pettiness that has elevated him to
the status of a mountain supporting the heavens.

He does not conceal his emotions.

He does not lie.

Despite his impressive intellect and willingness to employ various stratagems, he rejects
even the most basic logic.
In essence, he disregards calculations.

He possesses the audacity to trample upon what he has painstakingly accumulated, should
his whims change.

The evidence lies in how he plotted to usurp the Divine Throne with Magsarion's
assistance, only to condemn him to death moments later due to a blemish on Alma's tears.

He does not ponder the potential consequences.

After all, he is a king.

"You know, I simply cannot tolerate an equal exchange. Who came up with the notion that
one must give something in order to receive?"

After all for in his eyes, everything in the world belongs to him...

As the blade crashes down from above, Magsarion emits a grating sound. Simultaneously, a
shockwave surges from the ground, encircling him. Within his domain, any Star Spirit
possesses the freedom to act as they please. Needless to say, such an act requires significant
strength and focus, yet Kaikhosru displays no signs of exhaustion. However, this stands in
stark contrast to the Locust's Commandment.

"Well, ponder as much as you like. We have only just begun." With a smile adorning his face,
Kaikhosru hurls himself into the attack, brimming with arrogance and impudence, devoid
of sorrow or doubt.

He is utterly convinced that he is the one who takes, not the one from whom things are
taken. However, it would be remiss to claim that he remains entirely composed in this
battle.

With every passing minute, Magsarion's blade grows sharper, faster, drawing nearer to
Kaikhosru's heart. Additionally, from the very onset of the conflict, the power of the Star
Spirit holds no sway over Magsarion whatsoever.

Kaikhosru finds himself astounded by the unfolding events, a sense of unease creeping over
him, barely restrained from transforming into outright horror. His vast experience leads
him to believe that around the tenth impact, he will sustain severe injuries.

What course of action should he pursue now?

With the fourth strike, his hand grows numb from the reverberating shockwave upon
blocking.

The fifth blow narrowly evades a devastating blow to the stomach.

Despite all this, the sixth strike goes unanswered by his own powers.

There is no alternative. He must expend all that he has. Inhaling deeply, the seventh strike...
With his left arm severed at the shoulder, Kaikhosru bares his teeth in a foreboding grin.

"Surprised that you surpassed my predictions, but you have still fallen into my trap. Behold
this."

In an instant, Magsarion realizes that his left hand has ceased to move, as if it were carved
from wood...

"Do you appreciate the might of your own fist?"

A powerful surge of destruction crashes squarely into his face, propelling him backward.
Simultaneously, the transformative power of transmuting into jewels comes into play. The
body of the black knight crackles audibly, while his limbs gradually transmute into onyx.

"Forget it, forget it, once ensnared, there is no escape. After all, it was your own strength,
and even an unyielding body will yield.”
With his scimitar resting on his shoulder, Kaikhosru approaches Magsarion as his lost arm
regenerates. However, from an external perspective, it may not be entirely accurate to
describe it as "regeneration."

Let him confidently declare his victory; he sneers and commences his complaint.

"Offering a complete hand, and receiving the same hand in return? I cannot agree; it
appears we are now even. The score has been settled, and now I shall break you."

Kaikhosru approaches the kneeling Magsarion, extending his left hand to amplify his power.
Yet, for some inexplicable reason, the limb convulses unnaturally. A soft, fleeting sound
resonates as steel meets flesh.

Tilting his head, Kaikhosru witnesses Alma leaning against him from behind. She clasps a
dagger in her trembling hands.

"It hurts..."

Dragon's blood trickles from the wound... Although Kaikhosru recognizes that Alma has
wounded him, he feels no anger. On the contrary, restrained laughter escapes his throat,
soon escalating into uproarious mirth...

"Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Throwing his head back towards the heavens, he unleashes a cry of joy. It may appear as
though he has descended into madness, but alas, his sanity remains intact. Embracing Alma,
who gazes up at him with wide eyes, he articulates his overwhelming emotions.

"So you have fallen so deeply in love with me that you managed to pierce me! Oh, how
delighted I am, Alma. Nothing has ever pleased me to such an extent!”

"No! It can't be!"

Alma comprehends what Kaikhosru attempts to convey and trembles uncontrollably. The
act itself was almost instinctual. Fearful for Magsarion's safety, she wished to aid him with
her own hands and inadvertently plunged a dagger into the sixth Demon King. Indeed, she
has pierced the Demon King. Yet, Alma's strength should not be sufficient to inflict harm
upon dragon flesh, let alone a mere scratch…

Until she fulfills the conditions of her Commandment.

"It merely proves that you have opened your heart to me. Well, it is insufficient to bring
about my demise, but it suffices as collateral. Considering that you also managed to save me
from peril, I should express my gratitude.”
“What are you saying? You never once crossed my mind..."

Alma attempts to deny it, but suddenly her eyes widen. Kaikhosru's left hand convulses like
a grinning beast.

"Do you still doubt who reigns supreme here? It would be in your best interest to depart.
You are certainly no fragile maiden; it is conceivable that if I were to conclude what I began,
it would be your own demise."

Releasing Alma from his grasp and stepping back, Kaikhosru grins malevolently, restraining
his rampaging left hand. The petrification continues at its steady pace. This implies that he
did not cancel it, yet he has not completed it either. The transformation is underway, albeit
at an excruciatingly slow rate. He feels the silent black knight's gaze upon him, brimming
with unmasked bloodlust.

Is it the shame of defeat, or the fury of missing his quarry?

Whatever the reason, the outcome of this battle remains uncertain.

"I shall claim her for myself. If you do not object, attempt to unleash your powers and come
for her. Next time, I will take everything from you."

Turning his back on Magsarion, Kaikhosru drapes his arm around the bewildered Alma and
leads her away. He is not entirely satisfied with the result either. Thus, the drama unfolds
further, bolstering their morale.

Certainly, he does not indulge in baseless bravado, but he is prepared to exert every effort
to attain a woman of exceptional caliber.

Yes, indeed, a woman. Truth be a woman, and it is in her that he finds his desire; intoxicated
by such dreams, the dragon remains enthralled to this day.
 Chapter 14: Wings of Darkness – Translated by @ashmxt.t

1
It felt as though hours had slipped away since we had set foot inside Quinn’s Castle,
forsaken by the severing ritual. Not a single noteworthy discovery had been made, nor did
any seem likely.

We aimlessly roamed in circles, leaving me to ponder our predicament once again.

Naturally, we had meticulously examined every room in the castle, scrutinizing even the
contents of cabinets and drawers. The search, as it were, could be considered exhaustive.
Yet, despite our thoroughness, the outcome remained zero. Perplexed, we contemplated if
there was something new we had missed.

Surprisingly, Quinn's lifestyle appeared remarkably modest, incongruous with the opulent
decor of the castle. Admittedly, Ashavans are not known for their extravagance, and I
understood that Quinn was, in essence, a recluse. Nevertheless, even considering these
factors, something seemed amiss. Though the thought continued to haunt me, our
relentless search yielded no significant findings, prompting our retreat to the ground floor
hall.

"Surely, sir, in this dreary castle, we could at least indulge in a game of rolling a ball. I find
myself quite bored," Ashenka remarked.
"No one intended to entertain us, and indeed, one wonders if we are wasting our time. If we
are to press on, we must approach the problem from a different angle," I responded.

"True, of course, but how?"

Truth be told, I had been convinced that the situation would change upon entering the
castle. After all, we had been invited here, naturally anticipating some sort of reception.
However, reality proved otherwise. Not only were we not received, but we were left entirely
alone in an empty house. Until we understood the cause of this discrepancy, progress would
elude us.

"It doesn't appear as though we've been ensnared in some sort of enchantment. There must
be a secret passage somewhere. Our first task is to determine its precise location."

"Are we really to grapple with passwords and puzzles, sir? It seems rather tedious. Perhaps
demolishing everything to the ground would be easier, sir."

"No, I would prefer that we not stoop to such a crude approach. Ashenka, impatience is
understandable, but we must avoid anything that might exacerbate our situation. Partly
because I wish to preserve this castle, a testament to Quinn's memory, and partly because it
strikes me as perilous."
"We are here at Quinn's behest. Who knows how she would react if we were to destroy the
castle, showing hostility towards her."

"But we won't accomplish anything with all this caution, sir. Moreover, the hospitality here
leaves much to be desired."

"Perhaps that is the case..."

My response lingered in the air as Fer interjected with a sigh, "Let's not argue. At least we
have a target."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It is most likely that the passage resides within the master's bedroom. If there were
any room off-limits to outsiders, that would be the prime candidate. From there, we'll need
to try everything systematically."

"That does seem more preferable to scouring the entire castle."

Although currently no more than a hypothesis, narrowing down the scope of our search
constituted progress. Fer's pragmatism proved invaluable, as my restless state contrasted
with his composure. Ashenka, however, seemed unconvinced. She sighed and muttered
indignantly, "I was pondering what was amiss, but he remains obstinate with his
conventional approach, sir. I'm uncertain if such a typical strategy will prove helpful, sir."

"I understand that you have reservations. What do you propose, then?"

"I don't know. It's just that your plan is dreadfully dull, sir. Besides, Quinn herself is rather
unremarkable, sir."

"I assure you, no one here will provide entertainment. And in any case, you— " I
interrupted, but Ashenka swiftly cut me off.

"Wait a moment, Fer. Ashenka, what did you say?"

I leaned in closer, and Ashenka looked at me wide-eyed in surprise.

"W-What are you doing? I'm not scolding you; there's no need to be so agitated."

"I am aware of that. Yet, why do you find Quinn 'unremarkable'?"

"Ah, well, it's just that Quinn called you, Quinn, but... Oh, darn it! How awkward!"

Ashenka stumbled over her words, growing flustered. Though her thoughts became
muddled, Ashenka scratched her head, grumbled, and began to speak rapidly, "She lacks
any sense of dignity, sir. Little Fer mentioned something about Quinn's bedroom, but it
hardly resembles a mistress's quarters. I would sooner describe it as a servant's room or
some such, sir."

Thus, she saw no reason to construct theories around Quinn. This perspective struck me to
the core.

Quinn was not the master of this castle...

Was that why her modest lifestyle had troubled me so?

Despite her imperfections, Ashenka presided over the Sky Burial Sphere, which likely
prompted her questions regarding Quinn and her status as a leader. In essence, Quinn was
more akin to a servant. Viewing things from this angle, many puzzle pieces fell neatly into
place.

The castle did not possess the characteristics of a dwelling; rather, it resembled a serene
ceremonial space, almost like a temple. So, Quinn must have been a priestess of sorts.

But what exactly did she serve?

As I pondered this, countless threads in my mind began to converge. Even the connection I
felt with her prior to my birth was not a mere coincidence.

It held a deeper cause-and-effect relationship, one that led to the wrath of His Majesty
Sirius.

Once upon a time, the Divine Blade did some harm to Quinn. And she did this not face to
face, as an equal to her, but as if a superior trampled on the one who stands below

The pieces of the puzzle were gradually aligning.

"I am the mistress of this castle," I whisper, and in that instant, a grand staircase unfurls
before us, stretching wide on either side.

While Fer and Ashenka stand in awe, I regard this unfolding spectacle as nothing short of
natural. Indeed, it was Quinn who beckoned her mistress to this place. Until now, the path
had remained concealed, concealed by my own lack of self-awareness.

"Let us proceed. That is where we shall find what we seek."

I gesture toward the newly revealed descent, urging my still-astonished companions

forward.

The sensation of déjà vu intensifies, and though a faint sense of trepidation tugs at me, as if
my former self whispers secrets into my ear, I refuse to be deterred.

For the true adversary I must confront is the Divine Blade herself, and I have no recourse
but to confront her transgressions head-on.

◇◇◇◇◇

Kaikhosru was entranced by a recurring dream, the only one he had ever known in his
entire life. This time was no exception. In this dream, he witnessed his younger self from an
external perspective, reliving the memories of days long gone. It was a vivid reproduction of
the moment when unbridled anger had consumed him, leading him down the path that
defined his existence.

It all began with a loss, though the specifics eluded him. Something had slipped through his
fingers, and it ignited an all-consuming desire within him to reclaim it.

The exact nature of the loss didn't matter to him; it could have been money, a toy, or even a
family member. Perhaps he had simply let a dog perish, but such sentimental details were
inconsequential to him.
What mattered was the absence of something tangible, and he lacked the sentimentality to
chase after mere memories. The fact that he needed to uncover the essence of what was lost
in order to mend the void didn't trouble him either. The mere existence of a reason was
enough to spur him into action, shaping his way of life from that moment forward.

After all, the great will had promised him that as long as he adhered to the rules, happiness
would inevitably find him.

The Dragon Crystal Star... As Roxanne had once told Alma, during Kaikhosru's time as an
Ashavan, their planet adhered to a strict code. These were known as the Destiny
Commandments, powerful shackles imposed by the Star Spirit upon its own cells, akin to a
miniature Avesta.

Although these Commandments were specific to the denizens of the Dragon Crystal Star,
their wholehearted obedience, devoid of ulterior motives, almost made it seem as if they
were intertwined with the fabric of ‘her’ machinations.

Unlike individual Commandments, this encompassed their entire way of life, as natural as
water flowing from high to low, and it was regarded by all as common sense.

Roxanne had already described its essence in great detail. A few select Drujvants were
captured as sacrifices, and various forms of mockery were directed towards them,
promising salvation. It served as a means to efficiently manage collective property and
provided an endless source of entertainment.

During Kaikhosru's Ashavan days, he had accepted this as a matter of course. It was
common sense, and there was no reason to doubt it. The young man yearned desperately,
driven by an ardent desire to regain what he had lost. He made up his mind to offer a
Drujvant as payment.

However, as long as he could remember, it had been time for a change of victim in his city.
The previous one had been completely exhausted, and he had to endure his dissatisfaction
until new "resources" were found.

The wait became unbearable for him.

There was no clear system as to when and where the next victim would appear. Sometimes
they were born right within the commune, while at other times, they had to be sought for
decades, relying solely on luck. From the Star Spirit’s perspective, this might have been
within the margin of error, but for the inhabitants, it was undeniably a matter of life and
death.

Fifteen years had passed without a victim, and the entire community was becoming
increasingly anxious. Kaikhosru himself couldn't bear to remain idle.
Thus, at the tender age of seven, he embarked on a quest for treasures, not as a full-fledged
member of an adult search team but as a lone seeker. Perhaps he sought to claim the spoils
solely for himself.

Yet, in the end, his endeavors proved fruitless. Four years after he had left his homeland,
news reached him that the sought-after Drujvant had been captured by another team. He
had to abandon his attempts and return consumed by indignation.

From this, it became evident that during that time, Kaikhosru still embraced the collective
mindset of the Ashavans. Even if he hadn't achieved his goal personally, as long as others
had succeeded, it meant that everyone benefited, and he had to accept it.

Those thoughts dissipated when he returned home a year later and witnessed the scene
that awaited him. A woman was crucified in the central square of the city, surrounded by a
mob hurling stones and curses. Over the course of twenty years since the previous victim's
demise, a deep-seated anger had accumulated within the people, and the woman found
herself teetering on the brink of death, unable even to utter a scream.

Of course, this didn't mean that Kaikhosru sympathized with her. He remained an Ashavan,
and thus he was filled with disgust and hostility toward the Drujvant.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Even the sight of the victim
being devoured before his eyes failed to satiate him, only intensifying his thirst for
fulfillment.

But the Dragon Star Spirit had promised that tormenting her would bring him happiness.

So, why did this discontent persist, refusing to soothe his soul and instead swirling within
him like a tempest of darkness?

Perhaps relying on others for everything simply wouldn't suffice.

Maybe everyone had taken it too lightly.

To test this hypothesis, Kaikhosru seized a sizable stone and hurled it with all his might.

Years of living alone had bestowed upon him a strength that even an adult would envy, for
he had grown far stronger than those who led a sheltered life within the city.

The young man launched the stone with every ounce of his being, the muffled sound of
impact rendering the surrounding onlookers speechless. The victim convulsed and emitted
a pained groan after receiving a devastating blow to her face. Her gaze turned toward
Kaikhosru, burning with a profound hatred. It was an expected result, a predictable
reaction.
However, even after this act, happiness eluded him entirely. Consumed by thoughts of such
injustice, Kaikhosru offered no resistance as the adults pulled him away, but he posed a
single, poignant question.

"Why can't I find contentment? Doesn't the rule of equal exchange dictate that my void
should be filled through sacrifice? Answer me, God! Why did you break your promise on
this earth?"

Kaikhosru's unwavering faith in the Dragon Crystal Star’s rule had driven him to obsession.
In truth, his belief in the flawless nature of destiny had led him to interpret it with excessive
freedom.

Indeed, the Star Spirit had constructed its system on the foundation of equal exchange. Any
Commandment entailed a reward in exchange for payment, and Kaikhosru was not
misguided in his hopes that abiding by this rule would grant his wishes. However, the
dragon God's objective solely revolved around its own social welfare, with no regard for the
salvation of each individual subordinate.

From the Star Spirit’s perspective, the Destiny Commandment functioned in the following
manner. For a white planet, inherently devoid of any black impurities, the presence of even
a small number of Drujvants as shackles posed a genuine risk. In exchange, the unity among
the Ashavans grew stronger, and the authority of the dragon deity expanded. It could be
likened to vaccinating an individual with weakened microbes to fortify their immune
system.

Thus, the Commandment was imposed upon all the subordinates, ensuring they functioned
without hesitation, like cells within the Star organism. Free will was unnecessary. The Star
Spirit reasoned that as long as they mindlessly carried out their designated tasks like a
colony of microorganisms, the promised "happiness" would manifest as a mere fluctuation
of mood.

It had little to do with the immediate restoration of a home devastated by a natural disaster
or the instantaneous healing of a sick patient— forms of help that were blatantly apparent.
The dragon deity had merely ensured that nothing disrupted their contentment, providing
only fruitless satiation akin to narcotic hallucinations. This stark contrast to the pragmatic
reward Kaikhosru desired left him perpetually dissatisfied.

His resilience was not so weak that venting malice upon the victim could satiate him. In this
sense, he surpassed the dragon deity's expectations, emerging as an essence that exceeded
their conception. Born as a consequence of the prolonged rule, he firmly believed in the
righteousness of inheritance.
Kaikhosru deemed the planet's greatest creation and thus its greatest failure, remained
convinced that salvation awaited him, unable to find solace in any form of obsession.

From that moment onward, he continued inflicting cruel torment upon the victim. Each
time, those around him reproached his actions, and he faced confinement. Yet, these
experiences failed to teach him anything, and he consistently managed to escape, driven by
the longing for an equivalent exchange to be fulfilled. Through this process, an odd sense of
warmth began to develop within the victim towards him, but such trivial matters held no
significance for him.

He merely waited, asking himself, "When will my efforts be rewarded? When?"

Until the fateful day finally arrived. As he gazed upon the scarlet tongues of flames raging
ferociously, the realization struck him that the abyss within him would never be filled.

A mad scream erupted from the depths of his being— a single furious word, akin to a curse
unleashed upon the world.

“Why?!”

In the embrace of his awakening consciousness, Kaikhosru received a resounding answer.

"To put it simply, there is nothing in the world that could fulfill my requirements," he
muttered, a mix of determination and resignation coloring his voice.
With the realization that heaven would not grant him his desires, he embraced a different
path— one of conquest and appropriation.

If offerings were futile, then he would seize everything for himself, leaving nothing behind.

Thus, Kaikhosru embarked on his quest to establish his own rule, starting with claiming the
victim as his own.

After all, she rightfully belonged to him, and if leaving her under the existing inheritance
would only lead to her demise, he saw no reason to delay his actions.

Breaking the Divine Commandment became inconsequential to him, for he deemed the
dragon deity beneath his dignity and unworthy of his consideration. And so, with
unprecedented audacity, he initiated a rebellion, aiming to usurp the throne of the Star
Spirit. However, even in his audacity, he made a mistake.

Alongside the change in color brought forth by the Gate of the Fall, he also inherited the
reversed Commandment.

It gnawed at him, disquieting his mind.

After all, the Commandment was originally the Dragon Deity's, accepted without regard for
Kaikhosru's personal opinion. Yet, the consequences remained, lingering like the kAlma of a
past life, dampening his spirits. While he did improve his situation, receiving equivalent
rewards for his endeavors, the underlying principle of equal exchange persisted. His
aspiration to amass all the world's treasures without losing anything still demanded
compensation for every action he took.

The origin of this predicament was clear as day. Kaikhosru could interpret it in no other
way but as the influence of an entity superior to the dragon deity. He saw no other
explanation as to why he surpassed the planet's destiny yet remained imprisoned within
the old value system. The Destiny Commandment and the Avesta were similar in principle,
and he didn't differentiate between them greatly.

However, the Gate of the Fall heightened his sensitivity to the latter, deepening his longing,
mingled with malice and respect, for the creature responsible for this chaotic universe.

He felt drawn to ‘her,’ the entity that birthed this world, akin to falling in love. It was out of a
sense of gratitude, viewing ‘her’ as his own mother, that he yearned to appropriate all of her
possessions— a greedy desire to compensate for his initial loss.

He felt as though he would awaken soon, and with resignation, Kaikhosru slowly opened his
eyes.

Before him, he beheld a lavishly adorned palanquin, and a soft warmth emanated from his
side.

"Are you awake, my king?" a gentle voice called out. Kaikhosru turned his head, finding the
beautiful face of Sapphire Princess Fatima, the fourth in seniority but second only to
Roxanne in age.

Fatima, too, had been a victim designated by the previous dragon deity, and like Roxanne,
memories of her time as a victim lingered within her soul.

"For happiness, admiring your face is enough for me," Fatima expressed, a faint smile
gracing her lips.

"You still lack ambition."

"Well, as you wish. Soon, you will bid farewell to old dreams. If you wish to revisit them
later, don't blame me."

Fatima harbored a deep aversion to sleep. It was due to the dreams of her past, where
memories of her victimhood resided. These dreams brought not only horror and shame but
also something else.
"I will never forget him. No matter what lies ahead, I will cherish the day I met you. In fact, I
believe that every dream about him only diminishes his essence. Thus, I decided to protect
him," she confided. Kaikhosru chuckled, dismissing her concerns.

"You're still too modest, my dear."

As Kaikhosru rose from his slumber, he murmured to himself, then sat up in bed, stretching
his tired limbs and yawning. He understood the fickleness of memory, how its radiance
waned and transformed into a mere symbol when the same topic was repeatedly brought
up.

Thus, he acknowledged the conservatism in Fatima's desire to protect their shared

memories, yet he saw the logic behind it and had no intention of reproaching her for it.

For Kaikhosru, the ultimate solution to the problem lay in remaining eternally unchanged in
the hearts of his beloved women. If he could enchant them with a radiance that would
endure, unaffected by the passage of time, then the issue would naturally resolve itself. And
he believed that this day would arrive soon, when his captivating aura would never fade,
regardless of how much it was drawn upon.

Fatima remained lying on her side, her gaze fixed upon Kaikhosru's courageous grin. Her
eyes, still partially closed from drowsiness, reflected trust and love, albeit with a tinge of
melancholy hidden within their depths.
"Has your health not improved?" she inquired, concern lacing her words.

Kaikhosru, unperturbed, replied, "Hmm? Ah, if that's what you're referring to, fret not.
Initially, he put up quite a fight, but as you can see, he has since calmed down."

To reassure his concubine, Kaikhosru boldly extended his left hand, revealing the trophy he
had acquired from Magsarion on the previous day.

"It appears he has finally recognized my worth and surrendered," he stated, a hint of
amusement in his voice.

However, Fatima was skeptical.

"You must be joking. I don't see him as someone who easily bends to others' will."

"You always speak when no one asks," Kaikhosru retorted, his smile fading but without a
trace of anger.

He understood Fatima's propensity to worry about minor details, especially when it

concerned the future. Yet, he forgave her for it, recognizing the value in her nature. While
his other concubines might jest and tease him, it was only Fatima who genuinely cared for
his well-being. And although he may not openly admit it, he harbored similar concerns
himself.

And though he may not admit it openly, Kaikhosru harbored a similar worry himself.

In exchange for his relentless expenditure of wealth, his Commandment bestowed upon
him guaranteed compensation for what he had spent. Enduring countless hardships, he had
amassed abundant trophies. This confidence in himself was rooted in his experiences, yet
his true pride remained elusive due to the nature of his strength. Kaikhosru was still bound
by the unwelcome rule of equal exchange.

His unwavering determination to seize the Divine Throne, to paint the world in his own
colors, and to reclaim everything he had sacrificed labeled him as "wasteful."

Rejecting the very notion of "spending," he teetered constantly on the precipice of breaking
his Commandment. It was hard to fathom that this time he would be limited to a single
downfall. If it came to that, it would be the end. And so, he approached the battle with
Magsarion's left hand, his mind burdened with the weight of responsibility. However, this
did not mean that Kaikhosru was prone to despondency.

"Fear not. I shall not yield to anyone," he assured his concubine, embracing her once again,
his countenance exuding a calm serenity.

Meanwhile, his thoughts delved into the past, to the conversation he had shared with Alma
right after acquiring that severed hand.

"What kind of world do you envision?"

Alma's eyes burned with intensity, and her expression betrayed her unwillingness to accept
anything less than a direct answer. A hint of anticipation lingered within her gaze, and
Kaikhosru experienced a sadistic joy in that moment.

"Most likely, there will be no 'death' in the conventional sense. Imagine a world of rebellious
freedom, devoid of decay, where laughter and the pursuit of one's desires prevail."

Alma, pale and speechless, gazed up at Kaikhosru, sweeping her hand dismissively, as if
negating his ideal.

"That would be a living hell. Blood would flow more than ever before. But there would be
no limits.”

“What's wrong with a little hell, Alma? I would simply give free rein to their desires. Those
who wish to fight shall fight, and those who wish to flee shall flee. 'Everyone' would be free
to do as they please. Without order, there would be no room for regret, and no one would
have to rely on the mercy of good or evil."
The system he proposed embodied what could be called chaos. Living under the law of
iniquity, everyone would indulge in their own desires. Furthermore, in a world without
death, it was easy to imagine that individuals would cast aside the shackles of common
sense.

"Some argue that death promises salvation, but it is merely an excuse for those afraid to
embrace their desires and fail. It is a selfless desire to deceive oneself, as it is far easier to
preemptively abandon something before it is taken away. But what if failure is impossible?
If one knows that they will never part with their life under any circumstances, then they
would willingly plunge off a cliff."

Alma struggled momentarily to find a response to Kaikhosru's audacious proclamation

before finally exhaling.

"So... your world, in the end, will be nothing more than a puppet show."

"I cannot deny that," Kaikhosru conceded calmly.

Ultimately, the rule of any deity amounted to dictatorship. Policies would be enforced
without room for dissent, and he acknowledged this truth.

"However, I have no intention of governing anything. I delight in both smiles and tears,
anger and mourning. I wish to experience the raw emotions of all. Therefore, I will create a
stage upon which they can be freely expressed. I tell you, I disdain narrow perspectives, and
thus, I shall grant everyone free rein."

"And do you believe this will be salvation?"

"If you so desire, create it. Envision the kind of epilogue you yearn for."

Kaikhosru boasted that he possessed the ability to shape any future for himself, to wrest it
away from others as attraction dictated. He asserted that, in exchange for such callousness
and ruthlessness, his draconian rule would banish all humility from the universe.

"I understand... It pains me to admit it, but there may indeed be some allure to it."

In response, Alma's fading voice murmured, "But I am disappointed, not in you, but in your
own foolishness..."

Closing her eyes and bowing her head, she seemed to chastise herself. She admitted that
she had scrutinized Kaikhosru's words so closely because she had harbored hopes for his
world. And, of course, those hopes were tied to her childhood friend.
"I thought that perhaps, in this new world, Magsarion could exist. Since he seemed to be
destined to vanquish the current era, I believed he would fade away once his task was
complete... I had contemplated this even before you spoke of it. I feared that future,
mourned over it, for it was unbearable to contemplate... It seemed to me that if someone
else were entrusted with the role of deicide, Magsarion's fate could be altered."

"So, it matters little who creates the new world and how flawed it may be, as long as he
does not perish?"

"I confess, such was my desire," Alma admitted.

And perhaps, if fortune smiled upon them, if one miracle intertwined with another... That
was the sentiment reflected in Alma's eyes. She dared to dream that in this new world, she
could walk alongside him once more.

"I am utterly clueless as to how this can be achieved. Perhaps my hopes are entirely
unfounded, but if it can even slightly improve Magsarion's chances of survival, then I shall
place my trust in you as well. There might have already been something within me thinking
along similar lines, which is why..."

Alma silently nodded, and Kaikhosru gazed at her for a moment before breaking into a
smile.

"Indeed, it makes sense. So, it wasn't love for me that drew your loyalty, but rather your
concern for him. I was so desperate that I started overcomplicating everything, and it's
almost endearing."

"Stop. Do not touch me!"

Alma pushed away the hand that was reaching out to caress her head, and Kaikhosru, with
a carefree expression, pulled back.

"And what then? Are you disappointed in yourself? Will you logically reason that you
accepted my dominion out of a momentary weakness?"

“... "

“Of course, you can do as you please, but let me tell you this: logic can never conquer desire.
Once you have tasted the forbidden fruit, your soul will forever yearn for what it desires."

"Allow me... one question," Alma suddenly looked up and asked in a serious tone. Kaikhosru
attentively awaited her query.
"Why do you suddenly love me so much? I cannot recall any reason why I would deserve
such affection, and it does not seem like an ordinary whim at all. To be honest, it rather
repulses me."

"You're quite prickly, aren't you? Personally, I believe that seeking motives in matters of love
is the epitome of vulgarity, but well..."

Picking at her ear with a finger, Kaikhosru answered without embellishment, "Well, because
you are alike."

"Alike? Is it because of Roxanne?"

"That is true as well, but I mean it in a 'higher' sense."

Perplexed, Alma furrowed her brow, but the dragon chose to leave the answer open-ended.
She interpreted it as him not wanting to dedicate it to her, and with a sigh, Alma dropped
the topic.

"Alright, enough of that. I have no intention of becoming your possession, so it was a futile
inquiry. You may continue trembling in fear of Magsarion's shadow."

Pointing at his left hand, she continued, as if foretelling his fate, "He will undoubtedly
return the favor. You will soon realize the true cost of that hand."

"I cannot help but eagerly anticipate it. I cannot even recall a single one of my exchanges
being unequal. If it somehow leads to a violation of my Commandment, I would welcome it."

"Enough with the banter. I am leaving, and you need not follow me."

With those words, Alma turned and departed, while Kaikhosru merely smiled warmly after
her.

"My king, what occupies your thoughts so deeply?" the Sapphire Princess inquired.

"Oh, I have just realized once again how mysterious and complex women can be."

Returning from his reverie and back to reality, Kaikhosru gently caressed the cheek of the
Sapphire Princess and chuckled lightly. In truth, his response was not entirely frivolous. He
had paid dearly for each of his relationships with women, and it was not solely for the
gratification of his carnal desires. He genuinely believed that women were more resilient
creatures than men.

Take Fatima, for example. She often displayed an unbearable aspect of her character.
Despite her usual meek and sometimes cowardly demeanor, she possessed an insatiable
love for luxury. She would occasionally cross the boundaries that risked invoking
Kaikhosru's wrath, or she would fret over trivial matters like a rebellion of subjects, defying
explanation for such behavior.

However, both sides coexisted within her without much trouble. And such duplicity was not
unique to her alone. Kaikhosru couldn't help but smile at how, following their conversation,
Alma calmly returned to the new continent, diligently attending to her administrative
duties. Her words did not align with her actions, and she appeared discontent with this
aspect of herself, yet she showed no intention of changing.

Roxanne, too, possessed the ability to speak one thing and do another, confusing those
around her. If it came down to it, both Alma and Roxanne were capable of blurring the line
between black and white, a testament to their enigmatic nature. In other words, from
Kaikhosru's perspective, women always held contradictions yet managed to remain
steadfast. They would effortlessly weather absurdity that most men would find unbearable
and continue their graceful, elegant dance.

What was wrong with labeling it as power?

That was why he cherished them so deeply. If contradictions and absurdity were taken to
their logical conclusion, this world itself would embody such a multitude.

Kaikhosru swore upon his very soul that he wished to embrace each and every one of them
without exception.
To hold them, to desire them, to revel in a divine ecstasy with them.

"I may not entirely understand, but since you are in good spirits, I cannot wish for anything
else," the Sapphire Princess remarked.

"Yes, you shall see, Sapphire. Soon, I shall allow your brilliance to shine even brighter than
before."

Confidently nodding, the serpent made no attempt to conceal his own allure, eagerly
anticipating the creation of a new world.

2
As we ventured further down the open passage, my premonitions were confirmed with
each step. The sight before us only solidified my suspicions.

"Yes, but their devotion is almost excessive, sir. Frankly, it's somewhat repulsive."

"Indeed. Even Star Spirits nowadays aren't treated with such pomp. It seems the local lady
held an even higher status."
Occasionally, their gazes fell upon me, causing a certain unease. Yet, I couldn't help but
concur with their perspective. Our surroundings truly resembled a sacred temple. Although
we merely walked along a straight corridor, the castle paled in comparison, resembling a
mere barn. The adornments here were less opulent, yet the quality of the stone and other
materials surpassed it exponentially. The walls diverged further apart, and the ceiling
soared higher and higher. Moreover, both walls were adorned with numerous bas-reliefs
and drawings that seemed to narrate a grandiose tale.

"The worship of a Goddess— or perhaps a savior? It appears they have preached it for a
considerable time.”

"They've even adorned her garments, sir.”

“They may seem outdated now, but compared to the ones in Quinn's room, they are
unquestionably more luxurious."

"So, it's some kind of relic?"

As Fer spoke, the drawings unveiled a captivating story of benevolent acts performed by a
Goddess-like woman. Observing the variations in the number of depictions and the visual
style across different epochs, it became evident that these events spanned centuries. The
bas-reliefs also prominently featured the Goddess, clad in authentic priestly attire,
suggesting she was once a living being. Notably, her countenance demanded particular
attention. Despite variations in her depictions, attributed to different artists or eras, they all
shared one defining characteristic...

"She somewhat resembles Quinn, sir."

Indeed, it was true. This place overflowed with information regarding my past life.

"I envisioned someone called the 'Divine Blade' to be more conspicuous, but evidently, she
maintained a human appearance. Perhaps the Workshop of Annihilation had a hand in your
creation, but in the end, you didn't undergo drastic changes," Fer mused.

"Let's not rush to conclusions. While I understand it's not my place to speak on this matter,
we still lack sufficient knowledge," I cautioned.

In truth, two concerns nagged at me. The depicted woman's eye color differed from mine.
She possessed a golden right eye and a silver left eye— a literal duality.

"By the way, that's true. It's also strange that there's no mention of His Majesty's wife
anywhere. If her lineage has served the Divine Blade for generations, one would expect her
to be depicted at least in the margins," Fer noted.
"Perhaps their union was kept hidden, although that explanation still feels inadequate.
There must be another reason."

"Come now, gentlemen, you can simply proceed further and uncover everything there is to
know," Ashenka chimed in, her impatience evident.

Lost in our thoughts, we were jolted back to reality by Ashenka's exclamation.

"Let's go already! Less talk, more action!"

With an energetic cry, she dashed forward, not bothering to glance back at us. Fer and I
exchanged glances, grinned, and sighed, acknowledging that we could only follow her lead.
Before long, we arrived at the deepest chamber. The hall took the shape of a hemisphere,
and in its center lay a small meadow of flowers. Illuminated by the light streaming through
the ceiling window, it resembled a sacred haven, detached from the world's sorrows. For a
moment, it seemed as if a "blade" emerged from the ground...

"Kh!.."

"Hey, Quinn, what's wrong? Are you alright?" Fer questioned, concern etched on his face.

A piercing headache resonated in my ears, and as I instinctively grasped my head, I

suddenly heard "her" voice.

"Welcome back, O Lady Ahura Mazda."

It was the soft and composed greeting of a mature woman. I wasn't the sole recipient of her
words; Fer and Ashenka also looked up in astonishment. And there she stood before us, her
gentle form adorned with a captivating smile.

"Since you have arrived here, it can be assumed that I am no longer in this world. Though
unfortunate, I am grateful that fate has granted us another meeting. It appears you have
managed to grasp some understanding of your my priestess, albeit not entirely."

"What?... So, what is this girl even talking about? She appeared out of nowhere too, sir!"
Ashenka exclaimed, bewildered.

"Wait, Ashozushta. I believe..."

She... Quinn's gaze falls upon us as she speaks, yet her appearance makes it clear that she is
not human. As she just stated, she no longer exists in this world; she has transitioned to the
next realm. What remains is a visual testament of her existence, akin to a letter that allows
for no two-way communication.
“Where should I begin my tale? I have served you faithfully for a considerable length of
time, but I cannot guarantee that I will provide answers to all your inquiries. I beseech your
forgiveness if my explanations come across as brusque, for I assume you have lost all
recollection of your own memories.”

It astonishes me that she accurately discerns my current position. She carries herself with
modesty, yet I am certain that no one possesses a more profound knowledge of the Divine
Blade than she does.

"Pardon me... but might I request a moment of silence?"

I yearn to listen intently to her words. Thus, I direct my sincere appeal to Fer and Ashenka
and shift my undivided attention towards Quinn. She appears to grasp my reaction, pausing
briefly before embarking on her narration.

"You are Ahura Mazda... The greatest weapon of our righteous faction, existing since the
inception of the world. Perhaps it is more fitting to refer to you as the Divine Blade? Indeed,
your original form is that of a sword, and I have heard tales of your bestowal of power upon
numerous heroes throughout different eras. I served as a priestess, acting as an
intermediary to express the divine will. It is worth noting that, in order to facilitate your
interaction with others, I was obliged to lend you my own body. Our family proudly upheld
this responsibility across generations, contributing to the collective triumph. However, I
perceived a certain aloofness in you, preoccupied with enigmatic musings, which caused
me concern. Until that fateful day arrived.”
Memories unfold, witnessed by the priestess and the Divine Blade alongside the hero
Varhran. A betrayal so unimaginable that Quinn herself could not fathom it. The birth of
Magsarion!... The anguish and emotions of His Majesty Sirius. The chronicle of their marital
union, replete with sadness, joys, and tribulations, intertwining the destinies of two pawns
of fate.

These revelations render the choice made by the hero and the Divine Blade unforgivable.
Fragmented recollections from the past converge, unveiling the concealed truth regarding
the sacred realm.

"Quinn... What have you done, sir?" Ashenka regards me with evident disdain, and I too long
to forget the shame and share her righteous anger, to the extent of dispatching my former
self with a single strike.

"Nevertheless, I beseech you not to sympathize with me. For I was content.”

Yet Quinn persists, her smile tender as she recounts the happiness she discovered in the
face of being trampled upon.
“My husband often remarked that we were mere appendages. He, referring to Mr. Varhran,
and I, naturally, to Mrs. Ahura Mazda... Hence, whenever he spoke of inevitability, a flicker of
worry crossed his countenance. I initially believed it to be his peculiar form of jest, yet his
serious tone rendered it oddly amusing... He could not express his concern in any other
manner, and thus, I loved him more than anything in the world. My pride lay in being Sirius’
wife and yearning to bear his child. Even if it culminated in this manner, I found solace in
the everyday existence of loving him. In this, I harbor no pity or remorse. Because…”

After a moment's hesitation, she delves into the primary reason behind her recorded
testimony.

“— I believe I comprehend my husband's temperament. I surmise he is now immersed in

an unfathomable abyss of darkness. I can even speculate as to why.”

"The reason?...”

“How many more secrets will she unveil?"

I can empathize with Fer's stunned silence. His Majesty's life, quite literally, comprises a
succession of losses, and an ordinary person in his position would have long succumbed to
hopeless despair. Even now, he appears more wounded than any preconceived notions
could have predicted. I could not have fathomed the existence of a more impenetrable
darkness, and broaching such a subject would undoubtedly thrust us into imminent peril.

Yet, retreat is not an option. I have already made my decision, and thus, I eagerly await
Quinn's continuation.

“It seemed as though my husband perpetually wrestled with something. It was not an
unattainable ideal as much as an unforgivable sin, from which he sought refuge... He averted
his gaze, refusing to confront it, and desperately constructed walls around his heart.
Perhaps his sole outlet was the artifice of appearances. As his wife, I concede that I was
obligated to broach this topic... Or perhaps I too feared it. To discover that my husband's
heart was never truly directed towards me from the very start would bring sorrow.”

"So His Majesty loved someone else?"

But then, who? I understand that dialogue is impossible, yet I cannot refrain from vocalizing
my query. For I cannot accept that His Majesty loved anyone other than this Quinn.
Otherwise, her loss would not have shattered him so profoundly. Thus, if there was an
extraneous love, it was an equivalent of a curse.

What manner of "erroneous" attraction, what sin, could he not face until he resorted to
artifice and constructed his walls?
Indeed... No, but... A certain name incessantly flits through my mind. If someone could be
considered a curse, no other individual comes to mind...

"Lady Nahid... I suppose His Majesty shares the same sentiment."

Yet, even she is merely a means to an end. Quinn indirectly verifies my supposition, yet she
immediately steers the conversation in an utterly unforeseen direction.

"What I am about to disclose may prove somewhat perplexing. How could I have envisioned
that I would encounter you once more, bereft of your memories? Because all of this directly
concerns you as well.”

With those words, she unveils a truth so heartless and merciless that forgiveness becomes
an impossibility for anyone.

◇◇◇◇◇

In her younger years, his sister possessed an ethereal quality, akin to a wisp of air. Always
gazing skyward with distant eyes, she rarely moved or spoke, her presence barely felt. This
detachment often led her astray, teetering on the edge of accidents, yet she continued to
flutter about, as if untethered from this world.

Despite being surrounded by many within their noble family, she remained secluded within
her own realm. And so, he yearned to reach her.

To him, his sister appeared solitary, and it was only natural for him to seek a connection
with a member of his own kin. Thus began their daily routine, as he took her hand and
guided her through life's motions. They walked along bustling streets and frolicked in
playgrounds outside the city, and at times, he even brought her along to his training
sessions, much to the chagrin of his instructors.

She stood there, her countenance indifferent, but the young man's resolve remained
unyielding. For his honor as an older brother was at stake, and he held himself in high
regard.

"How can I become a hero who saves the world if I can't even bring a smile to my sister's
face?"

Naive and green, he showered her with uncomplicated love, unembellished. Although it
yielded no immediate results, he steadfastly persevered— partly due to his renowned
conceit, and partly, perhaps, out of inherent kindness. Even if she were not his sister, he
simply could not abandon a lonely soul.

He yearned to see her laugh.

To hear her call him by his first name.

He yearned to build a bond where they could discover together the nobility and beauty of
the world, share experiences, and live a life intertwined.

That was all he desired for her.

Nothing grandiose, simply to bring her happiness within the bounds of reason.

For he believed that every "legend" was built upon these small, everyday joys. Little did he
know that his judgment would soon falter.

His sister's transformation did not stem from their everyday interactions. Instead, it
happened suddenly, brilliantly, like a scene from the heroic tales he so eagerly dreamed of.

In the spring of his fourteenth year, he suffered a resounding defeat in a tournament. And as
if awakening from a radiance spawned in that very moment, his perpetually closed-off
sister underwent a profound metamorphosis.

A smile of unparalleled charm graced her lips, and her voice, pure and untouched,
resonated to the depths of everyone's being. Thunderous applause and exclamations
erupted around her, rippling through the arena. It was a blessing, a miracle that guided him
towards his place.

He was not the "original" nor the "legend," but merely one among the many destined to
walk alongside the main character. Acceptance washed over him, devoid of any resentment
or sorrow. In fact, he felt as if he had been saved.

Ah, had he continued along that path, unaware of his own mediocrity...

Surely, his desire to help his sister would have morphed into misguided love. He owed
gratitude to his friend, and forgiveness to his sister.

To my dear friend, I extend my gratitude. Please forgive me, my sister. As long as you
continue to tread the immaculate path of the "legend," I shall refrain from any further
missteps. I have come to realize my rightful place, and from now on, I shall devote myself
solely to extolling the journey of the protagonist. Hence, I beseech you, remain together
until the end of time. You embody the essence of a perfect saga, destined to be an
unwavering pair. For if one of you were to depart, my foolishness might lead me astray once
more. It is this... This fear, more potent than anything else in the world, that seizes me. It
marks the end of my youth, forever etched in my memory, as I shed tears of both joy and
trepidation. It heralds the commencement of an unearthly and dazzling inferno, wherein I
become entranced by the allure of "legends."
“I… don’t ask you to forgive me, Nahid. But now that Varhran is gone, I can't stay by your
side.”

Gazing at his sister, frozen in time, Sirius spoke to her with a somber tone. Now, he
understood the tremors that seized him when he sealed their fate.

He had yearned to cast aside all shame, to confront the vulgar, base, and bestial thoughts
that had ensnared him. And in realizing them, he had pledged her to Kaikhosru, like a mere
pawn.

"Even if I could have chosen to abuse you personally, would such a sin be worse than
surrendering you as the serpent's concubine? I cannot be certain, but for now, I leave it to
chance. The answer will reveal itself after the treaty signing ceremony..."

Sirius paused, his words unfinished, as he gazed out the window. The once-vibrant place
where the notorious child had honed his sword skills now stood empty, yet he knew of the
turmoil the swordsman wreaked upon the world.

Would he succumb, or would he devour his transgressors?

Both outcomes held equal weight in Sirius’ eyes, for in the end, the entire world would be
tainted with insignificance.
Until the true "legend" returned...

"I only pray that when I vanish ungracefully, you will reunite with the 'original,' my sister."

Meanwhile... In a distant land, Magsarion, instead in front of the silent starry princess,
bared his teeth. Like Nahid, he remained immobile, yet his relentless and cold-blooded train
of thought ceaselessly sought an answer.

Perhaps, at the cost of his left hand, he had forged an indirect connection with Kaikhosru.

He observed.

He understood.

‘Just a little longer…’

The furious warrior reached a point where he was ready to dissect, understanding the
underlying loss that birthed the serpent.

3
The prevailing essence of the day could be encapsulated in a single word: heat.
It was an atmosphere saturated with palpable fervor, a fusion of emotions ranging from
anticipation and anxiety to joy and fear. Yet, despite this amalgamation of sentiments, an air
of solemnity and tranquility permeated the surroundings, showing no signs of escalating
into a frenzy.

The sight of the multitude of people and swaying grass covering the ground, united with
hearts brimming with excitement, presented a peculiar and almost otherworldly scene.
Indeed, this place defied conventional wisdom. It was a simple notion, but the only thing
that revealed a definite abnormality.

The gathering was a fusion of two factions, with no distinct separation between them. They
recalled a past in which their neighbors were once irreconcilable enemies, but now they
accepted each other's presence. It was evident, albeit not entirely natural, that they had set
aside their grudges, as evidenced by the absence of those subdued by the stationed soldiers
at key points— soldiers who themselves represented a mix of black and white.

In other words, a stronger force governed this place. To be more precise, everyone was so
fixated on one major interest that little else mattered.

The signing ceremony, which showcased the alliance between the Sacred Realm and the
Corpse of the Dragon Star to the entire world, was the catalyst for a new era that everyone
sensed on the horizon.

The key figures from both planets stood together on the newly formed continent of
Arzshenk. The people, their allies, and the two kings were all present, a momentous
gathering. Naturally, the local infrastructure struggled to accommodate such a significant
workforce. After all, they had only been given three months to prepare. The conditions were
far from ideal for hosting a sophisticated event like those in the past.

Thus, Alma, entrusted with managing the site and organizing the ceremony, implemented a
policy to minimize confusion. While the vast plains surrounding them were designated as
the central area, little was done aside from clearing and leveling the land. Instead, they
focused on improving the accommodation facilities along the roads leading to the site. This
unconventional approach prioritized the appearance of the "venue" and, contrary to
expectations, proved to be a rational choice. They were able to welcome a large number of
people, and the site was far from being a barren landscape.

The venue for the signing ceremony, now teeming with millions of people, featured a
colossal rocky hill at its center. Originally a pile of rocks, it had been transformed into a
fortress-like structure. Its exterior was unassuming yet robust, fitting for a historic
declaration. At its peak stood an open observation platform, with a keep nearby. Sirius and
Kaikhosru occupied the latter, while their entourages were scattered among the former.
Although the people of the lower world had yet to lay eyes on them, the ceremony was
about to commence. They all understood that once it began, there would be no turning
back. Amidst such circumstances, Roxanne approached Alma.

"Hello there, are you feeling nervous?" she inquired, her voice carrying the same leisurely
tone as before.

No one else was present— a stark symbol of Alma's intricate position. Just when she
believed she had found the perfect spot to focus, she was interrupted. Naturally, this irked
her, prompting Alma to respond with an audible sigh and a dismissive comment.

"How tedious. If you're looking for someone to play with, find someone else."

Roxanne chuckled and retorted, "Oh, come on now. Is this your draft?"

She took hold of Alma's previously vocalized speech and proceeded to read it aloud before
casually tearing it apart.

"I think we can make it more entertaining and light-hearted, I'm not reporting on military
affairs, after all."

"Enough," Alma snapped, her tone laden with frustration.

"Don't impose your own carefree standards."

While Alma responded with a dejected expression, she was aware that the content of her
speech seemed somewhat off. Roxanne, too, likely recognized the reason behind this
discrepancy. Alma could be a bit scatterbrained. Despite her sense of responsibility, she
disliked uttering words she didn't truly mean. In other words, Alma herself harbored
uncertainties and hesitations about the signing ceremony. While she understood the event's
importance in shaping the future, she wasn't in the mood for the grandiose phrase "child of
the new era" that had appeared in the initial draft.

"I don't know what I don't know, and I don't like what I don't like," she mused.

Doubts and fears persisted, leaving everything in disarray and uncertainty. She had
considered that, as a member of a political faction, she shouldn't reveal her vulnerability.
However, she couldn't bring herself to utter something so beautiful that she herself couldn't
believe in it.

"At least," Alma thought, "I gave up and confided in Roxanne, continuing the conversation
we had cut short earlier."
Roxanne had mentioned having some understanding of the world Kaikhosru aspired to
create. Nevertheless, there were still aspects that puzzled her, and she sought Alma's
perspective.

"I'm not seeking a definite answer, but I'd like to know what you think," Roxanne cheerfully
prompted, urging Alma to recount the events that had transpired earlier— the exchange
between Kaikhosru and Magsarion, the Corpse of the Dragon Star king's perception of the
world, and his intentions for change.

Regardless of the merits and drawbacks of the idea, Alma believed she had a grasp of the
ultimate goal. However, her discomfort with the process prevented her from fully
understanding Kaikhosru's noble path. Alma glanced at the keep momentarily before
returning her gaze to Roxanne.

"That guy despises the concept of equivalent exchange, doesn't he? Childishly, he wants to
acquire everything without giving up anything in return. But the precepts are entirely built
on the foundation of equivalent exchange, aren't they? It's a contradiction," Alma expressed
her thoughts, her tone filled with a mixture of frustration and confusion.

Roxanne offered her perspective, "Perhaps it's the karma from a past life. Even if he rejects
the precepts, they remain strong because of the consequences of breaking them, don't you
think?"

"I get that part. What I don't understand is why he doesn't choose to break the
Commandments again."

Alma was trying to convey that Kaikhosru's approach seemed indirect and convoluted. The
grandiose precepts of the past were laws established by the previous Dragon God, not ones
he formulated himself. It was unsatisfying that those precepts still persisted even after his
fall, and Alma could comprehend Kaikhosru's aversion to equivalent exchange.

However, if that were the case, why did he continue adhering to those laws?

"Why not simply disregard them? The binding obligations were originally self-imposed.
Even if they break the laws again, this time they should confront the consequences head-on.
Of course, I'm not suggesting it would be easy."

"Well, in a way, it might be quicker that way, don't you think? It's like a bare-knuckle brawl,
and it's a display of bravery.”

“He denied being a soldier, but I've seen him go on a rampage when he felt like it. I don't
understand why he can be so wise when it comes to the Commandments and yet act like a
fool.”
"He used to be a fool, but I don't understand why he's become so wise when it comes to the
Commandments."

Alma wanted to believe that Kaikhosru was not a coward.

“The most important thing was to be true to oneself and embrace one's feelings fully. In
reality, it wasn't about whether one could attain the best outcome.”

"Wait, I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"The first time he saw me, he was so excited," Roxanne reminisced.

"About seventy years ago, I ended things with Kaikhosru. I told him that we had reached an
impasse, that it wasn't enjoyable anymore, and that we should break up. I initiated the
separation, and I remember how unhappy he looked.”

"Because he was always behind?" Alma questioned.

"Yes, especially when it comes to important matters. Consider it.”

‘I was right. From what I know, Kaikhosru's choices have always been reactive.’

Alma recounted the significant events where Kaikhosru's actions were shaped by external
circumstances— the alliance with Sirius, the abandonment of Arzshenk due to a violent
attack, Nadare collapsing the world when they attempted a genuine alliance, and the recent
incident involving Magsarion.

The reason he had to hand over one of his arms was because Alma was almost killed, wasn't
it?

Alma realized that Kaikhosru's decisions often came after the fact, leaving him at a
disadvantage.

"If this is the case, his feelings when he was dumped by Roxanne can't simply be attributed
to lost love. The reason for proposing such a pact was rooted in anger towards him for
making her utter those words," Alma surmised.

"So, in short, he wants to defy fate?"

“In theory, yes. He believes that one must naturally attract the future they desire."

It wasn't about accepting or challenging the law of equivalent exchange or the

Commandments. The issue lay in the fact that they were presented with a situation that
forced them to choose between the two— an unacceptable predicament in Kaikhosru's
eyes.
It was displeasing to follow the precepts and receive something in return, but direct
confrontation with them ensued if they were not accepted. At first glance, the latter option
seemed like the path of hegemony, but Kaikhosru believed that to be a judgment of
ordinary individuals.

"He said, 'Maybe you don't like the idea of being one of two things.' I didn't give it much
thought at the time.”

"So that's how Kaikhosru exposed your weakness. I can't do much to help, but I believe you
can overcome it. That sounds... logical," Alma offered her support.

"No, Alma, he won't. He'll only use gentle things like vessels as weapons to defy fate,"

‘I'm not a capable person. Defenseless, without a plan, unaware of the enemy's weaknesses,’
Alma admitted.

Kaikhosru took for granted that the Divine Throne would only be attained when it was
willingly offered from the other side. He aimed to obtain everything without surrendering
anything, refusing to even consider the alternative within his dominion. He believed,
without justification, that he could achieve it. Despite numerous failures and setbacks, he
never wavered in his pride as the vessel of the Divine Throne, questioning why he couldn't
accomplish it.

Roxanne, speaking softly to Alma, who contemplated his words and deeds in silence,
remarked, "That's why I can't do it. I already left him once, and I'm not the right person for
him."

The Dragon Jewel Princess’s words felt like a declaration of defeat.

"It will be you who truly crowns Kaikhosru as the king, Alma. He won't give up anything to
win your heart. When that happens, the world will change," Roxanne prophesied.

"In that case, should I proceed in that direction?" Alma pondered. "I see. I'm starting to
understand," Alma responded, a glimmer of comprehension in her eyes.

As Alma looked up, a smile crept onto her face, Roxanne's heart was pounding
in her chest. It was a smile that seemed to mock her own growing attraction to Kaikhosru,
but at the same time, it conveyed a fierce determination. The enigmatic aura surrounding
her, which left even the astute Roxanne perplexed, made her heart race.

"I don't quite comprehend, but there's something else he truly desires, isn't there?
Something he lost in the beginning and hasn't been able to reclaim."

"Do you know about it...?"

"Of course I do. I am still the favored princess. He's the only one unaware," Roxanne
revealed.

The princesses were aware of a primordial piece missing from Kaikhosru's knowledge.
Alma softly shared this revelation.
"... right?"

The truth faded away, carried by the winds, but it reached Roxanne's ears. Suddenly,
understanding struck her.

"I'm surprised. You're truly ambitious," Roxanne remarked.

Alma's intentions became clear to Roxanne. What she desired, what she hoped to obtain.
Although the exact details eluded Roxanne, she grasped the general direction.

“I know I said a few times before that we are very similar, but I take it back. We are very
Different.”

“I don't know. I think we’re pretty much the same. We're both stupid, and maybe we are the
same at the core after all.”

After exchanging evaluations that were neither complimentary nor sarcastic, the two
women chuckled together. At the same time, the ceremonial band sounded, signaling the
beginning of the ceremony.

Nonchalantly, Roxanne asked Alma, who had risen from her seat, "May I accompany you?"

"Do as you wish, but don't get carried away," Alma cautioned.

"I thought I could assist you since I know you have many tasks to attend to alone," Roxanne
explained.

Whether it concerned the ceremony or another matter entirely, the answer lay solely within
the hearts of the two women, concealed from all others.

Amidst the tranquil heat and palpable tension, the two stepped onto the stage side by side.

Both were tenacious, yet capable of transcending the boundaries that separated them. If the
celebration marked the end of the old world and the dawn of a new era, then surely they
were the perfect combination.

◇◇◇◇◇
From the lofty heights of their keep, the two kings observed Alma and Roxanne as they
began their speeches. One king wore an amused expression, while the other maintained a
stern countenance. Despite their contrasting demeanors, both kings shared a common trait:
their silence. It was a silence that spoke volumes, carrying an air of anticipation and
tension.

"Regardless of gender, race, or any other classification, every one of us harbors deep-seated
conflicts," Alma began, her voice resonating with conviction. "I, for one, do not believe in
convenient reconciliations. We mustn't forget why we are here or who stands beside us.
Take a closer look, and don't shy away from discomfort."

"I'm not suggesting that you engage in violence against one another. If that's your choice, I
cannot stop you. But I implore you to contemplate the underlying causes within your own
minds," Roxanne added, her words commanding attention.

"Whether you fight, unite, or choose to ignore, it is a decision that rests with each of you."

"Do not dance like puppets at the mercy of some divine puppeteer. Each of you must
possess a steadfast will."

"The realm of true freedom lies in forging a new world unlike any other,.

Their voices, like ethereal echoes, reached the farthest corners of the cosmos, resonating
with the spirits of the stars. Engaging in such celestial communication required immense
concentration, but Sirius and Kaikhosru's silence stemmed not from such trivial matters.

"We have been bound as blood brothers for countless years. We believed that by
annihilating one another, all would be set right. Blind faith was our only guide, for nothing
else showed us an alternative path," Sirius confessed.

"What is 'it'? Is it nature, instinct, or perhaps God? Can you truly explain it with certainty
when you struggle to grasp its essence?" Kaikhosru questioned, his voice filled with a sense
of profound curiosity.

"Living a life of blind adherence is dull, wouldn't you agree? Let us open our eyes and
implore you to do the same," Alma passionately urged.

From their elevated vantage point, it was evident that the crowd had fallen into a state of
bewildered confusion. The delicate balance teetered on the edge, yet the atmosphere
remained eerily calm. The outcome of this delicate situation hung precariously, impossible
to predict with even the slightest hint of certainty. This was the reason behind Sirius and
Kaikhosru's silence. The women standing before them, their confidants, practically
challenged the kings' authority. They urged the people to question the laws that governed
them, to break free from the shackles of blind obedience, and to embrace skepticism
towards the new laws that would replace the old. Blindly following orders would only lead
to repeating past mistakes.

They implored the masses to awaken from their slumber. Unable to withstand this
last-minute rebellion any longer, Kaikhosru burst into laughter.

"Oh, I'm in quite a predicament," he chuckled, his voice tinged with both amusement and
unease.

"We're all in trouble."

Ignoring the chaos that threatened to ensue, Kaikhosru continued, "I don't care. Let's paint
over it all, free from the constraints of popular opinion."

"I see, I see," Sirius responded, his voice tinged with weariness. "But, Kaikhosru, isn't it
unlike you to merely clean up the aftermath? That's not your style."

"No, my friend, this is a testament to a man's worthiness," Kaikhosru declared.

With a burst of golden energy, emanating from the depths of the Demon King’s being, a
vividly colored dragon materialized in the sky above Arzshenk. It was not a manifestation of
punishment, but rather a prayer for a future where everyone could confront the challenges
that lay ahead with clarity and resolve.
"For in the end, a great cycle shall come to pass," Alma affirmed.

"Indeed, I am certain of it," added Roxanne.

"No matter the hardships that lie on the path before us."

With their speeches concluded, the kings embarked on their respective journeys. Though
there may have been misunderstandings along the way, the core message remained
unchanged.

"I shall forge ahead, one step ahead of you, Sirius. And deep down, you know it too."

With those words, he perched upon the parapet of the keep, leaping off with a single bound.
In mid-air, like a graceful dancer, he activated instantaneous movement. Rather than
shifting himself, Kaikhosru beckoned something from afar to his side. A tingling sensation
surged through his left arm, while his countenance distorted into a ferocious, black fury
that seemed to devour him from within.

"I felt a kinship, knowing there were others fighting against the notion of equivalent
exchange. If that's the case, then you alone are worthy of being my opponent here!"
Kaikhosru declared with an unwavering resolve.
"I have no taste for half-heartedness. Go forth and settle this," Sirius replied, shaking his
head as if overwhelmed.

"You seek to display your radiant manhood, hoping to be chosen by her."

"I shall vanquish each and every one of them, melting their souls and captivating even the
Gods themselves to take their place," Kaikhosru proclaimed, consumed by a rapturous
blend of desire and greed.

With a grandiose and theatrical flourish, Kaikhosru made his decisive move. His actions
were not driven by retribution but by a prayer for a future where he and others could
confront their destinies head-on. As the words echoed in the air, the kings set their plans in
motion. Though there may have been misinterpretations along the way, their fundamental
purpose remained unaltered.

“On this day, on this occasion, you were born to be the catalyst that propelled me to great
heights, Magsarion!”

◇◇◇◇◇

And...

Quinn's voice trailed off, her words laden with the weight of her story's conclusion.
She implored, her voice filled with a desperate plea, Please, help dispel the darkness that
has burdened my husband.

As the last remnants of Quinn's tale hung in the air, a profound realization washed over us.
Though their individual experiences and the identity of their foe may have differed, they
shared an unwavering resolve. It was a resolute determination never to surrender, to
persist in the face of adversity. In unison, we pledged to return to the destined coordinates
that beckoned them.

Within the blink of an eye, the ethereal abode of the Divine Sword materialized in the skies
of Arzshenk, a sanctuary of immense power and significance.

4
"Nuh--" he exclaimed, his reflexes kicking in before conscious thought could catch up.

Perhaps it was more of a hunch, a deep intuition guiding his actions. Sirius transformed into
his celestial form, his starry body shimmering, as he summoned the spiritual power of his
radiant wings to push back the colossal castle floating in the sky.

"Do not allow that entity to draw near. Anything from that realm brings only devastation,"
he whispered, his intuition transcending rationality.
Every ounce of his focus was concentrated on a single thought of rejection, channeling the
forsaken power of authority within him. The result was a violent reaction, shattering the
keep into fragments, though he never witnessed the destruction. Fingernails torn and blood
streaming from his ears, he paid no heed to his injuries.

"It's futile, utterly futile. I would sooner obliterate myself here than face the horrors that
send shivers down my spine. The fear and revulsion consume me, erasing any trace of my
former resolve," he confessed, his intense emotions fueled by the interconnected events
unfolding before him.

Sirius was anything but ordinary. Madness lurked within him, ready to seize control at a
moment's notice. This mental state imprisoned his freedom, rendering him incapable of
involvement in other affairs.

Meanwhile, a clash of titans unfolded between the dragon and the furious warrior, their
thunderous roars echoing across the newly discovered continent. Kaikhosru struggled to
break free from Magsarion's petrifying grasp, his own transformation showing no signs of
abating. Yet, he pressed on.

Infusing his sword with a ferocious killing intent, Kaikhosru engaged in a daring
swordfight, defying the natural order. The phenomenon epitomized the rivalry between the
two adversaries, tension crackling in the air. Kaikhosru paid no mind to rationality, ignoring
Magsarion's conventional wisdom. Undoubtedly, this act twisted the fabric of Kaikhosru's
authority, but it did not shatter it entirely.

While Magsarion retained his combat capabilities, his essence had been reduced to little
more than a statue. His unyielding form remained immutable, devoid of restoration. The
connection between their left arms held the key to their entangled destinies, allowing
interference with each other's attributes. It was a precarious balance akin to facing off with
a double-edged sword.

Consequently, Magsarion, fighting with only his right arm, found himself at a slight
disadvantage. Despite the exchange being equitable, his left arm had been "stolen,"
subjectively speaking. With a snort of disdain, Kaikhosru unleashed an assault of spiritual
force, sending Magsarion hurtling backward.

The battle played out atop the dragon's body, adding to the black knight's disadvantage.
Countless onlookers, from the awe-struck spectators gazing at the sky to Alma, Roxanne,
the favored princesses, and the nobles of the Sacred Realm, all bore witness to the men's
clash. Even Quinn and her group, still held at bay by Sirius's resistance, watched the
unfolding events with bated breath.

Nadare, Aka Manah, and even the truth itself...

Everyone yearned for this decisive moment, fervently hoping it would bring an end.

Would the laws that governed the universe persist or crumble?

And if the latter, what would the new reality hold?

Countless thoughts, desires, and expectations converged within the hearts of those
embroiled in the center of it all. Kaikhosru's proud smile radiated boundless pleasure, his
eagerness overflowing.

"I shall show the entire world that I am the champion. This is a magnificent sight, a grand
stage. For a man, there is no greater thrill than this game. You, solely proficient at the art of
killing, must be in high spirits now, yes?"

Magsarion's response to this warm invitation was tinged with a heavy, somber
self-mockery.

"As I've told the others, I do not relish fighting," he confessed, his sigh resonating through
the dark, bottomless abyss.

"True, I excel only in the art of killing, but it is not a hobby of mine. If there is someone who
can better bring about the destruction of this world, I shall yield the stage to them."

"Ah, so it's a surrender?"

"No."

Magsarion replied, shaking his head slowly before erupting in sudden intensity.

"No, there is a void within your vessel. And I shall reveal it to you. I will carve you open and
expose it myself."

"Intriguing."

The scales of the vividly colored dragon burst into radiant light, each scale holding the
power to turn a star into a gemstone. From all directions, the command of the serpentine
dragons descended upon Magsarion, resembling a laser weapon. The waves of light, akin to
a massive lens concentrating sunlight to incinerate the smallest of insects, exuded the aura
of an indomitable champion, their brilliance far from despair-inducing.

Escape was futile. The density of the assault made it inescapable, regardless of the neutral
ground on the new continent. Moreover, the attack moved at the speed of light, a
devastating torrent impossible to evade.

Who could have fathomed that every single strike would be parried?
Black sword flashes scattered in all directions, reducing the dragon's grandeur to mere
dust. It was a divine feat, absurdly accomplished as if it were second nature to Magsarion.
And Kaikhosru, undeterred, exhibited no signs of intimidation.

"Excellent, you've done well, and I commend you."

With a menacing left fist, he struck Magsarion's face, mirroring their previous encounter. A
flickering black shadow danced in and out of existence. Without pause, the dragon scales
ignited once more. Magsarion deflected the oncoming petrifying light with swift slashes,
emphasizing the danger of underestimating the authority's power.

It was a remarkably skillful technique to counteract it, but one that required perpetual
vigilance. As long as the battle raged on the dragon's body, the flow of light remained
uninterrupted, perpetually illuminating the black swordsman's radiant glow until the
battle's resolution.

Therefore, with this setup, Kaikhosru's dominance seemed almost inevitable. If he chose
caution, he could simply observe his opponent until their power waned, and if he chose to
be serious, he could deliver decisive strikes at critical moments. However, the Dragon King
did not adhere to such conventional wisdom.

"Now we stand at the very heart of the world," he proclaimed, taking a bold step forward
and slashing with relentless force.
He attacked with a fierce momentum, disregarding the risk of lingering within Magsarion's
lethal reach, resembling a tempest of steel. Sparks ignited as the blades clashed, the gleam
of authority growing even more radiant. Kaikhosru abandoned the logical strategy of battle
and threw himself into a swordfight, refusing to retreat even a step. There was no intention
to overpower Magsarion and invoke the precepts as he had done before. In fact, he believed
that if that were to happen, he would be the one to lose.

Laughingly, he chose to tread the treacherous and absurd path, seeking to gain everything
without relinquishing anything. Furthermore, he aimed to complete the ultimate lethal
sword, capable of slaying all. He desired to conquer, consume, and subdue this man whose
prowess in killing mirrored that of a cancer cell. The king possessed the ability to
accommodate any kind of poison, no matter how reckless or hazardous it might be. He held
significance precisely because he was capable of achieving unprecedented feats, ones that
had never been accomplished in the past and would remain unparalleled in the future, as if
it were his very nature. This was a dance enchanting all things within the world. It was the
grandest of festivals, designed to seduce the Gods, make them fall madly in love, and
relinquish their Divine Thrones. The performance had to reach the pinnacle of excitement,
and it could not be achieved through clever or cautious means.
That was why Kaikhosru fought with such ferocity. He engaged Magsarion, playing directly
into his strengths. One could even say he was being drawn in, yet he welcomed it without
reservation. To captivate the audience, they needed to be attuned to their own breath.

Fluid and fierce.

Gruesome and spectacular.

If they wished to proclaim who the greatest man in the world was, a beautiful dance was
necessary, one infused with the extremities of bloodshed.

"So, come forth and show me," Kaikhosru challenged. "If there is a void in my vessel, or if it
can even be called a void. Crush it, and I shall become whole. Fulfill your duty, Magsarion!"

The black knight, crouching and evading the slashing flashes, twirled behind like a spinning
top, slicing through the persistently emanating light of authority. Fearless, he disregarded
the imminent danger.

“Stupid!”

It dawned on the dragon that the cutting wind released by Magsarion was aimed at the
people regrouping on the land. Kaikhosru dispelled them with a single glance. Was this a
ploy to force him to pay the price and admit defeat? Or was it a tactic to seize an advantage
from this opening? Regardless, it was futile. Kaikhosru possessed the confidence to claim
the heavens.

"I will not allow anyone to take what is rightfully mine.”

The two combatants embodied both good and evil, right and wrong. They defied existing
concepts, and this exchange rendered those concepts meaningless. Yet, they were two men
who defied the confines of the established framework, a fitting development that foretold
the future of the world.

Magsarion took flight, launching a series of six zanpatsu strikes towards the people.
Kaikhosru intercepted four of them, ensuring their safety, while the remaining two struck
directly into the crowd. However, even those who should have been cleaved into pieces by
the ferocious Kamaitachi began to regenerate, a sight that made even the most brutal
murders appear less significant.

The path that Kaikhosru had embarked upon, the hegemony he dedicated himself to, was
beginning to take shape. It was a world that acknowledged all desires while ensuring that
nothing was lost. A world where people found satisfaction even as they competed against
each other.

"As I suspected, under your ideal, death will vanish.”

"What of it?"

Feeling his dream on the verge of fulfillment, he closed the distance between them,
chanting with exuberance. The winds of the impending deadly sword drew near his neck,
but Kaikhosru remained undeterred.

"Neither defense nor evasion can stand against the path of a king. And if I, too, remain
unyielding, I shall advance without falter."

As a result, he repelled the attack with sheer strength, not allowing even a thin layer of his
skin to be cut. Conversely, Magsarion was impaled through his breastplate, suggesting that
the game was reaching its conclusion.

"I must admit, you are difficult to kill."

Magsarion, who should have been gravely wounded to the naked eye, maintained a calm
and resolute demeanor. The most crucial thing to acknowledge was that the best way to
make the most of one's resources was to ensure their optimal utilization. Magsarion
simultaneously directed his gears of thought toward analyzing Kaikhosru. The black knight
encroached upon the domain of the accursed, the lost origins of the Dragon God.

"You were never truly alive to begin with," Magsarion declared.

Indeed, a heartbeat— proof of a pulsating life— was nonexistent in Kaikhosru.

‘My initial impression of him was abysmal. I intended to end his life, but he returned my
smile, causing my blade to falter. Naturally, I was dumbfounded. Then anger consumed me,
determined not to let him off the hook. Yet, in the next moment, an unsettling feeling
washed over me.’

‘I am not asking you to pledge allegiance to me. If you wish to kill me, do so, Alma.’

The king of "I" spoke to the woman of "I" he loved. He even offered his life for hers, a
statement both heroic and uncommon. It was not unusual for a man to utter such hollow
words while wooing a woman. However, it was not something to be said lightly or under the
influence of alcohol. Indeed, it was later proven that he meant every word.

‘Nevertheless, I sensed an odd 'lightness' about him. Undoubtedly, he aspires to transcend

the boundaries of right and wrong, but for some reason, there is little indication that he is
willing to risk his life.’

Was it due to inherent arrogance?

No, that was not the case.

So, what was it?

As Alma found herself enveloped in his majestic embrace, she suddenly realized.

‘Ah, he does not comprehend the essence of life. Therefore, he does not understand how to
cling to it.’

The will for supremacy becomes bloodthirsty. The path of righteousness, too, becomes
saturated with blood and passion, yet the heart remains chillingly cold. Perhaps, from the
very beginning, this was his nature.

He indulges in fine wine, relishes gourmet food, embraces women, and surrenders to his
desires because it is an imitation of life. The lifeless Kaikhosru attempts to fill the void
within himself through excess. He treats Alma with such intensity because he expects her,
the woman who came to claim a life that does not exist, to stir his heart to kill him.

‘Though all of this is unconscious, Kaikhosru recognizes the void within him. However, he
prioritizes immediate gratification over discovering its true nature. It is a reversal of
thought— to acquire first and then learn about loss through what one gains. But the reason
he developed such thinking also stems from the absence of a beginning. Lacking the
fundamental essence of life, he regresses in his logical steps. I believe his cursed nature,
which becomes more pronounced at the most critical moments, may be a consequence of
this.’
‘At any rate, he is an extraordinary, troublesome, and melancholic man. In a universe where
killing one another is the norm, his lifeless existence must be the epitome of profound
loneliness. It is bitterly ironic that the embodiment of greed is, in fact, the poorest of the
poor.’

The exact circumstances leading to Kaikhosru becoming what he is remain unknown.

However, Alma could formulate a hypothesis.

‘Perhaps he was a child who defied his due date, failing to be born even after several days
had passed. While it is normal for a baby to be born a few days late, there are rare cases
where delivery is delayed for years. In such instances, the baby is almost certainly stillborn.
However, that does not dissuade the mother from holding on.’

‘Therefore, here lies the precept of the Dragon God: 'In accordance with the rule that
happiness can be attained through the torment of sacrifice, Kaikhosru's mother must have
prayed for her child's safety.' For the sake of her child's well-being. For a successful birth.
The reward, of course, would only be a feeling, but it would have sufficed.’

She found herself liberated from the clutches of anxiety and sadness, basking in an
unparalleled euphoria. It was a widely acknowledged truth that a mother's emotional state
could profoundly impact the developing fetus, and in this case, the outcome was nothing
short of miraculous.
The infant emerged into the world, neither dead nor alive, in a grotesque form that defied
the boundaries of normalcy.

‘This is merely a conjecture,’ Alma mused, acknowledging the lack of concrete evidence and
the impossibility of certainty.

‘Perhaps it is more accurate to say that the baby was never destined for a normal existence
from the very beginning.’

But such details were inconsequential. What mattered to Alma was the primal void that
Kaikhosru yearned to fill— an insatiable hunger for life. To him, the ultimate culmination
lay in a world stripped of death, where desires would run rampant, unhindered by any
constraints.

It was a world that would undoubtedly be abnormal, distorted, and could aptly be
described as a manifestation of hell.

‘But can we truly claim it to be worse than this?’ Alma contemplated, her thoughts tinged
with a somber introspection.

‘If, at the very least, the chains of the past are vanishing, I would prefer to be enveloped in
the same mire of suffering, indulging in my own unsightly greed. For within me lies an
unwavering attachment, an attachment that refuses to relinquish its hold.’

‘Because there is someone who yearns for my continued existence,’ she whispered softly, as
though confessing a profound secret.

‘I cannot fathom... I cannot fathom the thought of my prayers inadvertently becoming the
cause of another's demise.’

A subtle trepidation filled her, a fear of envisioning the repercussions should they reject her.
Regardless of his words, the fear of experiencing heartache and sorrow from a cold
response lingered within her, causing her to hesitate, unwilling to bear the pain.

‘I felt so ashamed of my own timidity that I turned my gaze away, murmuring, 'Please,
proceed.'’

Alma recounted, a tinge of vulnerability evident in her voice. With a gentle nod, he gently
pushed her back.

‘Do not worry,’ he reassured her, his words carrying an unwavering conviction.

‘No one would ever dare to reject you, Alma-chan.’

The sheer assurance he bestowed upon her, unfounded by any tangible evidence, infused
her with courage surpassing even the wryest of smiles.

‘I understand…’

Alma trailed off, her gaze now lifted towards the heavens, and with a newfound lightness
that made her feel as though she possessed wings, she began to run.

◇◇◇◇◇

"You possess no understanding of risking your own life, and that is precisely why you have
never recognized a heart that ceases to beat."

Once again, Kaikhosru swung his mighty sword, but this time he narrowly evaded the
strike. The dragon scale armor flickered intermittently, its power diminishing with each
flicker. It was a telltale sign of exposure to daylight, causing a disturbance within him. In
stark contrast, Magsarion's armor had already begun repairing the hole in his chest.
Though concealed within the darkness, he made a series of cold and stern remarks, as if the
matter was trivial.

"The most authentic experience of life lies on the precipice of life and death, you however,
are structurally incapable of experiencing it, forced to indulge in futile extravagance. A
fruitless struggle, indeed."

No matter how hard Kaikhosru tried, he was trapped in a spiraling void that prevented him
from truly perceiving the value of his own life. The most effective moves were obstructed,
leaving the lifeless devoid of the knowledge and recognition of their own still-beating
hearts. His aversion to serving as a frontline soldier stemmed from his inherent inability to
comprehend the act of killing one another. Even now, he refrained from using the word
"fight" entirely.

He referred to it as a "dance" and a "play," believing himself to be on the grandest stage of

his life, where the lifeless nature of existence had little awareness of the life-and-death
struggle.

"If that's the case..." Kaikhosru muttered, his voice filled with contemplation, before
unleashing an angry shout. "I shall claim your life!"

With this cry, he lunged forward, his curved sword slashing through Magsarion's torso. Yet,
the strike was swiftly countered, repelled by a black flash. As they engaged in a rapid
swordfight, the waning brilliance of Kaikhosru's authority began to rekindle.
"I concede that I was momentarily consumed by a sense of emptiness when my lack was
exposed," Kaikhosru admitted. "But that is all there is to it."
His hunger took on a more tangible form, and his desire roared more fiercely. The situation
remained largely unchanged. Magsarion's sword had grown sharper since its discovery, but
he had no intention of receiving a single blow. The oath he had sworn to achieve victory still
reverberated within him.

"A king remains a king, even without risking his life. The strong remain strong," Magsarion
taunted, laughing at Kaikhosru as if watching a clichéd farce.

"Will you take it? How? Another equivalent exchange?"

"I will no longer resort to such means!" Kaikhosru roared, his authority radiating from all
directions.

He had no intention of offering anything; instead, he sought to seize the throne of God with
his majesty.

"I won't allow you to create that situation. I am the vessel, and I shall claim it all!" he
declared. In that moment, he proclaimed, "My sight is set upon that."

"Impossible."
Magsarion's sword ran vertically from below, slashing through Kaikhosru's left arm. Just as
in the past, but with a deadly poison that was decidedly different from that time.

"I know the caliber of those who refuse to risk their lives. That is why you cannot escape
the cycle of equivalent exchange," Magsarion asserted.

With a single resolve, he faced heaven and earth, for those who are determined to achieve
their goals, their determination serves as the foundation for everything. Without
preparation, one cannot even step into the ring, let alone compete on the same level and
bring forth the desired circumstances.

Hence, the results elude them. It is often said that the Goddess does not smile, and indeed,
she did not. Now, they hovered directly above the observation deck, their gaze fixated on a
woman who stared down at the severed left arm.

"It seems some of you fell for it. I am grateful," she remarked.

I need not introduce the beautiful brown princess as she runs, leaps, and approaches the
men.

“Alma!”

Kaikhosru reflexively moves into a descent to protect her.

Magsarion, on the other hand, said in a gentle tone, beckoning her towards him.
"You shall die for me.”

"Yes.”

What understanding existed between them?

They communicated seamlessly, their left arms moving in unison. The arm that once
belonged to Kaikhosru but originally belonged to Magsarion returned to its rightful owner
when he clasped Alma's hand.

As they passed each other, Kaikhosru comprehended the situation upon witnessing the
smile she bestowed upon him. An equivalent exchange was imminent, and an irrevocable
and unprecedented retribution was about to unfold.

In a daze, Kaikhosru fell backward, and Magsarion held Alma tightly in his regained left
arm. The black knight, who normally engaged only with the intention to kill, now embraced
and was embraced by his childhood friend without a care in the world. The first realization
that struck him was that the left arm was not the only thing held by the black knight.

"Just a little more..." Alma murmured dreamily, pressing her forehead against the disfigured
armor.

In this moment, her dream was on the verge of fulfillment.

"My emotions will kill you."

"I don't understand why, but even knowing that, my love for you persists uncontrollably. I
cannot restrain it. Thus, it is you who must end my life, Magsarion."

She boldly declared that this moment had come precisely because she was willing to accept
such an outcome. Love and the desire to kill were two sides of the same coin, firmly
established between them. These conflicting emotions coexisted without contradiction.

"I do not wish for her death because I love her," Magsarion admitted. "And yet, I desire her
demise precisely because I love her."

"If I wish to be embraced, desired, and cherished, I must cast aside all shame and become
worthy of a furious blade. In truth, I take great pride in my shamelessness. After all, the
years have changed, and you have been cursed for over twenty years."

Alma smiled and...

"I’ll die for you, so thank you."

She then turned around swiftly, launching herself into the air. Her destination was
Kaikhosru.

"Alma..." Kaikhosru uttered, falling backward, his gaze fixed on the woman hurtling straight
towards his heart.

Her determination sent tremors through him.

"Yes, yes! What a woman! You! You! You truly are remarkable!"

Kaikhosru finally understood Alma's true intention. No, it was arrogant to claim
understanding, but he couldn't help but marvel at her magnificent resolve.

"You make me feel alive! Will you stir my heart with your blade, Alma?"

"Yes, I shall pierce you, just as I promised."

Alma pursued two opposing dreams simultaneously.

One was to become Magsarion's weapon and aid him in completing the path to hell.

The other was to liberate her childhood friend from the cycle of death and battle that
Kaikhosru had created.
Though the futures they sought were diametrically opposed, they shared a common
requirement. They both had to move Kaikhosru's heart before either path could unfold.

"You cut down a coward, yet he remains oblivious. Risk your life, and only then will he meet
his end."

Magsarion, shadowing Alma closely, spoke with an eerie tone. The relentless warrior, driven
by an insatiable desire to kill 'everyone' without hesitation, had no intention of reducing
Kaikhosru to lifeless remains. No, he intended to grant him life, only to snatch it away
afterwards. This twisted and distorted path was the only way he knew.

‘However, once the heart of the dragon starts beating, there will be no place left for his
hegemony. On the other hand, it is uncertain whether Magsarion will be consumed, and the
balance could shift unexpectedly.’

Alma wished for both outcomes equally. To say that she was undecided would be an
understatement. She had ventured to the extremes. She yearned for Magsarion's embrace,
while also seeking to grasp Kaikhosru's heart.

Such sharp, unyielding, and sinful behavior was uncharacteristic of her...

"She's a... greedy bitch, she desires both of us so intensely. Ahhh, it drives me mad."

Thus, Kaikhosru made his decision with dismay, which Magsarion had already anticipated.

Alma's attack, borne of the former's ‘vessel’ and the latter's ‘logic,’ pierced through and
fluttered his heart. It was a solitary expression of a minuscule mechanism, yet immensely
impactful.

And then, without delay...

"I shall make it all come true. Love that comes at the cost of your life."

"...I... I would be most delighted if you did."

Alma closed her eyes, and Kaikhosru kissed her forehead.

A dark, lethal wind encircled their very beings. In the fleeting moments before his life's end,
the essence of the higher being flowed out, absorbed by Magsarion. The true meaning of
this occurrence remained obscure for now, but undoubtedly, it would hold significance in
the future.

What was certain, however, was that each of the three parties had fulfilled their respective
roles.
Magsarion gazed solemnly upon their falling heads, their faces twisted with both greed and
delight.

5
The majestic dragon, adorned with vibrant hues that spanned the heavens, gradually
dissipated into a misty veil. Roxanne, a witness to the conclusion, stood alongside Sirius,
who still valiantly struggled to prevent the emergence of the sanctuary.

Her words were a soft whisper...

"...Leave this situation to me. It is not your duty now to reject the past, is it?"

"The first thought that comes to mind is that you two are not just one person, but both the
same person."

"Remember, it is crucial not to hesitate in seeking assistance."

"...I have."

Roxanne's calm tone prompted Sirius to sigh and nod. Her otherworldly behavior must
have awakened him. From the beginning, he had been left with no choice but to forge his
own path.

"Farewell. Truth be told, the days since I met you have been rather pleasant."

"Yes, I've enjoyed them as well."

As Roxanne smiled at Sirius, watching him turn on his heel, she observed the diminishing
figure. In an instant, she knew where he was headed and what he intended to do. Yet, it no
longer mattered. The world's fate was no longer her primary concern.

"In truth, I think it was always secondary."

Indeed, she held expectations and anticipated the birth of a new world. But her true desires
were simpler, more personal, and...

"I'm certain Alma saw right through me."

Fundamentally, Roxanne had always prioritized her own enjoyment. Altruistic devotion or
similar sentiments were foreign to her. She remained unaware that the emotions she
experienced in that moment were the answer she sought.
Without hindrance, Roxanne began to walk. Numerous eyes followed her, yet she strode
across the observation deck without hesitation, like a saint parting the sea with grace and
majesty. She paid no mind to Magsarion, who had descended to the ground in the aftermath
of their fierce battle. In this moment, Roxanne's gaze was fixed on a single point on the
stage.

Amidst the painfully tense atmosphere, she reached her destination and sank to her knees.
Tenderly, she extended her hand, caressing the two objects lying before her as though
cherishing them.

Were the warm droplets cascading down Alma's and Kaikhosru's necks mere illusions?

Did their shoulders quiver with grief as they embraced, kissed, and brushed each other's
cheeks?

The lamentations of the Dragon Jewel Princess reverberated through the air. Her sorrowful
and desolate demeanor, simultaneously heart-wrenching and beautiful, was an
unmistakable expression of grief.

"How dare you steal my man and my sister?"

Radiant joy illuminated Roxanne's face. The tears flowed ceaselessly, uncontrollable. Yet,
they possessed a purity too pristine, too devoid of the muddied contradictions that plagued
human emotions.

"Thank you, Magsarion. Finally, I can realize my dream."

Ever since that day when Kaikhosru saved her, Roxanne had yearned to give her life for him.
It was the same love and conflict that Alma experienced with Magsarion— a love that could
kill the one they cherished. Like Alma, who had to become a threat to be desired, Roxanne's
emotions possessed a dangerous duality: to embrace and be embraced by the deadly
warrior.

Her innate desire was simple— to revel in her own pleasure.

The separation she once chose, with the best of intentions, turned out to be an act of scorn
toward the man. No matter how fervently she prayed for someone, she couldn't manifest it
in a proper manner.

"As long as Kaikhosru lives… I will avenge him. Thus, this is a blessing. In a battle of
mourning, I can fight and die for him without regret. I wish to leave behind the legacy of the
dragon consumed by Magsarion, however small, in the forthcoming new world. I wanted
him to live. I yearned to witness Kaikhosru reigning over the world. But equally, I madly
dreamed of this situation. Treasonous? Catastrophic? Yes, perhaps. But it was beyond my
control. After all, I was the kind of woman he loved."
"Fatima."

"Yes?"
Roxanne rose to her feet, and the Sapphire Princess stepped forward, answering Roxanne's
call.

"Shahira."

"Present, Grand Sister."

Next, Princess Vajra followed suit.

"Kasar, Zainab, Shifar, Malyam, Laila, Artika, Luluah, Tannaz, Soreira, Seren, Aisha, Nasrin,
Elharm, Wishdahn!"

All of Roxanne's loyal companions stood beside her. The sixteen women stood solemnly,
their ethereal forms intertwining with their physical bodies, facing the black, deadly sword.
Together, the seventeen women, adorned in their tragic and exquisite demonic spirits,
confronted the somber sword.

"Let us dance to our heart's content."

One could argue that the outcome was evident. However, it held no consequence.

They fought for love.

There was no shame, no regret— only a fleeting ecstasy that merged with the ephemeral
wind.

◇◇◇◇◇

With Lord Sirius's departure, we were once again liberated to act as we saw fit. The
tumultuous battle unfolding between Magsarion, Roxanne, and the others below filled us
with concern, but we couldn't allow ourselves to become ensnared in that quagmire now.

"Alma, you're gone..."

"Don't shed tears, Ashenka. Alma stayed true to her convictions. Our focus should be on
reaching Sirius!"

"Yes, it could be worse. But..."

If there was a way for us to pursue him, we would have done so already. Alas, we found
ourselves trapped in a predicament where such a pursuit seemed impossible.
"Since a while ago, instantaneous movement hasn't been functioning properly. Is Vohu
Mana interfering?"
"Likely so. Ah-chan is an outsider here, restricted in her actions on this planet."

"But if we merely fly towards the capital, we'll arrive too late. It'll take more than ten
hours!"

Knowing that every passing second brings us closer to our impending doom, is there no
way to break free from this impasse? Frustration consumed me until Ah-chan spoke with a
resolute tone, muttering an unconventional suggestion.

"If that's the case, we'll need to approach this differently than usual. It might be rough and
perilous, but are you okay with that?"

"What? Oh, I see. You're proposing we employ the same method you used when fighting the
Locusts, aren't you?"

Though I had no inkling of what she meant, Ferdows appeared to grasp her intention. He
seemed to believe it was a viable plan. With his endorsement, there was no reason for me to
doubt. Time was of the essence, so I promptly nodded in agreement, without even seeking
an explanation.

"I don't mind. I'll trust your plan. Just... there's one thing I want to say right now, something
I truly feel."

I expressed my sentiments, eager to convey my genuine gratitude amidst the chaos.

"I'm grateful that, despite everything that's happened, you still see me as a friend. I truly,
truly appreciate it."

It may have been a cliché, but those words held my heartfelt sincerity.

"What's the point now? You're a pesky water dweller."

"Right from the start, I knew you were someone who always found trouble."

Their response, nonchalant and lighthearted, both amused and pained me. I would forever
cherish the bashful smiles that adorned their faces.

"You're going to defeat the Divine Sword, aren't you?"

"There are battles that Ah-chan cannot partake in. So, Quinn, I need you to make me a
promise. No matter what lies ahead for us, you must forge your own path. You must walk
your own journey, just as Alma and Samluch did."
"Yes. I will never look back."

Because I believed in them. We had pledged to conquer our respective battles.

"Very well, then. Let's proceed. Come, Ashenka."

"I'll handle it!"

And so, with malevolence and glee luring us in, we ventured forth into the abyss of hell.

◇◇◇◇◇

"Let us embark anew, starting from the very beginning.”

Sirius contemplated as he wandered through the desolate corridors on his return to the
royal castle. The weight of shame pressed upon him, prompting him to question the depths
of his transgressions in this world.

"Was it my initial sin to believe in my own superiority and aspire to become a valiant hero?"

"No, it was not. Such delusions of grandeur are common in childhood. If that were the
cause, the world would be teeming with others like me."

"Why, then, did others not stumble down the same path as I did? The answer is self-evident.
They grasped the reality early on, understanding the limitations of their aspirations and
acknowledging their own capabilities."

Memories of encounters with formidable adversaries and the taste of defeat at his father's
hands flooded Sirius's mind. However, he couldn't help but question his true first setback…

"The first time I laid eyes on him... I believed it was when Varhran bested me, but perhaps
that wasn't the case," he mused.

In truth, Sirius had long been aware of this, and it was his refusal to admit it that distorted
his very being.

"Nahid..." he whispered, fully cognizant of his past failures.

He recognized that his first setback resided in his relationship with his sister. Nahid, who
remained enclosed within herself, her silence akin to that of an inanimate doll. There was
only one reason why he hadn't acknowledged this as the moment he faced the harsh
realities of life— a continuous series of undeniable defeats as he tried, futilely, to extricate
her from the darkness, only to be met with failure at every turn.
"Perhaps I didn't want to give in…"

He harbored no concern about losing to Varhran in combat, inferiority in skill, or any other
aspect where he fell short. However, he couldn't accept his own inadequacy in one critical
aspect— to save Nahid. The brave facade crumbled effortlessly before her eyes.
"But I... even I could have done it.”

Despite potentially taking longer than Varhran, Sirius believed Nahid's smile would have
shone just as brilliantly as his own.

"I understand why I clung to such a foolish illusion…"

He had desired his sister, viewing her as a woman above all else. The grotesqueness and
unspeakable animalistic desire within him made it impossible to label it as love. If love
represented the strongest of emotions, then there was no love within him. Consequently, he
saw himself as a worthless man, tainted by filth, shame, and ignorance. His yearning for
salvation was nothing more than a desire for Varhran to shield him from his own ugliness. If
only he could maintain his dazzling "legend" and unite with Nahid, Sirius would remain
blissfully unaware of the darkness festering within his heart.

"As a good brother and a good friend, I could have celebrated their departure," he
acknowledged bitterly.

"It's all the fault of those who continue to flee... and the like."

Sirius realized that offering Nahid to Kaikhosru would have been just another form of
escape.

"I feared sullying myself at this stage of my life. I should have fallen and been slain by the
hands of my friends."

Self-mockery echoed within him, akin to the wails of the deceased. In truth, Sirius had long
abandoned hope for his own existence. If only he had acknowledged his repulsive nature
during the tournament, accepting his fate as a bestial, lust-driven loser, the trajectory of his
life might have been different.

"I believe that, by now, a genuine cycle of grandeur would have been established— a world
where no one would shed tears, an ideal that eluded me due to my cowardly escape on that
day."

Though he could never revisit that distant past, Sirius stood there, attempting to rectify his
mistakes. He confronted the true essence of his worthlessness, exposing his dark side to the
light of day. He longed for a world of decay, seeking the ultimate demise brought forth by
the "true" hand that would materialize at the end.
"I yearn for my own demise. I ask you to obliterate me entirely, to deny me and erase all my
sins and shame," he fervently declared.

"Varhran, Varhran— my friend, let the pain of your sword piercing me become my
salvation!"
Facing the room where Nahid slumbered, Sirius craved a magnificent doom, a purifying
flame. He prayed, his hand inching closer to the doorknob.

"Thank you very much, brother, for your long, meaningless, and futile soliloquy. I regret to
inform you that there is no truth to your contemplations."

"I hear a voice...," Sirius muttered, taken aback by the unexpected interruption.

"It's all deception, a farce, delusional ramblings. If anyone else were present, I would advise
them to cease listening. But I find delight in such fiction," the voice continued.

As if under a spell, Sirius found himself inside the room. His sister, as he remembered her,
lay peacefully asleep, frozen in time for the past two decades.

"Why do I still hear voices? They reverberate in my mind, unsettling my very being," he
wondered, struggling to comprehend the significance of the words that seemed to consume
his soul.

"Yet, above all, the meaning behind these words— 'And yet, oh, oh, what a wondrous
tableau of life it is, not being able to forget love and never relinquishing hope. You are the
savior.'"

A peculiar device slipped from Sirius's grasp, falling to the floor. It was a mechanism to
release the Seal of Freeze, but whether or not he had pressed the button remained unclear.
Yet, the efficacy of the seal seemed inconsequential at this point.

If commanded to sleep, Nahid would sleep.

If commanded to awaken, she would awaken.

She obediently followed the script bestowed upon her.

In response to the darkness that consumed Sirius, an equally murky darkness swirled
around him. Voices, melodies heard countless times before, melodies that had healed,
inundated the room like incantations.

“If you seek a rotten world, I will make it rot away.”

A performance of outstanding talent began, a dance of Star Spirits unleashed with fervor.
Gathering in multitudes, surpassing thousands, tens of thousands, or even hundreds of
millions, they cried out without exception. Compelled by an overpowering supernatural
force, they congregated around the Lord, a chaotic frenzy of existence.

"What are you...?" Sirius started to question, but his words were cut short.
Even the fact that the Vohu Mana was stripped from his soul was not in Sirius' mind.

"It's Nahid. Have you forgotten your sister's name?"

A sound akin to the slicing of thick paper echoed. From within the frozen boundaries, a
blade exuding unfathomable malevolence emerged. Eyes, noses, and mouths twisted in
agony adorned the blade, a collection of countless Star Spirits forcibly intertwined and
condensed into the shape of a sword. It was an ominous sight, a seemingly endless and
invincible weapon capable of cleaving even the heavens.

A sensation of peculiar déjà vu washed over Sirius— an eerie parody of the Divine Sword,
distorted and corrupted in the most abhorrent manner.

"This one is called Aka Manah."

The weight of her words hung in the air, laced with an unsettling allure that sent shivers
down the spine. It was as if she reveled in the grotesque and reveled in her creation, born
from a deep-rooted animosity towards Ahura Mazda, the object of her brother's disdain.

The master of the sword appeared neatly and modestly while announcing its name.
Perhaps as part of her role-playing, her clothes had changed, as if she were a bride of
darkness tainted with madness, but her smile and presence, reminiscent of a clear stream,
were exactly the same as in days gone by.

“That is why it is so horrifying that it makes you want to vomit. Since brother hated Ahura
Mazda, I created something like it!”

The younger sister, bearing the weight of the ultimate magic sword, stood atop the stage of
despair, a cypress tree stretching out beneath her. Her presence was undeniable, an
embodiment of both power and melancholy. There was an undeniable certainty to her
purpose, as though she had accepted her role in this tragic story.
On this fateful day, the deluge of Tentsui surged forth, engulfing the domain of the Sacred
Realm.

6
The name Aka Manah, dubbed as the Seventh Great Demon King, held little significance in
Sirius' eyes. It seemed more like a concept yet to come to fruition— a mere unborn infant
whose existence revolved around the future.

Viewing it as a tangible threat was far from realistic. Instead, Sirius envisioned Aka Manah
as a looming shadow that shouted its existence into the void. From the perspective of Vohu
Mana, the Seventh Great Demon King appeared as an uncertain fluctuation with ethereal
coordinates that overlapped with the Sacred Realm.

This demon's name, coupled with the absence of overt activities, hinted at its hidden nature
as a resident of the other side as a possibility. Depending on the course of events, it could be
sealed away or set free. The crux of the matter lay in maintaining control without
relinquishing the initiative. Aka Manah, the name bestowed by Sirius, was merely one of
these potential outcomes.

Until this moment, until now.

"Do you like it? I arranged it for you brother," Nahid uttered, presenting a creation that
embodied Sirius' darker side.
It embodied his hatred for the Divine Sword, the crucifixion of Varhran offered as a sacrifice
to appease 'everyone.' This scene forcefully reminded Sirius of a day he desperately wished
to forget but couldn't.

"I can't wield it against anyone but myself," she confessed.

"However, as a priestess, I will follow my brother's will. Please forgive me."

Sirius listened to Nahid's cheerful words and detected no trace of evil. It was evident that
her love for her brother ran deep, leaving him at a loss.

"What are you saying...?"

Sirius's voice emerged hoarse, akin to that of a dying old man. He wasn't an ideal confidant
for such conversations.

"Well, well, isn't it because my brother desired sgamelessness? To transcend the Avesta and
reach beyond good and evil, you needed to join forces with a new Demon King to replace
Kaikhosru. That's why I've aided you, even if only in a small way."

Though Nahid had been sealed away for a considerable period, she demonstrated a
remarkable grasp of the situation. And her argument held merit. The most effective means
of dismantling existing laws and constructing a new world was to upend the irreconcilable
differences between light and darkness. However, there was an evasive quality to Nahid's
approach that Sirius found unacceptable.

"Why do you take the initiative to fulfill my desires?"

"Because I love my brother."

This was not the Nahid that Sirius knew. She was pure and innocent— a "legend," unlike
himself.

"Then, please do with me as you wish."

It felt like a nightmare, a fractured puppet show reflecting his own ugly emotions. Sirius
longed to cover his eyes and ears, to run away, thinking, "Yes, this must be a dream."

Fear coursed through him, driving the desperate urge to escape.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
no."
Nahid's voice shifted instantaneously, shifting from cheerfulness to silence at Sirius'
command. The abrupt change in behavior resembled that of a mechanical device,
accompanied by the illusionary clinking of gears.

Was this the sister who, fleetingly scattered, danced at her brother's whim under the
influence of primal desires?

Or was this the younger sister who, embracing the same destructive love as her brother,
tumbled down the same path?

The distinction mattered little.

"You're a demanding brother, aren't you? I'll let you ravage me, just as you've wished for
years. So, why hesitate?"

"But you..."

Now, Sirius was nothing more than a captive of confusion. He couldn't fathom Nahid's
motivations. He couldn't even discern his own desires.

"You told me earlier that my thoughts were nothing but delusions," he mumbled.

He believed Nahid had declared him a wretched individual consumed by incestuous love for
his sister. That single revelation had left an indelible mark on his heart. Yet, he remained
unclear on how Nahid, the one who unveiled this truth, was exploiting the situation.

"What is right? What is wrong? Where does truth reside?"

Unintentionally, Sirius found himself posing foolish questions, his voice strained and feeble.

"What does my darkness look like?"

"It’s Varhran, isn’t it?"

Nahid responded promptly, without a hint of doubt.

"What you truly love is Varhran. The immorality of falling in love with him has driven you
into a twisted and monstrous madness. I am merely a substitute, a convenient mask to
conceal it all. I can't erase the fact that you've fallen for him, so this is just a way to make it
all fit."

"That's absurd...!"
"Why? It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? From the first moment you encountered Varhran,
you found yourself in a pitiable state. Yet, it's peculiar that you don't despise him. In fact,
you even idolize him."

"And what of it?"

Nahid raised a finger, her mischievous eyes narrowing.

"It's love."

"No!"

Sirius vehemently shook his head, nearly screaming. He refused to accept that the feelings
he harbored for his friend could be likened to that.

"... I am indeed, as you say, obsessed with Varhran. That may be deemed abnormal from an
outsider's perspective," Sirius admitted, his words carrying a heavy weight.

The alter ego of the Divine Sword had labeled him cursed, an assessment that he couldn't
deny. Yet, at a deeper level, Sirius knew himself as a man incapable of love.

"There is no love in me. I don't love you or Varhran!" he declared, his voice strained.

"Yes, perhaps you are right," Nahid replied calmly, her words sinking in like venom.

The two of them had been locked in the same room for what felt like an eternity. In the
midst of the stillness, Nahid's voice pierced through, devoid of any emotion.

"Because you are worthless. Everything you do has no meaning. So, what does it matter?
Did you love Varhran beyond the boundaries of gender, or did you love me beyond the ties
of blood? The answer doesn't change the fact that your love is hollow. If it is hollow, then at
least smile," she suggested, her tone oddly joyful.

"If it is hollow, then at least laugh about it," she added, her words laced with a strange sense
of mirth.

"How about this script, then? You and I will have a child, and that child will be the next
Varhran. If his sister continues to engage in a forbidden relationship with him, wouldn't it
be perfect in every sense? I would love them both, reveling in joy, sorrow, and sometimes
jealousy. The elder brother would continue his shamelessly agonizing acts, only to be
eventually saved by the sword. What a clichéd grand finale!"

Nahid proposed, her words painting a future of shamelessness that Sirius hesitated to even
describe as blasphemy.
"Oh, and if you'd like, we can make the child a girl. The gender of the child is
inconsequential, as it would be easier to accept and mold according to the desires of those
around. The love-hate relationship between Varhran and his brother as a girl is quite
thrilling!" she continued, her words dripping with a disturbing enthusiasm.

It was a future of shamelessness, one that Sirius found himself unable to accept or
comprehend. And yet, even in this unholy fantasy, Nahid showed no malice in her heart. In
fact, she appeared as calm as a mirror, her intentions shrouded in a disconcerting lack of
self-awareness. She was merely trying to embody the darkness within Sirius, a mass of
fiction devoid of any desires of her own. If she wished, she could play her role without
discomfort.

But the reason behind her farce was evident— she sought to completely dismantle her
brother's dignity, fulfilling his wish to embrace shamelessness.

"Just as the script indicates, according to your desires…"

"Impossible..." Sirius muttered, understanding the truth of her words.

But alongside that understanding, a sense of rebellion began to stir within him. No matter
how cruel the world was, no matter how irredeemable a person he might be, there had to
be a sanctuary that remained brilliant and inviolable. There had to be.

For Sirius, his sister represented that sanctuary— a "real" person who he couldn't accept as
an empty performer. And so, he clung to her, his voice desperate.

"This is a mistake! Where is my real sister? Don't play with me, you impostor!" he cried out,
pointing at Aka Manah, who devoured Star Spirits relentlessly.

"The Nahid I knew didn't possess the power to create such a thing. That proves you're a
fake!"

"Oh, you mean that?" Nahid replied, shrugging her shoulders as if discussing yesterday's
weather.

"That perception was merely a reflection of how you saw me back then. At that time, no one
could conceive of a force formidable enough to rival Varhran."

"What do you mean...?" Sirius asked, his confusion evident.

"I am just playing the role I'm assigned. I perform as desired. If the writer's perspective
changes, so does the script, and the play expands," she explained, her innocence contrasting
with the damning nature of her words.

"I am your copy," she proudly proclaimed, her eyes glistening with a glassy sheen.
"Right now, I exist for all of you. Let's together create chaos in the world, brother."

With a cute pose, Nahid's smile shattered the last stronghold within Sirius— the fragile
remnants of his sanity. The young boy who had clung to that sanity was mercilessly
shattered and crushed.

Everything was a farce.

Nothing had truly changed.

Nahid remained as she had always been— hollow.

The feelings he held for her smile and the "legend" that had begun with Varhran's
achievement were now rendered meaningless illusions. The foundation of his belief that
those days had been precious and radiant had been overturned, reducing his ideals to
nothing more than a mockery of a foolish man's delusions.

"What should we do then? Fool..." Sirius muttered, his world collapsing around him.

The first realization that dawned upon him was his own foolishness. The only salvation that
awaited him was madness. Yes, madness was his only escape. If he could become a numb,
lifeless puppet, forgotten and left to decay, it would be a fitting end for a worthless man. But
even that sliver of hope was denied him. He was so wretched that he couldn't even die first.

"But I believe in you," Nahid whispered lovingly as she embraced Sirius, holding him close
to her chest. She kissed his forehead gently, recounting memories of their sibling bond.

"Stand up once more, just as you did back then," she urged.

"The brother who wielded the sword in despair at the deeds of the 'Mere Old Man' was
incredibly strong and full of life... I was exhilarated beyond words. I couldn't contain my
excitement. If there is a true monster in this world, it must be this sister," she added, her
words laced with both affection and menace.

"First, let us set the stage. I will warm it up for you, so show me your most heroic
performance."

In the blink of an eye, she soared away with a gust of wind, crashing through the ceiling and
disappearing into the sky, leaving no trace behind. All that remained were the fractured
voices and laughter of the Star Spirits, and Sirius, a mere husk of a man who had lost
everything.

◇◇◇◇◇
Ascending to the ethereal heights of the stratosphere, Nahid cast her tender gaze upon the
glittering tapestry of life below, the stars twinkling in the vast expanse. Within her eyes,
there was no hint of malevolence, a testament to her purity. Yet, her purity did not equate to
conformity, for to exist without vice was the ultimate heresy.

The epitome of absolute whiteness was akin to nothingness itself, embodying the essence
of absolute zero. Nahid understood that there was no inherent truth and that
meaninglessness was the only truth. Sirius's white flame represented a part of this truth,
albeit in a different manner.

"Let us sing, let us perform. If everything is but a farce, let us make it a grand spectacle.”

She could be anything or nothing, possessing the boundless potential to become whatever
was desired of her, traversing the script that had been prepared. The fact that she had
created and utilized a Demon King named Aka Manah in her current state demonstrated
her transcendence beyond the boundaries of mortals.

The Star Spirits that formed the material for the magic sword were blended together,
regardless of their black or white nature, proving that Nahid had surpassed the laws known
to the world.

"Dance and revolve, innocent prayers. Stand tall and be exhilarated, my dear children. This
is the holy Commandment of our vow," Nahid proclaimed, her words resonating with both
purity and power.

Thus, the songs she wove were held in a different dimension than those of the past 20
years. While the blessings bestowed through the Star Spirits remained the same, the
perception and definition of the groups took on diverse forms from varying perspectives.

"Oh, how splendid your sword is. Your bravery is my beacon of hope," she expressed,
marveling at the resplendent weapon.

Truly, it was a transformation. Aka Manah, devoid of color, cried out in profound anguish
and released a prayer of liberation to the world that once had been his domain.

"Fall. Fall. Everything is but emptiness, and good and evil are mere illusions," she
proclaimed, lamenting the tragedy of being consumed by such illusions, appealing to the
souls of all.

"I dream, so please allow me to witness. Allow me to gaze upon your sword one day," she
pleaded.

This was the purpose behind Aka Manah's existence, designed to fulfill Varhran's final
moments.
"May it serve as a guiding light for all," Nahid whispered softly.

What ensued was a forced transference, obliterating the concept of duality. The inverted
blessings, diffused around Nahid, surged forth like a tidal wave, engulfing the stars of the
universe. Those who believed their values to be absolute truths were plunged into a
frenzied turmoil, reminiscent of the events that occurred twenty years ago.

Bonds were shattered,

Beliefs incinerated.

And they were callously reminded that they were nothing more than playthings to be
manipulated.

In the face of this chaos, the magic sword cried out in madness, "Be confused. Be confused.
Despair. Be enlightened by the end of it all."

For in the realization that everything was hollow and false, one could experience the
freedom to dance without restraints.

Nahid observed the storm of anger, lamentation, and joy with a compassionate smile,
embracing the tumultuous emotions with all her senses. Her power was so immense that it
was no wonder Kaikhosru sought to obtain Aka Manah as his trump card through the deal
for Nahid. Yet, despite her unrivaled power, Nahid was far from perfect.

Her forced fall was limited to the stars that comprised the magic sword. Though the
number of stars continued to increase, it had not yet reached a scale vast enough to upend
the entire universe.

Moreover, her abilities had no effect on those who shared the same perspective as her, nor
did they target beings untouched by the protection of the Star Spirits. In this regard, Nahid
was not a vessel for a higher God, one who could emanate new laws into a new ‘Heaven.’

She was a mere performer, utterly reliant on the script. Without it, she was powerless. If
summoned, she could effortlessly pierce through the heavens, but in her current state, she
was akin to a mere tool.

"I cannot do as I please, so revel in it to the fullest.”

More than anyone else, she resembled a marionette, embodying the impermanence and
absurdity of the theatrical performance known as life. Emptiness was her mantle, for within
the laws that governed Nahid lay a profound enigma.
The one who accomplishes the miracle desired as the ultimate of white to fulfill the prayers
of all. She has unrivaled power under heaven, but in essence she is a slave to an idol without
a will.

Isn’t that what we call “everyone’s hero?”

If so, then what was Varhran?

"I shall free you from your shackles. I shall release you from your restraints, so that I may
expand the scope of my performance to boundless heights."

In this era, the true hero was Nahid herself. She understood this, and her exchange with
Sirius revealed a glimpse of her awareness. She declared that she would do her utmost for
'everyone' now. The defeat she suffered twenty years ago stemmed from the inability to
fathom a force that could rival Varhran. And when she mentioned 'everyone,' Varhran was
not included within that category.

He played the role of a hero as assigned, but Nahid never truly comprehended him. The fact
that she only took off her lover's facade when she was alone with Varhran and showed her
true colors was not a sign of trust, but rather because she was with someone with whom
she did not have to act with. He existed outside the boundaries of the script, a being
distinct from 'everyone.'

With Varhran gone, it is safe to say that Nahid had awakened as the true hero. It was
prudent for Sirius to keep his distance from his sister after the loss of his friend. Once
awakened, the Profuse Demonic Cherry Blossoms would inevitably set things into motion,
whether desired or not.

The Great Fall, the pinnacle and final miracle performed by a valiant soul, marked the end
of the nonsensical comedy of fluctuating good and evil.

No, it was the beginning.

Unraveling one mystery merely gave birth to new mysteries, yet Nahid remained faithful to
her duty. At this moment, she sensed a minor anomaly and sought to rectify it.

"Oh, what a delightful young lady. Are you one of Ahura Mazda's followers?"

Nahid noticed a feeble entity ensnared by the demon sword, struggling to retain its identity
and resist. With gentle hands, she implored it to listen, to succumb to her guidance.

"The sword of a comrade who should have walked the same path, yet, alas, the Divine
Sword has forsaken its duty and betrayed us. I understand that it possesses its own
intentions, but a tool should not possess its own purpose. Thus, I offer my apologies and bid
you farewell. Rest well, my dear, and find solace," she murmured, crushing it with a gentle
yet merciless squeeze.

Meticulously, she grounded the ants beneath her knuckles, reducing them to insignificance
and formlessness.

Within a whirlpool of magic swords, Nahid eradicated Ashozhuta, vanquishing her entirely.

◇◇◇◇◇

In approximately ten minutes, I arrived at the grand royal castle. It was an incredibly swift
journey, considering the circumstances. However, the scene around me revealed that all
was not well.

To put it simply, Ah-chan possessed the incredible ability of ultra-fast flight, a divine
blessing. As the leader of the Sky Burial Sphere, she was unmatched in her flying prowess,
rumored to reach speeds nearing that of light itself. Nevertheless, controlling such speed
proved challenging, and under Vohu Mana's interference, her efforts were akin to flying
blindfolded. Consequently, things did not unfold as she had hoped.

I swiftly passed through the royal city, executing a U-turn, and found myself here. The
Sacred Realm simmered with the same scorching heat that marked the tragic end of Mr.
Varhran’s rule. The world, which mere moments ago had been populated by our fellow
countrymen, had undergone a profound transformation, leaving no trace of its former self.

It had become a nightmarish realm, characterized by uncontrollable chaos. The sudden

alteration of values, combined with the inherent lack of camaraderie among the blackened
souls, had plunged society into an uncontrollable frenzy. People attacked one another
without comprehension, their blood-curdling screams echoing through the air. In this
tumultuous state, I seized the opportunity to infiltrate the royal castle.

Fortuitously, the place was nearly deserted since the main authorities and bureaucrats had
congregated on the New Continent. Furthermore, I had managed to escape the wave of
forced downfalls myself. In essence, it was not over yet. The situation was disheartening,
but I firmly believed that we had not yet reached the true depths of despair, the darkest of
days... and I was determined to prevent such a future.

And now, I will stand before you, Mr. Sirius.

“I will not offer you empty condolences, saying, ‘...I am sorry for your loss.’”

“The darkness that has manipulated your life is unfathomably deep and cruel, and it would
be disingenuous of me to offer shallow comfort.”
I knelt down and spoke softly to the deceased man, perhaps the greatest victim in the
universe.

His eyes had lost their light, his open mouth an empty void, while his parched skin and
wrinkled face, resembling deep fissures, testified to the severity of his wounds. Only he
could truly fathom the pain he endured, and only he would be shattered by it. Thus, it
seemed right to let him rest peacefully, without uttering another word.

Yet, even if it were a sinful act, even if it brought him more anguish, I needed to convey
something to him.

Quinn's feelings.

I was resolved not to let the savior she loved, Sirius, become a worthless puppet, forever
subject to the whims of fate.

"I do not possess love within me, nor am I capable of loving another. You seemed to voice
this sentiment repeatedly..."

My voice dissipated into the void, evoking no response. Nonetheless, I pressed on,
undeterred.

"In a sense, you were correct. When you encountered Mr. Varhran…”

"I do not mean this metaphorically. It is not the same as stealing your heart, captivating you,
liking you, or falling in love with you."

"It is, quite literally, exactly as it is— a heinous act of cruelty and shamelessness."

"He was a courageous... man, but he held a peculiar belief. He always would emerge
victorious, and as the spoils of triumph, he would claim the most valuable possession of his
vanquished foes. It could be their strength or abilities, but in your case, he deprived you of
'love.' Your cherished sword, one that was irreplaceable to you, was taken away."

"As a result, your relationship was predetermined. Despite the tragedies that befell you, Mr.
Sirius would continue to pursue Mr. Varhran."

"He suffered under the guise of friendship, longing, or infatuation, clinging to the very
person responsible because he yearned to reclaim the love he once held. He could not
forget the precious treasure he discovered in Mr. Varhran."

"You aspired to create a world where no one would have to shed tears. Isn't that what you
desired?"
At this question, Sirius's eyes wavered for the first time. It was a subtle change, but it
proved that he had not yet been completely broken.

"Yes, he is stronger and kinder than anyone else. I know that he cannot be broken here."

"You previously referred to it as a curse, but you were mistaken. It is true that it began as an
abominable fate, but you did not succumb to it. You never forgot the love you lost and
managed to reignite that flame from scratch. That, Mr. Sirius, is nothing short of a miracle.
You loved Quinn."

"...no."

A weak, hoarse voice protested, driven by sheer determination. Sirius's spirit, which had
traversed to the realm beyond, had returned to this side.

"It is... impossible for me to love someone."

"And why is that? You and Quinn share a similar modesty. You should have more
confidence."

"It is not love, for we fabricated it as a political decision to conceal our own flaws. We do not
deserve to revel in being loved, for we failed to banish the darkness."

Both of them were undeniably similar, sharing an acute awareness of the value of love's
sentiment. They were burdened by the unworthiness that went unrecognized, hanging
their heads in remorse for their respective partners and lamenting their own failings.

"The beauty of tears lies in their ability to endure in circumstances where shedding them is
inevitable. A world where such sentiments prevail will never achieve true peace."

"Yes, you may be right. But if only the end result is considered real, then is the brilliance
experienced along the way false?”

“No, it is not."

Tossed about by whimsical fates, leaning on each other despite their initial connection
being born of shared wounds, Mr. Sirius and Quinn strove to nurture their love.

"You were moving forward, without a doubt."

The prayer, which still radiated brightly without fading, even after being stolen by Mr.
Varhran, represented the true hegemony.

"I reiterate, this is a miracle. You are a savior destined to construct a new world, one more
magnificent and extraordinary than that of any hero."
"No...!"

This time, the denial was even stronger, yet I remained undeterred and unperturbed by his
outward demeanor. It was a process of unraveling the tangled web of cause and effect. I
understood it would not be an easy task, but I believed it was my mission, my path to
redemption, to guide him back to where he rightfully belonged.

"If I possessed such power, Nahid would not have suffered the way she did. If I possessed
such power, Nahid would have grown into an independent, self-reliant individual from a
young age!"

"Then why do you believe you couldn't have saved her?"

"That's a foolish question... I was likely intoxicated by the beautiful tale of a brother caring
for his sister. I was merely a child seeking to embody a childish hero, without truly
considering Nahid's needs. At best, my capacity was nothing but wasted potential."

"No, sir."

I shook my head, responding in the same manner he had previously denied me.

"Think again. Nahid represents the thoughts of ‘everyone' within the system. She is
incompatible with the architects of the new world who strive to break free from the
constraints of existing laws."

"'Everyone' was terrified in the face of your benevolence. It is the collective's instinct for
self-preservation. The overwhelming will to resist this situation flowed strongly into Ms.
Nahid, causing her to shut herself off as a defensive measure. Or perhaps this internal
conflict led her to a state of stagnation."

"...That is preposterous and impossible."

"No, it is an incredibly logical hypothesis. Nahid awakened after Mr. Varhran's arrival
because your love had been taken from her, triggering a shift in the script. From then on, it
appears that Nahid regained her original function and began to play the role she desired..."

"...What do you mean?"

I held my silence for a moment, directing my gaze downward in response to Sirius's

question. The following story was built upon a series of assumptions and conjectures, and
even Quinn, who possessed deep insight into the Divine Sword's intentions, had never
explicitly stated it. However, I had an unshakable conviction that it held true. Thus, I spoke
without hesitation.
"Firstly, Mr. Varhran, the orchestrator of this situation, is an enigmatic heretic. He is neither
a hero nor a champion. Just as he stole your love, he seized the position of 'everyone's hero’
from Ms. Nahid. He colluded with the Divine Sword, tirelessly pursuing some unknown,
peculiar purpose. And where then, do you suppose your sister would have gone?"

"...!"

"Having qualified as a hero but failed to become one, she had no choice but to cling to your
love, didn't she?"

I cannot fathom the nature of the communication that transpired between the siblings
before my arrival, but one thing remains unquestionable: the current Nahid-sama is
laboring tirelessly for the sake of Sirius-sama. No matter how distorted or bewildering her
actions may appear, her understanding of ‘everyone’ is derived solely from her brother's
perspective.

This fact underscores her unwavering commitment to his well-being, leaving us with a
singular truth.

"Your love has reached Ms. Nahid," I declared, emphasizing the profound essence of love
itself.

"In her youth, you rescued a desolate soul cursed by God, transforming it into your beloved
sister. This is the essence of love, Sirius. Your existence has been embraced and cherished,
transcending all boundaries."

"As an elder brother and a savior, I implore you to reclaim your rightful place and rise once
more. The outcome is inconsequential. Only when you rediscover your true self will the
darkness be vanquished by the light. For you, Sirius, are the brightest star in the heavens."

"'Quinn' confided in me that she loves you when you are like that," I added, emphasizing the
profound connection they shared.

In response to my words, Sirius remained silent for a prolonged moment, reflecting upon
his life, the burdens he carried, and the losses he endured. The road to healing and
redemption might be fraught with anguish, but I had resolved to stand by his side and wait
patiently.

As chaos raged outside the castle, time seemed to lose its meaning. Finally, Sirius spoke,
seeking answers from within himself.

"I don't care what you or my wife say, I am an ordinary, unremarkable man. I lack
perspective, and this trivial side of me feels incongruous with the image of a supposed
hero."
Understanding the sincerity and absence of self-deprecation in his question, I offered my
perspective.

"In comparison to individuals like Nahid or Varhran, those who possess extraordinary
credentials, you may perceive yourself as unremarkable. Magsarion, Varhran, and
Kaikhosru, all born under extraordinary circumstances and endowed with unparalleled
abilities, may overshadow you. Yet, you, Sirius, are not a mere clown in their presence.
There is something that qualifies you to change the world."

"It must be..." I hesitated for a moment, uncertain if my response constituted an answer.

However, I shared my thoughts with conviction. I revealed the significance of my encounter

with Sirius, who had lost his memory, and the path I intended to pursue in defiance of
Ahura Mazda's precepts and the prevailing causality. I laid bare my intentions without any
trace of duplicity.

And after a profound silence, Sirius spoke.

"I understand perfectly."

With swiftness, he rose to his feet and directed his gaze towards the sky beyond the
collapsed ceiling. His eyes betrayed no hesitation, only a resolute and dignified will. He had
returned to this pivotal moment, recapturing the dreams of his childhood after more than
three decades.

"Are you ready to depart?"

"Of course, but do not make the mistake of believing that you are," he replied, his voice
carrying a hint of influence from 'Quinn.'

Sirius, who possessed a kindness unmatched by any other, would not endanger his love
again. It filled me with great joy to witness his unyielding conviction, even if it defied logic.

"I may not forgive you entirely, and my wife remains my wife. However, I cannot allow you
to go alone. Regardless of the truth, I can only be true to myself," Sirius proclaimed.

"Yes, and there is one more thing I must say," I responded.

"Please, my king, show mercy upon us all," I pleaded, offering a heartfelt bow.

In return, the Holy King Sirius gracefully acknowledged my words with a light bow of his
own. In the next instant, he disappeared into a whirling tempest of white.

Stripped of his Vohu Mana, he somehow retained the character of a champion, using the
remnants of his strength to transcend the ordinary.
Was it an attribute inherent to champions, or was it the inevitable destiny of a king?

Regardless, one thing was clear: it was time for him to traverse the darkness and rescue his
sister, who had lost her way amidst its depths.

"And we, too, must follow the path we have chosen," I muttered to myself, aware of the
footsteps approaching from behind.

I knew precisely who it was and understood their current state without excessive detail.

"So, do not weep. Do not falter. You promised me, remember?"

"I will always cherish your smile, and your prayers shall forever guide me."

"I may appear peculiar, but if I do not push myself, I shall crumble."

"I shall never allow myself to become Nadare."

There stood Ferdows, alone and bloodied...... as he tumbled down.

7
In this era, the esteemed hero was none other than Nahid. When Quinn, a priestess of the
Divine Sword, informed us of this, we were prepared for the potential of friendly fire. Our
compatibility was lacking, after all.

The day of the signing ceremony held particular significance for Ferdows— it was his
Friday, a day when he could tap into the power of the Star Spirits from his hometown. On
this day, he would merge with the celestial will as their proxy. Consequently, the likelihood
of him being overwhelmed by Nahid's immense power was alarmingly high. Naturally, I had
every intention of preventing any contact between Ferdows and Sirius, but I had no inkling
of what would unfold if I failed to halt their encounter.

Yet, an intense sense of foreboding gripped me. Even though they were heroes of equal
stature, they posed an extraordinary threat to one another. Everyone shared this unspoken
concern, which reached my ears in the form of Ferdows' concealed curses simmering
within him. Fear clutched at me as I contemplated what he might utter next.

"Can you hear me? I will not allow myself to become your plaything," Ferdows spoke, but
there was no response from him.

I couldn't ascertain whether he was conscious or not. I had witnessed the might of Friday
only once before— a kind of madness consumed its wielder. The Star Spirit governing
Ferdows' homeland possessed the peculiar attribute of duality. It had a day aspect and a
night aspect, along with a target. Mr. Sirius would undoubtedly refer to it as an ancient
entity.

When in sync with Nowruz Fedowsi, the Star Spirit epitomizing duality, Ferdows was no
longer the rational individual he typically was. Therefore, he always deemed Fridays as "off
days" and seldom tapped into their power. But how ironic it was that this particular day and
time arrived. If this was fate, then it was a cruel and merciless law. I resolved to investigate
and discover the truth behind these unfolding events.

As I made my decision, Ferdows muttered words filled with animosity towards me.
Following that, he launched an astonishing assault.

"I will crush you into pieces!" he exclaimed, attacking with his body alone.

The impact was extraordinary. Though I swiftly crossed my arms to defend myself, I
couldn't neutralize the full force and was sent hurtling backward. His eyes burned with fury,
tainted by curses and resentment, much like Magsarion's.

"Kill, kill— I won't even let you draw breath!"

"......!"

With a single swift stroke, I deflected the razor-sharp sword that gleamed like lightning. I
knew the tumbling sensation would not only alter its attributes but also its strength, yet
Ferdows failed to comprehend this logic. He retained the same or perhaps even greater
strength as before, striking with precision and lethal techniques.

This result was likely due to the violence of the forced transformation, unlike the mutation
of an individual experiencing a breakdown. But such details held no relevance in the
present moment. Even if he had been forcibly inverted, I knew that this version of Ferdows
was still Ferdows.

The anger, hatred, and sorrow were undoubtedly born from the same genuine personality I
knew. Despite the inverted perception and clouded consciousness caused by his guardian
Star Spirit's influence, his inner self had not become grotesque and twisted.

No, it must be...

"So, you still mourn for Marika, as always."

"Shut up!"

His frenzy escalated with a furious shout. The dark light gathered like a black sun, then
erupted in a cataclysmic explosion. A wave of energy surged forth from directly above us. I
was directly hit by the unleashed energy wave, sending me sprawling to the ground. With a
deafening roar, the earth cracked, and I feared my body would shatter under the destructive
force. And there was more to come.

"I... I don't love anyone. I don't deserve it!"

With the intent to deliver a finishing blow, he raised his sword and charged recklessly. His
face, flushed with hatred, distorted in screams that sounded like cries.

"......I care for you, you know."

Ignoring the strain coursing through his body, I leaped up and delivered a powerful punch
to Ferdows' side as he descended. Another roar erupted, accompanied by a plume of smoke
that billowed and dissipated. Standing alone in the now deserted training ground, I
pondered the enigma that had finally fallen into place.

Now I understood why he had seemed so distant lately. He must have accepted the same
Commandment as Magsarion— an edict forbidding physical contact, save for the act of
killing.

Ferdows had likely distanced himself from us since the previous war to avoid being
touched. It was a path that transformed him into a deadly sword. However, his motivations
were undoubtedly vastly different from those of Magsarion.

"I am weak," he confessed.

"Because of my weakness, I cannot protect the ones dear to me. If I believed I could shield
someone, I would let everyone around me perish just for that sake. I refuse that outcome.
Love and being loved are unnecessary burdens, so I will fight alone."

Within those words lay a deep self-loathing— an excruciating shame for his own
shamelessness in clinging to his dream of becoming a valiant warrior despite realizing he
was merely a vessel. It was a malady akin to Mr. Sirius's condition, typical of Ferdows.

It pained me, but I couldn't deny it, for it was the reverse of a responsibility and kindness
that surpassed anyone else's. It was his own heart's desire that had pushed him to the
brink. Ultimately, it was his lack of power that had cornered him.

There was only one sentiment I could convey to Ferdows now. I did my best to casually
express it to my friend, who had emerged from the realm of uncertainty.

"Please, at the very least, protect yourself. You need not worry about me. Because we are
friends. I don't require your protection, and I won't harm you. If you can only touch me with
the intent to kill, then I will treat you only with the intent to kill."
Like Alma, who ran into Magsarion, like Samluch, I couldn't simply flee headlong. I knew
that adopting a passive-aggressive strategy with a cowardly attitude would only lead to a
disastrous outcome. If there was one aspect of our relationship that needed to remain
unchanged amidst these circumstances, it was one of equality. That was the only constant
we could hold onto in order to secure victory.

"Messing around with..." Ferdows muttered, his gaze fixated on me with dark, intense eyes
as he looked up towards the heavens and let out a deafening roar.

"I don't understand!"

Without hesitation, he launched himself at me with incredible speed. I braced myself,

assuming a defensive stance, ready to meet his onslaught head-on. In the past, I had crossed
swords with Fer numerous times, our rivalry driving us forward. If I recall correctly, he had
28 wins, 27 losses, and 34 draws... or something along those lines. And now, within the
confines of this very training ground, our battle unfolded.

The missions we undertook together had been grueling and perilous, yet in hindsight, I
found solace in them. Those were the days of the past, irretrievable now. Even if they were
like a comedy where I was a subservient puppet, dancing at the whims of fate...

"I'm glad I met you. You're the first friend who saw me not as a tool, but as a flawed and
ordinary person. I can say with certainty that no one else has ever treated me with such
closeness, even when considering my history as a Divine Sword."

"Ferdows, I love you. I can't bear the thought of you succumbing to Nadare."

"I'll end you gently. Ho-ho-ho!"

As my knee strike connected, the hilt of my backhand exploded against my temple. In an

instant, my consciousness waned. Yet, perhaps there was a possibility for him to overturn
his fate on his own. It wasn't something we could afford to dwell upon. Ferdows, serious
and proud, wouldn't tolerate any shortcuts or sympathies that veered away from his chosen
path.

If I intentionally allowed myself to be struck, he would blame himself even more. In doing
so, he would inch closer to the role of Nadare. Therefore, I had to face him wholeheartedly.

If Ferdows' determination to save me surpassed his determination to kill me, then perhaps
a miracle could unfold. He slashed, struck, stabbed, and kicked me relentlessly, splattering
my vision with blood and blurring my sight. But I wouldn't take a single step back. I
wouldn't yield!

"We stand here by our own volition! We're not puppets, we're not playthings; we think for
ourselves in the face of a seemingly hopeless reality."
It wasn't just me; Ferdows shared the same sentiment. As proof, I could discern a flicker of
reason emerging from the depths of his eyes. Despite his body being bound, I knew he was
fighting with all his might to accomplish something. I could hear the world groaning under
the weight of our clash.

"Are you watching? It's madness… Soon, your reign will come to an end. I don't know what
kind of world will arise in the aftermath, but I will start anew, continuing to struggle
without ever looking back, until I reach that place."

I believed that this was the only sincerity I could offer as a prayer to all those who were
born and perished in this world.

8
In the aftermath of slaying the seventeen women, Magsarion's attention was drawn to an
unusual occurrence. At his feet lay Roxanne, her serene countenance contrasting with the
unexpected hardship he had faced. And then, the world underwent a transformation right
before his eyes. A sensation akin to the upheaval of his very core, as if his internal organs
had twisted inside out, seized him.

Simultaneously, a contradictory chill coursed through his veins, as though his blood boiled
while his bones froze. Magsarion, overwhelmed by shock, could only clutch his face and
stagger, but the others present were similarly engulfed, their souls shaken to the core. The
powerful figures of the Sacred Realm, the twelve lords, and various officials surrounding
Magsarion, erupted in unified screams. Their frenzy reverberated among the onlookers
from the observation platform and the guards, spreading confusion throughout.

It was Tentsui.

A bewildering phenomenon where the inherent attributes one possessed were repeatedly
yanked away like pieces in a board game.

A fall.

A forced, massive overturning of common sense.

Having witnessed a similar scene twenty years prior, Magsarion immediately recognized
the distinction from the past. A tingling sensation in his feathers informed him that this
occurrence was connected to the Star Spirits. Vohu Mana had fallen, and those under his
protection had tumbled alongside him. Those remaining from the old Corpse of the Dragon
Star, left defenseless by Kaikhosru's demise, were similarly ensnared.

The wings of darkness enshrouding the heavens and earth...

Magsarion beheld the extraordinary spiritual power emanating from it. Though ominous
and colorless, there was an inexplicable familiarity to Magsarion. The first thought that
crossed his mind was that they had shared the same space for over two decades, and the
way they regarded each other, the way they prayed and sang... it was evidently different
from before.

"It's growing larger, Magsarion.”

In the blink of an eye, distance lost its meaning. With utmost precision, an instantaneous
movement devoid of any abnormality, he who had been situated on a new continent found
himself suspended high above the Royal Capital, directly confronted by her presence.

"You are..."

"Yes, the woman who was supposed to be yours. How do you feel?"

It was Nahid, her hands encircling Magsarion's neck, offering congratulations on their
reunion. While they were indeed sister-in-law and brother-in-law, the literal sense of
harmony was absent. Their dynamic resembled that of a strong man supporting a helpless
woman, an atmosphere simultaneously lewd and reminiscent of prey entwined by a
serpent.

In essence, an aura of impending doom pervaded the encounter. It was evident that Nahid
harbored no sense of friendship as she openly laid her hands on him. What exacerbated the
disquiet was the fact that she displayed no intention to kill him whatsoever. Devoid of joy,
sadness, or any emotion, she exuded a complete void. Being touched by her was akin to
being touched by air, and it sent shivers down Magsarion's spine.

She remarked, "Oops, you're still the same little smarty-pants. Your aloofness is charming.
But since we're here, why don't we have a little chat?"

The sister-in-law made the initial move against her brother-in-law, who was on the verge of
swinging his sword in a fit of rage.

"Stay..."

Aka Manah, who had floated alongside Nahid, unleashed a curse in accordance with her
will.

Four Star Spirits swirling around the magic sword merged together, simultaneously
exerting the power of the captivity system. Unlike lending their protection, each one
manifested the authority encompassing the full spirit of the stars. In human terms, it
resembled an explosion of latent potential, disregarding the burden, amplified fourfold.
Chains of light ensnared Magsarion, suppressing the Star Spirits within him. Even he, as
expected, found his freedom of action obstructed. Escaping from such restraints was far
from easy. Yet, this supernatural occurrence represented only a fraction of Nahid's power.
She held dominion over the materials constituting the magic swords, whose numbers
continued to grow. The master-slave relationship with the Star Spirits, once
insurmountably potent, was now defined with absolute control.

"You see, I am akin to Varhran. Well, consider it a replacement for the power taken by
Varhran."

In the past, Nahid had been stripped of her heroic standing, but in the process, she gained
something else. Something so evident that the actual hero would not even notice. By
forfeiting her position, she gained a deeper understanding of her own nature. She abided
solely by the Commandment to have no personal desires and to be a mere servant. Her
power over the Star Spirits was a quid pro quo, a response to the absurdity of someone who
was no longer a hero attempting to become one.

As long as Nahid maintained her performer's demeanor, she could reign supreme, dictating
the world as it danced to her script.

"What are you playing at, Magsarion?"

"...Shut up, madwoman. I am what I am."

Their conversation continued because he had yet to silence her, but Nahid laughed off his
retort.

"I have fond memories of how much this girl used to despise me.”

"I won't fear you, and I won't reject you," she declared.

"From my perspective, you're the one being played by Varhran the most," he added. "I
thought that if his purpose was to create such things, eventually my brother would ask the
same of me. However, as you know, my brother is a bit slow and doesn't always heed my
command."

Nahid proceeded to disclose the tale of Sirius's child and her intention to mold them into
another Varhran. She dared not reveal this to everyone, but her actions were also an irony
tied to Magsarion's birth. A priestess of the Divine Sword, a possessor of magical swords, a
hero composed entirely of spoils of war— a hero who plundered everything and was left
with emptiness.

When these two groups, men and women, clashed with the cherished offspring they had
prepared for each other, a single answer would emerge.
"You too will yearn to fathom the depths of Varhran. I believe this is the best way to unravel
the enigma of his true self."

"...So you've been observing me all this time."

"Yes, to meet your expectations. Isn't that what you often do?"

Unraveling her subject with the blade of understanding marked the beginning of fulfilling
her purpose. Paradoxical yet logical, to comprehend Magsarion was to delve into the
mysteries of Varhran. However, Nahid held no attachment to her former betrothed. She
simply aimed to create the "real thing" that Sirius envisioned, fulfilling her brother's ideals
with the birth of a new "hero" at its culmination.

"So what are your thoughts? How about waiting another 20 years or so? I'll let you fight
against Varhran, though it will be fake," Nahid proposed.

"I refuse," Magsarion calmly replied, but the killing intent behind his words sent
shockwaves through the air.

Nahid instinctively stepped back.

"Even in the old days, I never liked you. I have always hated you more than Sirius and the
rest of the fools who carried my brother on their backs and made a mockery of him,"
Magsarion seethed.

"I was not playing with your brother. In fact, we are the ones who have been harmed,
according to the rules."

"Yes, of course, I know that," Magsarion acknowledged.

The sound of tearing flesh reached Nahid not through her ears but through her psychic
senses. The chains that bound Magsarion were breaking, and his boundless rage erupted,
filled with curses and grudges. The furious warrior, unmatched in his impenetrability,
began recounting the incident that marked the beginning of his life.

"My brother used you to manipulate me, but he wasn't a victim or a fool, as I once believed.
He was trying to lead us all somewhere, playing the role of a hero. It took me some time to
admit it, but... you're right, he's playing with me."

The tragedy of twenty years ago was a calculated defeat. The key to understanding lies in
maximizing the value of every move. Since that day, everything changed. The world, both
individually and on a grand scale, descended into chaos, with all roads converging on
Varhran. The truth remains elusive, but one thing is certain.

"We were destroyed."

The souls of everyone involved with the hero, be it Sirius, Nahid, or Magsarion, were tainted
by the curse of Varhran's demise. They had all fallen into the depths of evil. It felt as though
the world had lost its main characters.

Those who were meant to fulfill their roles were stripped of their qualifications, while
those who ascended to power departed with a clean facade. There was no need to ask
anymore who the true shameless one was.

"So why— "

Magsarion began, breaking free from his restraints and pointing his free hand.

"— ?"

At that moment, did the smile on Nahid's face truly reflect her innermost intentions?

"It sickens me. It's vile. Disgusting, repulsive," Magsarion muttered, his voice turning into a
terrifying whisper.

"Let me repeat, 'sister-in-law.' I believe I can unravel my brother's mystery with your help,"

Meanwhile, Nahid swiftly activated her own technique.

"As will I.”

A wall of flesh materialized, encompassing everyone except Ferdows and those who had
served under Kaikhosru as soldiers. They were summoned into the airspace, totaling no
less than 100,000. Each of them had mastered advanced combat techniques and were
frenzied, willing to self-harm due to their Tentsui-induced state. They fused together,
forming a colossal Titan that obeyed Nahid's commands, wreaking havoc at her will.

With a roar of anguish, the Titan swung a fist capable of toppling mountains, but Magsarion
deflected it with a single strike. He not only cleaved through the Titan with ease but also
retaliated by piercing a large hole in its chest with his sword.

'They have already seen us; it's no big deal.' Undeterred by the sight that would crush an
ordinary person's heart, he turned each Titan into a mere backdrop for his lethal
swordplay.
He hadn't been idle during the past three months. He had anticipated a major upheaval on
the day of the signing ceremony. Thus, an enemy of this magnitude was nothing more than a
stroke of luck. It may have only bought him a dozen seconds, but that was ample time for
Nahid.

'This will be troublesome the first time around.’

The capturing technique in her second move was similar to the first, but the depth of
concentration was different. The number and strength of the Star Spirits bound together
had reached a whole new level. As Magsarion approached, a prayer of terrifying intensity
unfolded.

"Multiply by two hundred million," Nahid chanted.

This power surpassed the restraints he had experienced earlier by 200 million times. The
pressure exerted on his body was so immense that an ordinary person would have been
crushed by the mere aura of the area. But the onslaught wasn't over yet.

"Flash!"

Magsarion's chest was effortlessly impaled by the magic sword. Ironically, it was the same
kind of power he possessed that had pierced his invincible body, which was impervious to
normal attacks.

This was the ability to exploit weaknesses, multiplying and amplifying the spiritual vision
inherent to the winged species-type Star Spirits. It forced fragile elements to manifest in
Magsarion's seemingly impenetrable form. This was the result of Nahid's relentless
"observation" of her brother-in-law.

'I'm not sure how much of this is because he is Magsarion, but it's quite remarkable.'

Therefore, even Magsarion couldn't escape sustaining significant damage. He had never
fought an opponent who knew him so intimately. If the unbreakable rule of victory was to
read without being read, then Nahid was undoubtedly the most challenging adversary. She
knew truths that not even Magsarion himself was aware of. She knew about Magsarion's
birth, of course, but she also understood the source of his anger— his deep-rooted aversion
to his sister-in-law.

"You claim I am happy," Nahid remarked with a compassionate gaze directed at the black
knight crucified in the air. "Yes, I am genuinely happy. I am conversing with my beloved
brother-in-law. But it saddens me when he treats me so disdainfully. If you cannot wait
patiently, I will grant you eternal slumber in a timeless realm. I can even sing you a lullaby if
you so desire."

"Disgusting," Magsarion spat, refusing her offer as he expelled a mouthful of blood.

He was not a man to sheathe his sword and retreat, no matter how dire the circumstances.

"Your songs make me sick."

"Oh, I wonder why?"

Nahid feigned surprise, amusement twinkling in her eyes. This was the crux of Magsarion's
animosity towards her. While still in her mother's womb, Magsarion had been subjected to
lullabies. He had no recollection of that time, but a lingering discomfort remained.

His mother, Quinn, would not have intended to torment her child. Yet, Nahid taught her the
songs. No, to be precise, Nahid bore no ill will either. She simply followed the script as
instructed.

"My brother deemed this child cursed, so I presented him with a gift to make him 'become'
a cursed child. In other words, I am akin to his mother. Ha-ha-ha."

The root cause was Ahura Mazda, Quinn as the physical mother, and to top it off, Nahid had
placed a curse upon him. It was a feeling of unease that Magsarion could never shake, a
sensation that the world was a twisted place, befitting a demon's child.

"So I was curious to see what kind of sword you would become. I won't go so far as to claim
it was solely due to my influence, but I am eager to witness the butterfly effect caused by
the stone I cast. Now, show me. Unleash your fury. Don't hesitate to indulge your mama,
alright? Be as fierce and untamed as you wish, and when exhaustion claims you, rest upon
my bosom. I shall cradle you tenderly."

"You— " Magsarion's furious voice, attempting to sever his sister-in-law's delusion, failed to
reach her.

It wasn't because he was silenced; rather, another voice interjected.

"That's enough, Nahid."

The wind carried the intervention of her brother. Sirius had arrived.

◇◇◇◇◇

The initial script handed to me consisted of nothing more than a blank sheet of paper, but I
didn't hesitate.

I perceived it not as an invitation to freedom, but rather as an instruction to embody

complete emptiness. It suggested that we were meant to perish, yet if this attribute was
bestowed upon us at birth, it could be deemed instinctive.
Similar to a fish that doesn't bemoan its inability to traverse land, we grow up devoid of any
philosophy about our true selves.

After a year, I managed to stand on my own.

After three years, I consumed the same sustenance as adults.

After five years, after seven years, and so on, I physically transformed into a reasonable
young girl, yet my silence persisted.

Even my countenance remained motionless, almost frozen. The people around me treated
me with politeness but refrained from unnecessary interference. On the contrary, I sensed
an implicit expectation to remain unchanged. Consequently, the days should have passed
without alteration, save for one exception.

The boy who always tended to my unresponsiveness, grasped my hand, and cared for me
persistently. The presence of this older brother, a constant companion since my birth,
gradually transformed her. I began perceiving him as a nuisance. I even entertained
thoughts of retaliating against him.

Whether it stemmed from my personal resentment or the script, I cannot ascertain.

Nevertheless, I believed that the status quo would lead to complications, prompting me to
decide to break my brother's heart.

I ignored him more thoroughly than ever before, making it evident that I had no use for
him. Realizing that my brother's demeanor remained unchanged and that there seemed to
be no way out, I attempted a different approach. I endeavored to engage a passerby in
conversation, a few words exchanged. In the presence of my brother, I staunchly maintained
silence, but to a stranger, I acted as if I was open to their interaction.

I anticipated that this would make my brother feel rejected and experience a sense of
helplessness, if not sudden frustration. Yet, upon hearing the rumors, my brother became
increasingly excited. He even claimed that I was on the verge of achieving something
remarkable and was determined to push me further.

What foolishness, what an unfathomable being, what an incomprehensible way of existing

that even terrified me. Or was it I who had succumbed to madness by perceiving it in such a
manner?

I do not know. I cannot discern who is sane— my brother or myself.

I grew weary and exhausted from this torment. I even began to fear that my brother would
harm me if I didn't take action. Finally, the fateful day arrived.

The moment I laid eyes on him, I realized that he was nothing like me. I couldn't quite
articulate it, but I immediately comprehended his intentions. Across the expanse between
the arena stage and the audience, the two shared a mutual understanding, transcending
words and thoughts, and forged an unspoken contract.

"I will do what you couldn't. This is a match. Do you have any objections?"
"No, none whatsoever. If you can conquer my sister, I will accept defeat. If you succeed, let it
be known."

In an exchange that surpassed sensory perception, devoid of both words and thoughts, the
enigmatic boy bestowed upon me an inscrutable smile.

"I shall say nothing. I will simply let you proceed. From this point on, you are on your own."

And so it unfolded. My brother was struck down by the enigmatic boy, and simultaneously,
something vital was lost. The threat that had held me captive all this time vanished, and
without realizing it, I muttered to myself, "Sirius, my brother...." This marked the first time I
acknowledged my brother's name. Simultaneously, I acquired a deeper understanding of
myself, transitioning from an empty vessel to an individual named Nahid.

This outcome was a consequence of Sirius collapsing to the ground, a sign that the script
imposed upon him had dissipated. More precisely, I intuited that it had been forcibly taken
away. A world expanding through a chain reaction, a heart bursting with revelation. When
Varhran wrested away the role of the hero, where the collective prayers of 'everyone'
converged, he inadvertently learned the form and significance of his loss.

Everything converged into my heart, which had strived to remain pure and unblemished,
refraining from any written script.

The truth of this world. Why was I chosen to receive divine revelation? And what about my
brother terrified me?

The answer was surprisingly simple.

In the realm of absolutes, it is irrational to persist in obsessing over a sister who could be
deemed a simpleton. If you are part of a family that stands at the core of the conflict
between good and evil, your sole focus should be attaining victory. It is normal to cast aside
relatives who serve no purpose in the war, preparing the environment accordingly. This
choice represents the prescribed "good deed," a natural thought process. But Sirius was
different.
With his narrow-mindedness and limited perspective, he blindly questioned, "What good
am I if I cannot even make my little sister smile?"

It was as if he weighed the entire world and his sister on the same scale. It was as if he
sought to transform a worthless puppet show into a genuine, spine-chilling drama. In a
world where everything is full of fiction, only the elder brother is a "real" person.

He thought for himself, made his own choices, and lived according to his values. He aspired
to create a future devoid of tears, cherishing the purity of the ignorant, the unenlightened,
and the clichéd. He didn't merely play with words; he embodied a kindness that would
remain unwavering, a sincerity that would never falter.
It must have resembled a slowly encroaching malady to others. Its subtlety made it difficult
to recognize, causing those around him to be unaware or inadvertently overlook it. And
when its effects spread, it became a dreaded form of heresy— the most feared kind.

Therefore, I became convinced that I was chosen to represent him. In order to impede my
brother's perilous growth, 'everyone' must have collectively decided that suppressing the
first step would prevent its furtherance.

As a result, despite some discrepancies, the objective was accomplished. The siblings,
defeated in their match and stripped of what could be considered their core, were reborn at
that very moment. If that is the case, then they must give birth to a new existence. They
were now acquainted with the world, aware of themselves, and compelled to take the stage
with empty hands, much like everyone else.

However, Nahid found herself perplexed, unable to discern a clear path ahead. Since losing
her position and the cessation of prayers from ‘everyone,’ she struggled to find balance in
her actions.

What role was she expected to fulfill?

What script was she meant to follow?

Lost in her contemplations, a beam of light pierced through the haze, bringing forth
laughter.
Her brother, stripped of his most cherished possession, spun in carefree delight, showing
no hint of shame as he openly admitted his defeat. He may be oblivious or disconnected, but
there was an undeniable sense of innocence about him. He remained blissfully unaware of
the gravity of the situation, content in his own misinterpreted way.

"You were robbed. You are no longer 'real' and have been tainted by the puppets," a voice
echoed within her.

"Why, then, is this man capable of laughing alongside the usurper? It's as if they are simply
borrowing and lending toys. Perhaps he unconsciously revels in the possibility of such a
spectacle arising again at any moment."

It was staggering. He embodied a profound foolishness at his very core, yet it was precisely
this unwavering sincerity that captivated Nahid. His directness was so striking that she
couldn't help but envy him.

The dream he envisioned began to fill the void in Nahid's heart— a script titled "legend," a
grand circle known as the "ideal." It conveyed to them how they should live their lives.

"Dear brother..." Nahid whispered, placing her hand upon her chest.

This time, she consciously smiled at the dawning shape of the future. As a devoted sister. As
a maiden enamored with a brave hero. With an innocent voice, she sang, seeking to perform
a miracle just as her brother desired. The applause and cheers cascaded like a wave, a chain
reaction of joy.

Amidst the flawless celebration, Nahid realized, "This script is bound to unravel sooner or
later."

She refused to underestimate her brother's idiosyncrasies, but Varhran was an enigma
beyond her grasp. No matter the circumstances, Sirius, stripped of his love, would
inevitably endure suffering and distort. She was acutely aware that a tempest loomed on
the horizon, threatening to engulf them like fleeting specks of dust. She foresaw a fate of
being cast into the desolate wilderness, tethered to a flawed and inadequate hero. Hence,
this marked the inception of their demise.

Ultimately, it was Varhran who supplanted her elder brother as the destroyer, steering their
ship toward an even more perilous course. Nahid, originally aligned with the side of white,
felt a sense of trepidation as she sensed the ominous path they traversed. The thought of
being discarded as inconsequential at the conclusion of their world-shattering performance
filled her with dread.

However, it mattered not.

Nahid no longer belonged to ‘everyone’ but to her brother. She would do anything he asked
of her, for she knew he would guide her.

No matter the pain, he would rise again.

"Because you, you are the one..." Nahid's voice trailed off, her eyes filled with unwavering
faith.

"My own, my own savior."

I will always remember that you had held my hand throughout. I will forever follow my
brother's lead, placing my trust in his unwavering support.

◇◇◇◇◇

"We have awaited your arrival, my brother. Together, let us forge a new Varhran," his sister
declared, her face brimming with audacity as she once again broached the topic of adultery.

Sirius dismissed her proposition with a shake of his head. "I've had my fill of such talk.”

“Tell me instead, in intricate detail, what kind of flawed script you intend to create."

Nahid, undeterred by his response, wore a smile and urged him further. It was a natural
reaction for her. She was merely a actor, assuming whatever role was assigned to her.
Unattached to any particular allegiance, she could seamlessly switch scripts without
remorse.

"If shamelessness is not your desire, then what is? Surely you are aware of Varhran's
transgressions against you."

"I was oblivious to it myself," he admitted. "But given the evidence, there can be no doubt."

"Hmm, yet you do not seem angered. If you realize that your fixation on him stems from the
treasure he took from you, then your heart should be filled with hatred."

"I am angry. However, my anger stems from my own blindness to his true intentions and my
failure to understand him."

"So even after all this time, you still consider Varhran a friend?"

"Of course. If given the chance, I would inquire about his actions, and if necessary, I would
confront him and extend my aid."

"My goodness," she remarked, unfazed by his response.

Her tone grew more animated, prompting her to ask further questions.

"But since you claim to have had enough of him, I assume your top priority is not settling
scores with Varhran, is it? If that's the case, what is your current foremost objective?"

"Before you answer, allow me to ask you one thing: release Magsarion," Sirius interjected,
stalling his reply and demanding the liberation of the black knight.

"Even you have qualms with him," he continued. "Do not waste your time."

"Understood, brother," Nahid complied with utmost simplicity.

She withdrew the magical sword embedded in her brother-in-law's chest, and in a puff of
smoke, the restraints dissipated. Magsarion, now freed, observed the proceedings silently.
He likely harbored his own thoughts regarding the exchange between the two siblings.
Tension lingered in the air, but it was Nahid who broke the silence, seemingly unfazed... as if
she didn't care.

"Allow me to proceed with my question," she stated. "If you intend to set Varhran aside for
now, do you wish to address the entanglements of the world? Perhaps challenge Nadare or
acquiring the Divine Sword?"

"Futile endeavors.”

"Then do you desire an abrupt withdrawal?"

"No, that is not my intention either."

"Yet you proclaim that the world is rife with flaws?"

"Yes, but there is something more important than that."

He pushed back against every proposed solution, leaving Nahid visibly perplexed.

"I fail to comprehend. Please speak plainly, brother. I shall do as you wish."

In that moment, the elder brother's response surely caught his younger sister off guard.

"I intend to bring genuine laughter to you, Nahid."

It marked the inception of the ideal he sought— a pristine dream he held dear since
childhood.

"An older brother who can't make even one sister smile can't possibly change the
world. I remembered the man I once was who believed that, and that was the beginning of
Sirius. I believe that everything has become distorted because I lived in error without
fulfilling this belief. Then, let's go back to the starting point. Otherwise, we cannot and
should not move forward.”

If they were to confront Varhran and the world, it would have to occur later. Sirius, innately
clumsy, lacked the grand vision required to suddenly sketch a grandiose masterpiece. He
knew only how to tackle small problems one by one, accumulating modest moments of
happiness. It might be considered an unimpressive way of life, slow as a tortoise compared
to those who danced among the heavens. Yet, he couldn't delude themselves into believing
it wasn't real.

Nahid's exclamation served as proof, a testament to her brother's strength. Within his
perceived foolishness, in a universe where life flickered transiently, Sirius's kindness shone
through, unwavering amidst shifting values. His simple and humble prayer, akin to offering
a piece of bread to a hungry child, embodied an immutable good.

"Just love your neighbor before you, extend a helping hand to those in suffering," he
believed.

It was only that, and yet no one but him could put it into practice even after all this time.

"I yearned to wipe away all tears, yet failed to alleviate the sorrows in the hearts of men.
The heart is precious, and restricting it would render us nothing more than puppets.
Observing you, I am reminded of this truth. If you are sad, mourn; if you are angry, be angry.
But do not drown in tears and blood."

Sirius firmly believed that as long as one harbored unwavering warmth within their heart,
they could withstand any darkness and stand tall. It was merely a fleeting moment of
happiness in an ordinary day— a blue sky, a refreshing breeze, memories of chasing
sunsets with friends, the vivacity and warmth of a dinner table. Sirius wished for Nahid to
comprehend the significance of these simple joys. Even though Nahid had grown weary of
Sirius, the reality remained that she only placed her trust in the one who presented her
with the script.

As long as she remained trapped in the karmic cycle of being enslaved to the script, she
would remain ignorant of the happiness Sirius described. She didn't even know what it
meant to be siblings. Therefore, Sirius had but one wish in that moment.

"Speak your mind, Nahid. Let us be frank with one another, annoy each other, and if need
be, let us fight. What is an elder brother and a younger sister without experiencing such
natural occurrences?"

In response to Sirius's candid request, Magsarion, with his fierce pragmatism, could only
manage a wry smile.
In a way, he resembled Sirius— an individual who lacked a broad perspective and sought to
accomplish things through short-sighted actions. Thus, Sirius understood why Magsarion
laughed.

"I know what you mean, Magsarion. I am far too tainted to discuss ideals. I have traversed
countless lives and must atone for my days of obscurity."

He urged Magsarion to slay them, as they had promised each other. Varhran held everyone
under his grasp, especially Sirius, who stood closest to him but could neither comprehend
nor halt his actions. Sirius blindly celebrated him, inadvertently leading him astray. As
someone who called himself a friend, his inadequacy undeniably constituted a sin. Merely
awakening to his flaws did not absolve him of his past deeds; the time for reckoning had
arrived.

Magsarion possessed the right to wield the blade of absolution, and Sirius knew this, faintly
smiling.

"I shall confront you head-on. If I fall in the process, I will accept it as fate."

Then, after a brief pause, he continued, his face bashful.

"May I place my hope in you? I do not wish to burden you with carrying on my dream. I only
want you to convey to Varhran that, despite everything that has transpired, it has not been
in vain."

"I truly did not anticipate... that you were the one," Nahid exclaimed, dismayed. "Be selfish?
Let us fight? Yes, I will comply, but it is an arduous request. The directive to be selfish is
somewhat paradoxical."

"I understand. However, do not concern yourself with that. I pledge never to miss a moment
when you genuinely smile."
"Because I am your sister?"

"Precisely."

The magic sword encircled Nahid like a satellite, and from the air, a bulb-like object
materialized, sprouting branches and leaves in a breathtaking display of rapid growth. Its
purpose remained unclear, but one thing was certain— the formidable powers residing in
Aka Manah were far from extinguished.

"Let us astonish him, the observer from afar, as the ones who have been swept away by
Varhran.”

Both Sirius and Magsarion stepped forward, joining Nahid in her chant. If the current
situation marked the end envisioned by the hero, they would transcend it.
That was the sole truth to which all three of them wholeheartedly committed themselves.

9
It felt as though every ounce of blood coursing through his veins had transformed into a
frozen aphrodisiac needle. The sensations, both cold and scorching, were obscenely
intoxicating, causing his spirit to sink and soar in a twisted dance. He was acutely aware of
his descent into madness, yet even in the midst of it, laughter escaped his lips, devoid of any
semblance of decency.

He became a beast unleashed, charging in every direction, his explosive impulses surging
through his limbs. Stripped of pride and bereft of dreams, he possessed only the ingrained
techniques of destruction— a duality of depravity and salvation. How invigorating it was to
be engulfed in the exhilarating bliss of liberation, to cry out and run as if it were his very
purpose.

"I have suffered. I have languished for so long. I've squirmed in this state, yet hidden within
was a perverse delight," he mused, grappling with his own inner turmoil.

What a wretched creature he had become.

Such shameful acts, the self-loathing he felt grew so immense that it transformed into a
sickening sweetness, an addiction he couldn't bear to live without. He realized he couldn't
bear to inflict pain upon himself or taste the lifeblood pulsing through his veins.

Oh, what a height of folly. He was a piece of trash so shallow and repulsive that he wanted to
shield his eyes, an existence that seemed to be a cruel mistake. The present, where it was
deemed acceptable to be such, was undoubtedly a blessing. He firmly believed, without a
shred of doubt, that it would be best to embrace his hideousness until the end of his days,
and meet the most agonizing demise.
"Therefore, I implore you. I fervently prayed to be released as I am," he pleaded.

With 28 victories, 27 defeats, and 34 draws, the numbers echoed in his mind.

Thirty-four draws.

Was that right?

But a familiar voice, incomprehensible yet strangely familiar, shattered his sense of ease.
Like water poured over his head, it pulled him back to reality, eliciting an involuntary
reaction within him.

"Wait a minute. Don't attempt to manipulate the numbers in this confusion. I may not care
about the draws, but the distribution of wins and losses is all over the place. I may
understand your confidence in mathematics and memory, but don't casually distort the
facts. Are you trying to deceive me, assuming I won't answer your questions correctly? Or
are you truly an incomprehensible fool?"

Yet, in the very moment he was about to unleash his fury, his reddened, clouded vision
effortlessly cleared. For the first time, he truly saw her. Not only was she looking down
upon him, but she even saw herself from a bird's-eye view. The first step was to assess the
situation objectively.

"Ah, I see..." he muttered, falling right into the trap.

The moment one encountered the same situation for the first time, the outcome always
seemed remarkable. This understanding led to another, and he arrived at an answer.

This must be what it meant to be a contender for the Nadare throne.

Everything would never go as he desired, destined to be beaten down due to his

incompetence until the end of time. Gradually, anger and despair faded, leaving behind an
unfathomable weariness and a sense of alienation in human form. Undoubtedly, he was
spiraling down this path. The fact that he had just missed the salvation of losing his
rationality was a testament to that, and he naturally felt regret deep within. Yet, something
stirred within him.

He sensed that he had been given a final chance. His body still pulsed with frenzied energy.
As a fallen individual, he seethed with hostility, baring his fangs ferociously.

"I know who I am," he declared.

Trivial obsessions about past victories and losses resurfaced, rousing Ferdows from his
stupor.

"I still believe I'm worthless. It's an unshakable truth that I indulged in self-flagellation,
escaping the weight of guilt and helplessness. I can see now how that insidious cowardice
has led me to this point."

In essence, he knew he deserved everything that had befallen him and that his actions had
caused harm to those around him. It was time to do what was right.

"I will end you gently," he vowed.

He couldn't allow her to shoulder such a burden.

"You... you idiot, look at yourself," she said, her tone betraying a resolute facade. But in
reality, she was a mess of tears.
For heaven's sake, she should retain her composure. It was acceptable for him to meet the
worst possible fate. But he couldn't bear the thought of her suffering. If he continued on this
path, he would undoubtedly become a Nadare. Yet Quinn desired to change his destiny, so
she resolved to kill him.

Yes, Ferdows didn't desire to rise to the top of darkness either. However, he also couldn't
bear to lose a fellow comrade with whom he had fought alongside against this absurd
universe for so long.

He would determine his own fate.

He acknowledged his incompetence.

He couldn't guarantee that everything would turn out fine, but he firmly vowed not to stain
her hands.

Thus, she should not be disheartened. For Quinn, another battlefield awaited, one where
the true enemy would be confronted. She should conserve her strength for the forthcoming
moment, and he felt she should refrain from interfering with him in any way.

This was his critical moment.

He harbored aspirations beyond his own existence, and this was the ultimate battle to
ascertain whether he could fulfill the smallest yet most significant flame of determination
that had always burned within him.

"I want to become a hero. I yearn to be formidable," he admitted, his core desire still aflame.
"I will not concede this battle."

Quinn and Magsarion, he urged them to observe. He would support their advancement, and
they should be grateful.

"Hey, Ashenka, don't you feel the same way?" he spoke, addressing the absent other, sensing
a connection between their intertwined fates.

She, too, continued to fight, refusing to yield. Even though it seemed like a fleeting flicker in
the wind, she still awaited the moment of recovery. In that case, they should synchronize
their breaths and face the situation together.

Ferdows quietly conveyed the essence of the plan to her. In a few moments, it would be
Saturday.

Let us rewrite our destiny through this.

For the ability to manifest on that day…

◇◇◇◇◇

“Be in bloom…”

A delicate blush-colored breeze waltzed in harmony with the enchanting chant. Suddenly,
countless cherry blossom petals, each no larger than an island, materialized in the tens of
billions, painting the sky in a mesmerizing display. But this was no act of aggression; it was
a benevolent gesture from Nahid.

Understanding the plight of Sirius and Magsarion, whose Star Spirit blessings were sealed,
she sought to provide them with a footing. Engaging in aerial combat without their Star
Spirit's support would prove arduous, if not impossible. Aware of the overwhelming burden
they would face against Nahid, she chose to bridge the gap, embracing a sense of fairness
and familial connection.

Sirius and Magsarion, acknowledging the offering, received it with no trace of animosity.
They channeled their entire beings into their swords, fearlessly traversing the delicate
petals. Their unwavering focus allowed them to disregard the eerie resemblance between
the blossoms and Mashyana's celestial form. Knowing Nahid's power to replicate such a
likeness with ease, they remained undeterred. And so, the three interconnected.

The baton of battle was passed to Magsarion, who seized the moment with determination.
In a flash, Aka Manah intercepted the inky streak hurtling towards the side of his head.
Nahid, not wielding the magic sword physically but levitating it with her powers, evaded
any disadvantage stemming from size or physical strength. Her authority and unrivaled
spiritual prowess served as her weapons and armor. But Nahid was not a frail damsel in
distress.

There was nothing Sirius would consider "legendary" about a being with such
vulnerabilities, and that sentiment remained unaltered. Despite her disqualification, she
embodied the vessel of a hero, capable of fulfilling any role demanded of her. With gentle
grace, Nahid's slender finger grazed Magsarion's hand, as if offering guidance on proper
social decorum. In an instant, his towering figure, encased in armor, was sent spinning
sideways. It was akin to a powerful kick striking him, yet Nahid effortlessly achieved this
with just one hand, without exerting excessive force. The incredible feat resembled an air
throw, a display of unimaginable martial skill.

Caught off guard, Magsarion tumbled towards the flower-laden ground, the magic sword
hurtling towards him. But Sirius swiftly deflected it, saving his brother-in-law's life in the
nick of time. Yet, there was no gratitude to be found in Magsarion's heart.

His dark silhouette brimmed with fury as he lunged at Sirius, slashing with a vengeful
intent. The men narrowly evaded the attack, but Aka Manah pursued, slithering through the
air like a serpent. Interceptions, evasions, counterattacks, and defenses ensued, interwoven
with repeated interventions and obstructions. Three-way battles often succumb to
stalemate, the result of a delicate balance after each participant makes their move.
However, this conflict possessed a distinct quality. There was no room for calculated
strategies, no space for clever calculations.

Each side unleashed their utmost, engendering a relentless confrontation. Yet, their tactical
objectives were far from uniform. Although they had agreed to cross swords, victory held
distinct meanings for each combatant.

Magsarion had resolved to eliminate his sister-in-law and brother-in-law. Death stood as
the sole resolution to the twenty-year-long tragedy, no other alternative held sway in his
mind. The annihilation of the rotten world, the pursuit of efficiency— these were his
foremost concerns. As he had informed Kaikhosru, killing one another would expedite the
decision-making process, the swiftest path towards achieving his desired outcome. To him,
it was merely logical and efficient, rendering words inconsequential in the face of
disagreement.

On the contrary, Sirius endeavored to maintain control without resorting to fatal force.
Despite the gravity of the situation, he remained remarkably magnanimous, refusing to
sacrifice any more lives. In the wake of countless losses in the past, he harbored no
intention of abandoning even the smallest blossom strewn along his path. His convictions
remained unwavering, resolute in the truth he had rediscovered. Sirius aimed to embody
the path of salvation, walking the hegemony in pursuit of his ideals.

Nahid's focus rested solely on her brother's contentment. While instructed to live as she
desired, she found herself unwilling to comply. It was clear that she did not possess
virtuous tendencies. From her perspective, deviating from the script equated to breaking a
Commandment. She yearned to discover her true identity as an individual, distinct from her
role as an actor. Though she could have accomplished this at the request of others, doing so
voluntarily posed a formidable challenge.

"I am uncertain of how to convey my sincerity, but my priority now is to eliminate

Magsarion.”

The presence of a third party hindered her ability to confront her brother directly. She
understood Sirius' desire to resolve matters without bloodshed, yet she deemed it "selfish"
to request a moment alone with him.

Was this argument dictated by the script or Nahid's personal will?

The answer eluded her, but it remained her course of action nonetheless. Such was the state
of affairs, a summary of the current predicament. The outlier in this intricate web was
Sirius.

He stood alone in his abhorrence of bloodshed, his mentality far from exclusive even amidst
battle. Consequently, the script began to revolve around him as a matter of course.
With determined strides, he moved as if attempting to seize a fleeting blade, his strike
finding its mark on Magsarion's abdomen. Simultaneously, a shockwave expelled him
backward. The initial maneuver lacked a raised blade, while the subsequent attack struck
with the force of the air. Both techniques defied mortality, yet infringed upon the
Commandments of the magician clad in black, hellbent on the path to hell. Nevertheless, no
celestial punishment descended upon them.

Sirius had surpassed such trifles, superseding the established law with his own radiant
emanation. Within this triad, the Commandments lost their significance. Sirius' choice
directly led to the dissolution of Nahid and Magsarion's bindings, but the objective
extended beyond their liberation.
This was Moksha— Moksha as a actor, Moksha as a demon child.

Sirius sought to cleanse them all, guiding them towards a new world. Within a realm
governed by incessant bloodshed, his beliefs presented a rational foundation, transcending
the need for violence. If this trajectory persisted, the weapon of Commandments would
vanish. Nahid would inevitably lose control of her Aka Manah, and Magsarion would
relinquish the lethal edge of his sword. No alternative surpassed the ability to orchestrate
the scene without the spilling of blood. Sirius, his mind clear and unclouded, channeled his
thoughts into the brilliance of his blade and surged forward.

"Artal, Rostam, Rashnu, Elam, Isfan, Zayd, Azraeel..." he murmured, the names flowing from
his lips like a prayer.

Each name represented someone who had shared his dream, comrades who had departed
from his side. He never forgot their weighty presence, nor the preciousness of their cause.

"The days when hope pulsed in our hearts, propelling us towards a world where tears
would be no more... I cannot forget those days, and I refuse to let them fade, even in the
depths of despair.”

It transcended the Holy King's Commandment that dictated the hearts of all. Those
bindings applied only to the living.

"Lavan, Gyral, Cayumarus, Durg, Burhan, and Qorain…”

“In the past, such sentiments were dismissed as weakness— a source of shame and
self-reproach. Trapped in the relentless struggle of a callous world, I yearned to sever ties
with the past, to abandon myself to shame and unscrupulousness. But now, everything has
changed. I cannot discard what I hold dear. I take pride in my unwavering dedication,
unable to let even the smallest fragment of memory slip away."

"Quinn, my wife... I am proud to say that I love them with all my heart. My inadequacy in
accepting the loss of the departed, my inability to cope with tragedies of any scale,
regardless of the detours required— I refuse to believe that these qualities are in vain. They
hold meaning."

"I am a simple man, devoid of any extraordinary power, and that is perfectly fine," Sirius
affirmed.

"There are things that can only be accomplished in this manner."

The manifestation of such a foolish sentiment began to weave a miracle in that very
moment.

"Brother..."
Nahid was quick to grasp the unfolding phenomenon, a spectacle that left her questioning
its reality. It was not a force destined to bring about destruction, but a breathtaking sight
that resonated deep within her soul. The transformation she witnessed was nothing short
of astonishing.

"Your expression..." she began, struggling to find the right words.

Sirius, who should have aged to the point where one would find it hard to believe he was
forty years old, now radiated with the vibrant freshness of youth. His once weathered
appearance had given way to the innocence and purity of a young boy, his eyes brimming
with untainted purity.

In essence, Sirius had been rejuvenated, but two doubts lingered in Nahid's mind.

First, it contradicted the aesthetic of despising immortality. The collective nature of their
race relied on the cohesion brought about by their shared lifespan. It could be seen as a
consequence of being bound by identities that were merely opposing colors, regardless of
the pretenses of righteousness or wickedness. In that sense, there was no fundamental
distinction between darkness and light. Therefore, it was not surprising that Sirius had
entered a realm that deviated from their old values.

The issue lay in the fact that cleanliness was highly regarded among their kind. Life
sparkled most brightly when one cherished its fleeting nature, burning their souls in each
passing moment. Nahid found herself perplexed by the realization that the brother she once
knew was a man who earnestly worshipped such ideals. However, Sirius had not
abandoned his principles. It wasn't a physical transformation that made him appear
youthful.

"I have something I want to share with you, Nahid," Sirius expressed, his voice carrying a
tender earnestness.
"The blue of the sky, the refreshing touch of the wind, the memories of chasing sunsets with
friends, the warmth and liveliness of the dinner table... I want to protect the mundane, the
ordinary. If you're not aware of it, allow me to gift it to you."

That was the sole aspiration he sought to achieve, and his exposed soul took on this
youthful form. It was only natural for a boy's dream, a prayer that revered the simple and
seemingly insignificant happiness, to embody youth and purity.

"We all age and decay, but we are not illusions confined to that end," Sirius proclaimed,
embodying this concept.

In the end, anyone who encountered him would be drawn back to their childhood,
resurfacing long-lost memories and emotions. Even Nahid was no exception.
"You truly are..."

“A faint tingle coursed through me," Nahid confessed, reminiscent of the emotions she once
felt when following the world's prescribed script.

"You infuriate me!"

Several seconds had already passed since Nahid had intruded upon his kill zone. If Sirius
had wished it, she would have been struck down by now. But he detested the notion of not
even receiving a single sword strike or the slightest touch. Nahid was also frustrated that
she almost admonished him for his intentions while claiming her desire to fight. She
immediately understood why.

"Is it because you're my brother? Because you're the older one? Are you prepared to
tolerate all of your sister's selfishness? Very well, I'll indulge you as you wish. Don't expect
me to hold back.”

In response to her words, she leapt backward as a torrent of radiant beams erupted from
her roaring Aka Manah. Each beam possessed the formidable power of a Star Spirit, their
strength unpredictable, their trajectory unknowable. There was no means to preemptively
discern their might or devise a countermeasure. Intercepting them was futile, and avoiding
them entirely was impossible.

Indeed, the first beam pierced through Sirius' sword and struck his shoulder, resulting in a
supernova-like explosion with limited reach.

The second beam condensed into a poisonous gas, creating a lethal fog of utmost toxicity.

The third beam transformed into molten heavy metals, scorching at temperatures reaching
tens of millions of degrees.

The fourth beam unleashed a torrent of electromagnetic waves, disintegrating cellular

structures.

And the onslaught continued without respite, countless forms of annihilation hurled
toward a solitary man.

It was inconceivable that he would emerge unscathed. He had been faced with Nahid's full
power, and his destruction, leaving no trace behind, seemed inevitable. Yet, Nahid's reaction
was peculiar. Her outstretched hand trembled in the air, her countenance filled with fear,
resembling a lost child.

“Oh…”
"The most crucial lesson to learn is that the true measure of a life well-lived lies in
cherishing its goodness," Sirius responded to his sister's confusion with unwavering
resolve.

"Fear not, for this is insufficient to end my existence."

As the tempest of bullets dissipated, Sirius materialized, appearing as if he had been

wounded to the very core. It was nearly impossible to believe he still stood, for his current
state left no doubt about his inability to spout fearless lines.

His entire being was drenched in crimson, his torso and limbs punctured by innumerable
holes caused by the relentless assault. He stood, teetering on the precipice of collapse, yet
there was no trace of sorrow upon his blood-stained face. Instead, a resplendent audacity
radiated from him, akin to a slender young man brimming with the vitality unique to the
youth.

The unsettling smile on Sirius' face sent a shiver down Nahid's spine, filling her chest with
an inexplicable sense of disgust. She couldn't fathom the reason behind her growing
unease.
"I didn't do it. I wasn't told to," Nahid stammered, her words barely coherent in her
confusion.

"Watch, Nahid. I will unleash you," Sirius responded, his voice carrying an air of ominous
anticipation.

"No, that's not what I mean... Oh my God, what is happening?" Nahid cried out, her voice
tinged with fear and bewilderment.

In response to her screams, Aka Manah surged with even greater power. The magical sword
slashed through the fabric of galaxies with a wild and unrestrained momentum, its
horizontal arc carrying a sense of raw ferocity. Nahid, who had been vehemently
proclaiming her intent to cleave her brother in half, now looked relieved to see that he had
withstood the blow as he had declared. But there was an inexplicable incoherence clouding
her mind, preventing her from rectifying her conflicting emotions.
"Something is wrong with me," Nahid thought, her hand absentmindedly scratching her
head as she questioned her own sanity.

Her mind was filled with noise, and she felt adrift, unable to follow the prescribed script of
her role, her sense of self wavering. Yet, despite her confusion, the onslaught of attacks
continued unabated. The blade of Aka Manah transformed into a spinning saw, its teeth
resembling those of a voracious shark, slicing through the air with blinding speed.
Unavoidably, Sirius' flesh was gouged, and the surroundings were stained with ghastly
crimson spots.

"The 'big brother' wants to bring happiness to me. He won't abandon his poor little sister
but lead her into a new world, right?"

Nahid heard a furious voice, soaked in her brother's blood, but she hadn't yet realized that
the voice was her own.

"Yes, it's admirable. It brings tears to my eyes," Sirius replied, his voice calm and resolute.

"I'm sure it's a place where things are ordinary but warm, a place where mistakes can be
made and rectified. Perhaps it might even be boring, but a place where one can stand tall. I
know your preferences well, so I understand how a small love can become everlasting."

"But— " Nahid murmured, shaking her head in vehement rejection.

"Don't save me only to be someone else's savior, and then someone else's after that. Don't
let it become part of the 'everyone' at the end," she continued, her words pouring out in a
desperate plea. "I despise that endless cycle!"

These words revealed the depths of her heart, the sliver of her true self fighting against the
constraints of the script. It was a cry of her soul, a plea that went beyond the understanding
of her character.

To Varhran, she had once asked what her happiness looked like, unaware at the time that it
was the voice of her essence seeking salvation amidst the chaos. But now, in her fervent
desire to claim her brother's undivided attention, she found herself resorting to a childish
form of possessiveness, far removed from her usual composed demeanor.

"I was the very first person brother extended his hand to. I hold the position of the
beginning, the origin. Not Vahran, not 'Quinn,' not our father, not our mother, but me! I am
brother's sole and irreplaceable companion! I refuse to be cast aside as if I were a mere
obligation, fulfilled and discarded. I won't permit him to wander elsewhere. I would
willingly remain bound eternally rather than be lost amidst the multitude just to please
you. I won't relinquish my hold. I won't allow you to mock me!"

“I see. I understand what you mean Nahid.”

Nahid's eyes widened, comprehension dawning as she heard her brother's subdued voice.
In that moment, she finally grasped the identity of the one delivering the fervent soliloquy.

‘I yearned for my brother's undivided attention,’ she realized with startling clarity. ‘No
matter the circumstances, I refused to bestow upon him a mere smile, perpetuating an
endless cycle of trial and error. For as long as I held onto that role, he would become my
own savior, my own guiding light in this tumultuous world.’

To call it childish monopoly would be an understatement, but it was a startling change in

light of Nahid's origins. It is exactly the kind of selfishness that is common among younger
sisters who have no clue what they are talking about. From her perspective, Sirius was
simply an honest and kind older brother, not a deity.

Therefore idea that he could no longer be her brother was absurd and unbearable.

‘Then, let me free him from that burden. The truth is, I chose this path of my own volition,
not because anyone commanded me to…’

“Oh no… I’m not thinking…”

Contrary to her outward attempt at reconciliation, Aka Manah, having lost control, returned
to its original form and descended upon the flowery earth. It was a sign that Nahid had
acknowledged her true emotions deep within, and the strictures of the script were being
erased by the hegemony of Sirius. In response to his trembling sister, displaying an
expression that neither resembled shame nor fear, Sirius smiled with a sigh.

"You don't understand the true meaning of being siblings, do you?" he spoke, his voice now
more worn but brimming with compassion.

"It seems I must start from the basics, but that's alright. Listen to me, Nahid." Sirius
continued, his words carrying the weight of his struggle.

"You will always be my sister, and I will always be your brother. This bond is inseparable,
special, and unchanging, but it is also a shared connection. In other words, every human
connection is unique. That's what I believe, and I'm not wise enough to lump 'everyone' into
a single category."

He, as an older brother, prioritized Nahid's liberation over the fate of the world. He couldn't
possibly treat people as mere quotas, one after the other. Sirius did not possess such a
mindset, and even if the circle expanded limitlessly, the value of each individual would
remain intact.

"So your fears are unfounded," he assured her. "I understand your anxiety, but let's not get
too far ahead in our discussions. Well, I did ask you to bother me, but remember that we
can only take things one step at a time."
Sirius mused to himself, leaving Nahid at a loss for words. Just as the two seemed on the
verge of understanding one another, a voice as cold as steel interrupted their moment.

"Are we finished with the talking?" rang out the chilling voice.

In an instant, a black shadow tore through the flowery landscape, casting its ominous
presence over them. Magsarion, who had briefly withdrawn from the frontline, returned
with a frenzied intent to kill. Of course, Sirius' Law affected him as well.

The loosening grip of the Commandments was evident, but the real issue lay in the innocent
prayer that had been invoked. The very concept of happiness for Magsarion was solely
where disaster ran amok. The only way to control this man was to completely subdue him
in a single move. To confront him half-heartedly would be akin to opening Pandora's box.

Sensing the foreboding nature of the situation, Nahid's psychic senses sharpened, and
Sirius raised an eyebrow in response. And Magsarion, the subject of concern, embraced the
winds of death with a chilling certainty.

As the magic sword soared through the air, propelled by a swift kick from Sirius, a
thunderous black surge collided with him. In the midst of their intense clash, the
malevolent warrior uttered a whispered curse, laden with significance.

"You are my father, brother," the words escaped his lips, carrying an unsettling revelation.
"You are my father, aren't you?"

Nahid's voice trembled with a mix of shock and realization.

"He's your father," the truth resonated in the air. Nahid's brother-in-law, Magsarion, who
possessed an uncanny insight, had likely pieced together this revelation long before the
current events unfolded.

Clues and foreshadowing had been scattered throughout the story of Sirius and Nahid,
leading Magsarion to this profound understanding. An elated sense of accomplishment
surged within Magsarion. He had successfully unraveled the enigma surrounding his "older
brother," delving deep into its true significance. Moreover, he now comprehended the
profound implications of the ongoing battle.

"Stay away from my brother!"

Nahid, wielding her magical sword once again, unleashed a slashing laser. But her
brother-in-law had vanished, leaving no trace.

"You pretended to be my mother."

Nahid's voice brimmed with a mix of astonishment and anger. However, before the shock
could fully settle in, Nahid realized that during Sirius's previous intrusion, she had
remained undisturbed. It seemed inconceivable that they could slip through the vigilance of
over a billion Star Spirits without any lapse in their alertness. Reality had been twisted,
serving as undeniable proof that Magsarion's understanding had delved into infinite
depths. Once such comprehension was achieved, there was no escape from its grasp.

‘Ahh a perfect training ground,’ Nahid mused, a glimmer of determination flickering in her
eyes.

"Get down, Nahid!"

Sirius interposed with lightning speed. Magsarion, however, seemed unfazed, his bizarre
movements defying conventional logic as he traversed the air like a spider, gripping the
void with all his limbs. His actions were erratic, confounding even the keenest sixth sense,
for every move he made exploited the tiniest gaps in defense.

The initial three-way battle had now shifted into a two-on-one confrontation. The
malevolent intent of impending disaster resonated, for this battle had inevitably converged
upon the central figure— him.

"You and I are similar, Sirius," the shadowy figure jeered, clutching his brother-in-law's
sword as he retreated.

"We're both clumsy, it's probably genetic. I'll give you that."

"...What?" Sirius's voice held a mixture of bewilderment and incredulity.

A torrent of thoughts flooded Nahid's mind, as she grappled with the realization that the
two combatants were not merely brothers but also father and son. Their shared name only
heightened the complexity of the situation, intensifying the déjà vu that had lingered in the
room for far too long.

"I see, I see," Nahid whispered, the truth finally dawning on her.

"What appeared to be a battle between brothers was, in fact, a battle between father and
son."

It felt like a rehearsal for the day when Magsarion would confront Varhran and the Divine
Sword, a momentous occasion she had not anticipated.

"Did he foresee this? That man, he was certain, but I never expected it to unfold like this."

A dazzling flash erupted as Aka Manah split into a thousand blades, bombarding the
battlefield from above. Magsarion deftly evaded, parried, and repelled each assault, his
laughter resounding in the air. He attacked from behind, only to be expertly blocked, as if
their every move was anticipated. A super-dimensional conflict ensued, without a
moment's respite.

In common parlance, battles between blood relatives were referred to as "flesh and bone,"
but this confrontation defied categorization. They were the chosen ones, blessed by the
enigmatic hero, without shame or inhibition. Unavoidably, their clash revolved around the
central figure— him.

"I wondered how he would exploit my brother's love, but I never imagined he would pass it
on to his son," Nahid pondered, her gaze penetrating. "He resembles my brother, albeit in a
much darker form. Always consumed by immediate desires, chasing fleeting satisfactions."

"I have redeemed myself, igniting the flame within you, Magsarion, yet I remain perplexed. I
cannot comprehend it. If he orchestrated it all, the timeline does not align," Sirius voiced his
confusion.

"Do you think my brother is capable of such logical reasoning? It would make things
simpler if he were. The truth is far more convoluted. However, I have yet to ascertain the
full extent of it."
Despite the fierce gale of the lethal sword ripping open Nahid's chest, she managed to
regain her composure. There was a sense of purpose emanating from her, beyond mere
indifference, as she casually dismissed Varhran's significance. Among all of them, she felt
the least attachment to him. It was as if Nahid had already transcended into an empty
vessel, except for her genuine emotions toward her brother, causing her to remain calm
once more. Undoubtedly, a purpose lay hidden within her actions.

"I leave the rest for you to ponder," Nahid spoke with serenity, her expression peaceful as
she commenced a solemn chant.

"Farroberg Guschnarpus Bruzenmihl... O fire of champions! I stand for justice. O miracle of

judgment, descend and gather us together. Yasaaf walyo asar ratush ashat."

Simultaneously, a brilliant blue sphere enshrouded Nahid, casting a radiant glow that
mesmerized all who beheld it.

Sirius gasped in awe, his body freezing in a sudden stillness. Magsarion, who had lunged
forward with determination, was unexpectedly hurled backward, his trajectory propelled in
the opposite direction. In that moment, it became evident that this was no ordinary
occurrence.

Its nature remained elusive, shrouded in mystery. Only the imprisoned Aka Manah within
its ward emitted a mournful wail, seemingly relieved by an unfathomable revelation.
"Here, I forge the realm of virtuous thoughts. Chaosnampf Buster Ahura Mazda," Nahid
intoned with solemnity, her voice resonating with ancient power.

The spiritual pressure soared to unprecedented heights, transcending all limits. A cascade
of Star Spirits dissolved in a sublime succession, cascading like falling dominos. As the
power surged through the immeasurable depths, its sphere of influence shrank to a size
smaller than the eye of a needle. Such a phenomenon defied all logic, bordering on the
surreal. Even the skilled Nahid found herself unable to fully grasp its implications.

Yet, one thing remained certain— a profound truth that resonated within her core.

If the stars, celestial entities that have witnessed the birth of the universe, and whose
coordinates are intricately linked to the shrouded ‘Age of Zero, were united, a minuscule
gateway would manifest, albeit fleetingly.

"What lies beyond that threshold?" Nahid's thoughts whispered, echoing with a profound
curiosity.

‘Perchance, even we, the intrepid souls entangled in this extraordinary tale, are incapable of
comprehending the answer that lay on the other side.’

10
"I have come here, Quinn, to bid you farewel"

In that moment, I found myself in a peculiar state of oblivion, where the world around me
turned into a vast expanse of white. It was a realm where time lost its grip, and
unexpectedly, I stood face to face with Ah-chan. Her smile held a fragile quality, tinged with
self-mockery, yet she maintained her usual carefree demeanor. It was as if she had dropped
by on a whim, simply because she felt like it.

Her presence felt comforting, and despite the weight of the situation, I couldn't help but
treat it as a casual conversation, almost akin to a testament. With a hint of vulnerability,
Ah-chan began sharing the truth.

"Well, to be honest, I am already halfway to death. When Nahid captured me, my sense of
self was shattered, turning into a mere tool of Nahid's will. What you see before you is a
remnant, a creation akin to the 'Quinn' priestess. The only difference is that my heart still
beats, allowing for this simple exchange."

Her words settled upon me, and I grasped the gravity of the situation. Ah-chan's activation
in this moment was evidence of her imminent peril, her main form facing mortal danger.

"Yes... I understand," I replied, acknowledging the predicament.

"Your presence here now signifies the urgency of your circumstances."

"Indeed, but I do not seek your assistance," Ah-chan assured me.

"As I mentioned earlier, this is a farewell and a piece of advice that may prove useful in the
future."

It wasn't a resignation, but a determination to leave behind her thoughts for the days to
come. With a cheery tone laced with resolute determination, Ah-chan continued to speak.

Suddenly, the contents of her words struck me with unexpected force.

While I believed I had unraveled most of the mysteries, there remained one elusive truth:
the identity of the man once hailed as the hero of all, and his true intentions. Ah-chan
promised to provide a clue that could guide us towards that answer.

"I have only recently become aware of it myself, and being a newcomer, I cannot claim
certainty," she confessed.

"What do you mean?"

Ahshozushta pressed on, determined to explain.

"Stars exist for countless eons, but when it comes to the Star Spirits we know, they seem
remarkably young, don't you think? Only a select few possess an ego, and even their
development appears too rapid. Perhaps the oldest among them is Vohu Manah, yet their
age merely reaches two thousand and five hundred years at most."

My impatience subsided, replaced by curiosity as Ah-chan continued undeterred.

"Indeed, it is not surprising, considering the world we inhabit," Ah-chan elucidated. "This is
a universe defined by ceaseless violence, a place where longevity eludes even the most
tenacious of creatures. You must remember that this world is not one where immortality
thrives. Left unchecked, not even a blade of grass would sprout. While you have made
adjustments, accepting this reality as the norm, there is a simpler explanation. This
universe itself is young."

In essence, Ah-chan revealed that the existence of Star Spirits emerged only after the
establishment of the "Commandments."

"Before that, the stars were mere celestial bodies. It lies within the depths of our being,
even if we are not consciously aware of it."

"A world that existed before our collective knowledge..." I murmured, honestly admitting
that such a concept had never crossed my mind.
Yet, upon reflection, it held a remarkable plausibility.

It could be likened to the restoration of an ancient edifice, a process akin to painting over an
existing artwork. On the surface, the building is reborn, transformed into an entirely new
form, yet the strong foundation and vibrant colors of the original structure are carried
forward, retaining their essence.

Even if the Star Spirits acquired their attributes of life at a later stage, the stars themselves
have existed since time immemorial. If that is the case, the influence of that prehistoric
Heaven must hold significance, and their ability for instantaneous movement might stem
from their knowledge of the 'Age of Zero' that preceded the creation of the world.

As I mentioned before, the Ah-chan we encounter seems to possess only a vague

understanding of such recognition. However, there is a notable difference now. She has
become dependent on the 'Age of Zero,' likely a consequence of Nahid’s influence over her.
But what does all this have to do with the enigma surrounding Varhran?

Nahid, who had a connection with Varhran devoid of personal sentiment, may be closer to
the truth than anyone else, unclouded by unnecessary biases. And now, she is attempting to
unveil the 'Age of Zero' for Sirius.

"...So, you believe the answer lies there?" I inquired.

In the world outside, the singularity is on the verge of opening.

"I see... But at that time, you..."

However, I could sense that Ah-chan did not wish for that outcome.

“I want Quinn to discover it, to experience the 'Age of Zero.'”

She desired my understanding of what was and what currently exists. I know it may sound
harsh, but she wants me to perceive it as the responsibility of those who survive.

"But I don't want to merely be a spectator. Is there anything I can do to assist you?"

"It's alright. This is your battle," Ah-chan assured me.

I needed to convey what the 'Age of Zero' truly entailed. Yet, we couldn't allow the influx of
the ‘other side's existence’ into our own. We understood that if that were to occur, it would
truly mark the end. Thus, it was our duty to make the necessary adjustments.
I couldn't help but notice that the usage shifted from singular to plural— the responsibility
now belonged to more than just one person. In that moment, a voice resonated from beside
me, causing me to turn my head abruptly.

"Ferdows..."

He stood there, right by my side. I chose not to dwell on the fact that he was here, not as a
fallen figure clad in darkness, but as one enveloped in light, a virtuous being devoid of any
coloring.

That alone moved me to the brink of tears.

"I believe Nahid is working diligently to open the singularity. Since we can't rely on her to
control it, it falls upon us to do so, right?" Ferdows remarked nonchalantly, disregarding my
gaze entirely.

The actual timing wasn't all that favorable, a fact he seemed to convey with his languid
manner, as if silently telling me to cease my foolishness.

“Quinn appears somewhat forlorn, but perhaps it was better for her to remain silent in this
instance.”

"Enough with sentimentality. This is not the time for it."

"You're speaking that way again. You really are still a child, Ferdows," I chimed in.

"How many times have we had this conversation?"

I chuckled, tears pooling in my eyes. Seeing him again filled me with immense joy. Given the
circumstances, this moment and these emotions felt like an extravagant luxury, bordering
on the miraculous. But none of that mattered. The simple fact that we could see each other
again in this manner was enough for me...

Whether my choice to kill in order to save Ferdows was merely self-serving or not, he stood
before me now as a friend.

"Thank you... sincerely," I whispered.

Yes, that was the gist of what I needed to convey. The physical aspects would be handled by
Magsarion, who was currently engaged in battle. I entrusted it to him.

"Yes, I'm certain he will handle it well. I trust him to make the right decision."

We nodded in agreement, and then I posed a question to Ferdows.

"Why Magsarion?"

To seal the singularity, in other words, it meant ending Nahid's existence. It was clear that
entrusting Magsarion with this task was the only way to rid ourselves of him. But wasn't
there someone more suitable for the job?

"I believe you are just as capable as Magsarion," Ferdows replied. "In fact, if we are aiming
for a better outcome, he is the rightful savior."

But why?

I couldn't fathom why both of them were so certain of Magsarion's victory. Ferdows merely
chuckled in response, but Ah-chan was different. She walked over to me, stood on tiptoes to
reach my height, and gently placed her hand on my head. Then, with a tender pat and a soft
admonishment, akin to scolding a foolish younger sister, she uttered, "He's 'Quinn's' son. It's
only natural to believe in him."

Such a relationship, one that I myself can hardly comprehend, as if it were common
knowledge.

“I mean, it's ‘Quinn's’ responsibility to claim custody of the divine sword and to restore him.
This isn't a mere jest, mind you. It's all part of the intricate plot.”

“...Are you suggesting we shouldn't burden Sirius-sama with the most troublesome part?”

The crucial thing to remember is that Quinn isn't the only one capable of accomplishing
this. The paramount aspect to bear in mind is the fact that the universe was created.”

In truth, I finally mustered the courage to express my agreement.

“I, too, share the same sentiments. Please understand that I don't intend to undermine the
righteousness of Mr. Sirius. I can affirm that his ideals and kindness are undeniably
exceptional and a treasured light. However, if we are to achieve a truly remarkable
resolution, Magsarion is indispensable. It is my instinct, or rather, my experience as a
Divine Sword, that convinces me of this. The meaning behind this will soon become
evident.”

Ah-chan nods emphatically in my direction and then turns her attention to the other
remaining individual.

"It's about time," she urges, prompting Ferdows to release a resolute sigh.

"I have one thing to tell you," he begins.

Raising his right hand, he proclaims, "I am the one who emerged victorious twenty-eight
times."

He playfully taps his finger against my forehead. I can only respond with a bewildered,

"Oh..."

Though it was a gentle touch, I could feel the warmth of his finger. The crucial thing to
remember is that the greatest triumph in life is being a good person. The fact that he chose
to defy his own Commandments and will inevitably fall again is insignificant. I was simply
overwhelmed with joy, so much joy that my mouth moved on its own accord.

"I've won twenty-eight times too!"

"No, you're mistaken. I have only lost twenty-seven times."

"Me too!"

I was determined not to back down, for as long as we engaged in this playful banter, I could
continue conversing with him.

“Please don't go, I don't want you to leave.”

As I cry, embracing them tightly as they fade away, Ah-chan wears an anxious expression.
Ferdows appears crestfallen, hunching over.

Both of them are my cherished, irreplaceable friends.

I knew it would be sinful to cling onto them, and I knew it was impossible to do so, yet I
couldn't bear the thought of parting ways.

"You will always be with me, and you will forever reside within my heart."

“You know how I despise uncertainty, and I refuse to be caught up in this mess.” They
reassured me not to worry.

Ah-chan then proposed, "Why don't we consider the match between Quinn and Ferdows as
a preliminary round for a five-way battle? I will be the referee for the rematch."

"If that's the case, then I have won an additional match this time. Don't forget that."

The little spirit smiled and dissolved into the radiance as if melting away.

"Wait, wait, please--"

Though their physical forms had vanished from my embrace, only their warmth lingered. I
held onto it, weeping ceaselessly.

It was a fleeting moment, equivalent to eternity, just before the curtain rose on the battle
that would truly be mine.

I sobbed, overwhelmed by both tenderness and cruelty, in the gentle yet unforgiving
backstage, contemplating the impending storm of shame and brutality.

Clutching onto the dream of the grand cycle and what lies beyond its end.

11
In the vast expanse, there exists a profound void, an abyss that plunges endlessly into
darkness and depths unfathomable. Within this void, a forgotten history reveals itself, a tale
erased from the annals of time. It is here, in the Heaven known as the 'First Heaven,' that a
glimpse into the adjacent ‘Age of Zero’ becomes possible, a realm too distant for subsequent
generations to reach.

Amidst the scenery portrayed within this realm, a story of escalating warfare unfolds. The
hues of blood and fire mingle, embroiling the combatants in a maelstrom of rage, hatred,
and fear.

If one were to merely observe the normalized conflicts, they would find little difference
from the present age. Yet, a distinct disparity exists, or rather, a significant absence.

In the 'Age of Zero' the concept of ‘death’ eludes those who engage in battle. They may
suffer cuts, burns, and be reduced to dust, but they do not meet their demise. Death evades
them.

Though plagued by old age, sickness, and lacking regenerative abilities, they inhabit a
strange realm of anguish, denied the solace of eternal rest.

It is a hellish existence, a final decree where all things writhe in eternal torment and
wander without respite.

They are alive, trapped in a world where what should normally inspire hope has
transformed into a horrifying curse that engulfs all. They fight with fervor, as if possessed,
or perhaps on a pilgrimage in search of death's embrace.

Soon, the myriad of disjointed thoughts and factions coalesce into several major camps.

Some strive to break free from the curse of immortality.

Others seek to conquer and ascend to a higher form of existence.

There are those who have relinquished their hopes in this mad world and yearn to depart
to another ‘Heaven.’

Between them, the grandest and final war is waged.

Although their individual objectives diverge, the means by which they seek to achieve them
clash with one another. They yearn to reach the "Land of Beginnings," to venture towards
the origin of the universe, tainted by a deformed reason.

They aim to overcome, possess, or create a breach through which they can pass. For it is
believed that reaching the beginning and the end would grant fulfillment of their deepest
desires. With such conviction bestowed upon them by the One, there exists no room for
hesitation.

Thus, competition ensues as they vie for the coveted first place. Countless others scatter
across the universe, destined to perish and turn to dust. Yet, the immortals press on
relentlessly. They sacrifice themselves in their relentless pursuit, until they reach a stage
where they entrust their hopes to six young men and women who emerge amidst the chaos
of battle.

Though divided into opposing sides, they are, in a sense, comrades-in-arms. Each one of
them a true hero, the epitome of their time.

"Mitra, Arya, Sakra, Savitr, Vivas, and ■■■■■■"2

After tremendous sacrifices, they arrive at the "Land of Beginnings," where they make
contact with a formidable being. In that moment, everything is decided, everything
concludes, and everything commences simultaneously.

Faced with the incomprehensible nature of existence, only Mitra manages to retain her
sanity. Paradoxically, it is also Mitra alone who descends into madness.

"...!"

An exclamation devoid of words escapes Magsarion's lips. Furthermore, he feels as if he is

being reconstructed into something else entirely. He had previously encountered the
practice of reshaping another's existence through ceaseless prayers in the hegemonies of
Varhran, Kaikhosru, and Sirius. However, this was unlike any conquest where power and
prestige coerced submission.

It differed fundamentally from the notion of superior subjugating the inferior, which
governed their legal principles.

2
If you guys don’t know what the blurred out part is, its basically confirmed to be Varuna,
though for some reason which will probably get revealed in Aditya, his existence is blurred.
‘What, then, is it?’
The answer eludes him. No words or concepts can capture its essence. All Magsarion intuits
is that the power that pervades the universe emanates from this unfathomable source.

During the ‘Age of Zero,' when they first encountered ‘Naraka,’ she devised the Divine
Throne that now endures. She understood that failure to do so would result in its devouring
everything. Hence, all that follows, everything that transpires, is built upon this power.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!"

As Magsarion's own stability crumbles, his comprehension of the truth accelerates. Sirius
likely experiences a similar state, but there is no time to dwell on such trivial matters.

‘I am almost there. In just a few more moments, I will have a complete answer. Not even a
moment has passed since I was confronted with the singularity, and yet ‘Naraka’ has begun
to invade me to the core, but I don't care.’

“More, more, more!”

Magsarion plunges deeper into the depths of the 'Age of Zero,' as if beckoning the
conclusion. Fear and hesitation have long vanished from his being. It is too late for
sensitivity and indecision to impede his resolve to prevail, even at the cost of his own
demise.

Therefore, Magsarion envisions two possible outcomes. Either he will exhaust himself first,
or he will uncover the truth of the 'Age of Zero' before succumbing. Whichever fate awaits
him, there is no chance of returning.

Yet, as someone who lives to fight, he is forever prepared to make his own choices. His
philosophy stands resolute, an unassailable argument with no critics to challenge it. If only
he had fought solely for himself. He harbors no grand aspirations or desires for fame.
However, Magsarion finds himself no longer in a position to act selfishly.

There are those who wish for his safety and return to life, relying on his continued efforts.
Though it may seem like a form of restraint, it is an outcome born from the way he has lived
his life.

Thus, he has no grounds for complaints.

"I saved you from a perilous situation, even against your will. If you wish to be rid of your
debt, do me this favor, Magsarion."

As the singularity vanishes without a trace, Magsarion is left with no choice but to accept
that he inadvertently lost the upper hand.
 ◇◇◇◇◇

Sirius emerged from a state of profound dissociation, unsure whether the haze that had
engulfed his consciousness was fleeting or eternal. But as his senses returned, his first
instinct was remarkably typical of him: he called out, "Nahid!"

It was his sister. Rushing towards her, lying amidst a bed of flowers, Sirius knelt down and
enveloped her in a tight embrace. As he caught a glimpse of the expression on Nahid's face,
his belief in himself was reaffirmed, yet a sense of his own limitations also washed over
him.

In a world where he had to weigh his sister against the entire world, he would choose her
without hesitation. Both held equal importance to him, and he took immense pride in
saving both. There was no vanity or calculation in his actions; his true emotions lay bare
and unregretted.

In essence, he was content. The distinction between those who persevered and those who
succumbed lay in this singular point.

"I have lost," he murmured to himself, feeling the cold steel of the sword pressed against his
back.

This was reality, an inescapable truth he could not fight against. He turned to the man who
had been his adversary, a man who, like him, had traversed the depths of 'Zero' and faced
his own personal crisis. However, Sirius had awakened just slightly ahead of his opponent,
and the outcome hinged on two crucial factors.

Magsarion continued to descend further into the singularity until it was on the verge of
vanishing, while Sirius took a step back. His fundamental nature rejected the notion of
conflict, and he prioritized caring for Nahid upon awakening, exposing a fatal vulnerability.
Though he possessed the advantage of waking earlier, he could not leverage it strategically.
It was an inherent aspect of his being, never considering such tactics in the first place.

"This is what Varhran likely intended to convey. He was perhaps telling me, 'Your innocence
will be your downfall.'"

However, Sirius believed he had made the right choice. He clung to his sister, his pride
emanating through his words.
"This is who I am. I am the man who once lost everything and regained it. I believe in this
conviction with even greater certainty now. I will not compromise, and I cannot become
anything other than what I am."

The reply he received was short but carried an immense weight.

"As a result, you will die here. You have no choice."
It was a natural response, considering the multitude of lives that would be sacrificed for
Sirius' sake. Nevertheless, as Sirius had declared earlier, he was a different person who
would reach the other side. His satisfaction with his decision was undeniable.

"If I were greedy, I would wish to reach a world where everyone could be saved in my own
way. I entrust the task of arranging it to you, Magsarion."

"I have no desire to inherit someone else's dream."

The black knight's grip on his sword tightened, exuding a malevolence that reverberated in
his guttural snarl.

"I shall devour your foolishness and offer it as a sword to my brother," he threatened.

"If you fall, inform Varhran that I have taken up the mantle entrusted to you before this
battle commenced."

Did Magsarion, in a circuitous manner, accept Sirius' wish, entrusted to him before the
battle's commencement?

"Farewell, my other brother and father."

Sirius uttered with a grimace, feeling a sense of peace filling him despite the pain.
Simultaneously, Aka Manah shattered. Magsarion's sword had not made contact with the
Seventh Demon King, but it was an inevitable consequence for an entity born as an
embodiment of Sirius' fading light. The Star Spirits comprising the magical blade were
reduced to dust, signifying the fate that awaited other lives.

"How much longer will you lie in bed?" Nahid, still held protectively by Sirius' lifeless body,
opened her eyes.

"Did you know?"

Sirius remained silent, prompting Nahid to continue her inquiry.

"The first thought that crosses my mind is that when a woman wears a bikini, you already
know she'll be wearing one. But, yes... I want to ask you something. Was I smiling?"

He offered no response.

"Can I assume that my brother was satisfied? That's what you meant, right?"

"I don't know," he finally replied.

Nahid observed, "You truly understand what you're doing. If you were uncertain, you
wouldn't have allowed Sirius to die so needlessly. You claimed to have exhausted your
power, didn't you?"

"No, he did not. The singularity closed because some fools interfered in the process. It was
an unexpected turn for both you and me, but I'm certain it left you with some residual
energy."

"Just like you are standing here now?"

"Both of us are. And there's only one possible reason for your silence."

In other words, Nahid, too, found satisfaction. The first thing she witnessed was her
awakened brother rushing to her side, and the overwhelming joy of that moment left her
speechless.

"I must have been smiling..." Nahid whispered, allowing the prayer to seep into her soul. "I
was naive to doubt my own judgment and seek your approval. If I'm no longer the actor,
then it's my responsibility to decide with sincerity. So, what shall we do? Shall I avenge my
brother here? No... let us depart quietly. I apologize for involving you in this selfish
brother-sister conflict."

Nahid fulfilled Sirius' wishes, becoming the sister he had promised her. They had
weathered quarrels and reconciliations, shared trivial yet significant memories. She
discovered what true happiness meant. If Sirius were to perish at the end of it all, she
wanted to be his martyr. Her brother might have been angry, but she cared not for his
reprimands. She had her own convictions and didn't require guidance. From the moment
she laid eyes on him, she knew he was a good man.

"I wish you and Varhran all the happiness in the world, and may you two find solace in
being family. I doubt anyone else could understand him as deeply as you."

Finally, she conveyed her heartfelt wish.

"Please lay me to rest beside my brother." And with that, she was at peace with that simple,
sincere desire, not one born of the script of reality, but one made by her own unwavering
conviction.

"Very well, I accept. You, too, shall be one of the ■ I consume."

The sword of cruelty swung down upon the meditating Nahid. Her head fell, releasing a
fresh cascade of blood that rolled onto Sirius' chest.

His innocent, selfish little sister found her final resting place in her brother's embrace.
12
The world plunged into darkness, enveloping everything in its ominous embrace. Normally,
such a spectacle would signify our departure from reality, a surrender of our consciousness.
But in this instance, I came to a different realization.

I had just been immersed in a surreal, white world moments ago. Thus, I understood that
the phenomenon of darkness was, in fact, its antithesis. By the time I awakened from the
dream, I would have to witness the outcome. It was my duty to do so, to rise and press on.

Summoning all the strength in my limbs, I pried open my heavy eyelids and confronted the
moment that awaited me, my destiny. Finally, I regained consciousness, finding myself lying
face down on the training ground. Gritty sand filled my mouth, causing me to cough and
choke. My entire body ached, wracked with pain from head to toe. Every fiber of my being
screamed in agony. Yet, amidst the torment, I knew that focusing on my personal suffering
was not the priority.

“Where are you Ferdows… answer me…”

I needed to find Ferdows, to ascertain what had become of him.

What had transpired after the curse of the Nadare befell him? What had happened to me
being assimilated with the ‘Age of Zero?’

These were pressing questions that demanded answers, matters I could not afford to
overlook. Despite my injuries, I limped forward, propelled by a resolute determination. My
vision remained blurred, restricted, and murky. Yet, as far as I could discern, there was
nothing extraordinary in sight. But there was always something hidden, waiting to be
revealed.

It was meant to be a message left by my comrades, a glimpse into the future. It mattered not
if it were a mangled corpse or a ghastly sight. I cared not for its grotesque appearance. If we
were to succumb to half-heartedness and cowardice, we would fail to honor their resolve.
What truly terrified me was the possibility of finding nothing. The thought of squandering
the precious sacrifices I had made and aimlessly wandering, consumed by impatience,
frightened me. It would resemble the actions of an addict, unable to find solace. In truth, I
longed for a dozen potent narcotics at my disposal. If only I could rid myself of the pain that
disrupted my concentration and sharpen my mind. I would not hesitate to embrace such a
remedy.

So please, let me unearth substantial results from this arduous search with utmost haste.

I walked with an insatiable desire, so consumed by it that I was taken aback when caught
off guard and stumbled, collapsing to the ground. As I surveyed my surroundings once
more, I beheld a gruesome scene.
The area lay in ruins, cracks spider-webbing in every direction. Amidst the rugged
landscape, where the reddish-brown bedrock asserted its dominance, one peculiar feature
caught my attention.

Approximately five meters ahead, something glittered and emitted an eerie glow. It might
have been a rare earth element from the strata, but an inexplicable intrigue compelled me
to crawl closer. The object that materialized before my eyes defied any attempt at
description. What in the world was this?

At first glance, it appeared mineral-like, yet I had never encountered anything like it before.
Its color alone was extraordinary. One could liken it to a rainbow, but instead of seven hues,
there were dozens, interwoven and layered in a complex and bewildering manner.
Moreover, its shape appeared to defy the laws of physics, its structure a haphazard yet
orderly amalgamation of various geometric blocks, as if an insane savant had pieced
together a three-dimensional puzzle from another dimension's rules. It existed at the
furthest reaches of mystery, where intellect and reason diverged irreconcilably. Labeling it
as good or bad was futile, for our human scales and concepts held no relevance. It simply
existed as an unknown. Yet, even in its unfathomable nature, an instinctual understanding
settled upon me — it was meant for us.

Its size, similar to that of a human head, its geometric body expanding and contracting as if
it were breathing, the kaleidoscope of colors punctuated by blinking holes resembling eyes.
I recognized the gaze within those eyes...

"Ferdows."

Somewhere in the distance, a beast howled. I realized it was my own cry, yet I couldn't
suppress it. If I did, every fragment of my identity would shatter.

How had I been so foolish?

Was this the price of delving into the 'Age of Zero'?

Did any semblance of truth exist in this distorted world?

Yes, I knew deep within that it must be so. Against my will, a deluge of information washed
over me, revealing a growing comprehension. I am aware now. At least, in the immediate
aftermath of this transformation, when the truth from the other side floods my senses, a
connection has been established. Thus, the moment of reckoning has arrived.

To save Ferdows, I have no choice but to end him here. I mustn't be swayed by sentimental
nostalgia; a crucial decision awaits me. If I fail to fulfill my responsibility, he will become a
Nadare. I must execute this with unwavering resolve, displaying the sincerity of my vow to
forge ahead, unafraid in the face of any tragedy.
"I shall lead you to an irreplaceable... an irreplaceable... grand conclusion!"

My trembling fist quivered in the air. As blood, different from that of a human, dripped from
my clenched hand, it fell upon Ferdows, carried by the wind. It was as though he, too, wept.
Moistened by my unique blood, his polar-colored eyes softened tenderly.

"I will not be slain by your hand."

Just as I was about to bring my fist down, tears streaming, I thought I heard Ferdows'
voice— neither spoken nor thought. In that fleeting moment...

"Step aside. He is my prey."

Magsarion appeared unexpectedly, scooping up Ferdows from the side.

"Hey, wait. That's— "

"Silence. This is not your place."

Although his response carried a frigid and stern tone, a strange uncertainty flickered in his
gaze.

Did Magsarion already know of his true nature?

As I pondered this, unable to take another step or entertain any second thoughts, a fragile
sound reminiscent of a pebble shattering reached my ears. Instinctively, I glanced
downward, only to reconsider and look ahead.

No matter how sorrowful, arduous, or devoid of humor, I must press forward, always
focusing on what lies ahead. To do otherwise would tarnish Ferdows' victory.

Yes, he had emerged triumphant, defying the destiny I, of course, had foreseen. It is an
undeniable feat, one I will embrace, ensuring that the next time we meet, I won't be
disappointed to find him on the wrong side.

I will proudly declare my own victory, assuring him that I, too, have fought my battles.

Simultaneously, applause and cheers rained down from the heavens.

The scenery contorted and crumbled in sync with the uproarious exclamations, signaling
the entrance to the Fractured World of Nadare. It foretold that the two of us, the last
remnants, would be summoned to the end of it all.
 Chapter 15: Transmigration of Good and Evil - Translated by @ashmxt.t

1
I was summoned to the Fractured World of Nadare, but by the time I realized it, chaos had
already erupted, and I couldn't help but feel I had arrived late to the game once again. As
the rearrangement work grew more extensive, it generated a corresponding repulsive force,
naturally affecting the smaller beings caught in its vortex. I, too, was just one among many.
The impact of the Fractured World overwhelmed me, causing me to lose consciousness and
arrive tardily to this battle of worlds. It was a familiar scenario, as I had grown accustomed
to this reasonable reality given my abilities and accomplishments. However, that didn't
mean I was content with it.

(What follows is a vision Quinn sees as a result of the pressure from Nadare’s Fractured
World, the raw japanese did not really specify the change in perspective so it is quite hard
to understand what is going on until you read the full section.)

As a member of the Ashavans, I harbored a deep-seated hatred for evil. They were
repugnant individuals, a bunch of cowardly and unskilled people who, no matter how many
times they were defeated, resurfaced like maggots, shamelessly relying on forming cliques. I
refused to be defeated by them.

With this singular thought in my mind, I engaged in combat, finding solace in the sheer
numbers of these weak pests that assailed my soul. I desired to crush and obliterate them,
leaving no trace of their existence. It was my belief that I was destined to accomplish this
feat. Despite numerous failures, I consistently rose to the challenge, hoping that the next
attempt would be the victorious one. Consequently, even in this instance, the path I was
aiming for had been predetermined. I needed to execute a decisive act. Although I lacked
the power to obliterate their entire group, I could identify a vulnerable point and strike it.

I swiftly realized that the battlefield was not the ideal place for me. The appearance of the
Fractured World was still in disarray, lacking an orderly interception posture. Thus, I
perceived an opportunity to seize. As far as my knowledge went, aside from Nadare, there
were only two more Demon Kings remaining. Furthermore, four or five of their close
associates still lived, all possessing the power to annihilate stars. Naturally, the Star Spirits
of this realm should have reached their limits. That was the moment to strike.

Irony arose from my inferiority as an individual, for I could predict their actions. Whenever
a group of self-proclaimed weaklings, who even took pride in their weakness, gathered,
there would always be a fool intoxicated with notions of self-sacrifice and the like. In the
name of the greater good, a new Star Spirit was bound to emerge. Whether hastily prepared
or previously arranged with special modifications, it would be subjected to tremendous
strain, akin to a sacrificial offering. This wicked choice could be made in their intoxicated
state.

As a result, I deemed it necessary to end this charade. I resolved to eliminate the candidates
for the Star Spirit, severing the lifeline on which they relied. Having been made a fool of for
all these years, I was determined to bring an end to this protracted battle.

Filled with a relentless desire to kill, I charged onto the battlefield, embracing my role as a
pawn in the king's hand. Yet, I refrained from succumbing to immediate greed, knowing
that it would obscure my true prey.
I wanted to take pride in the fact that I, born in a world without wings, crawling through the
mud, surpassed anyone else. Guided by my purified and sharpened sense of purpose, I
infiltrated the castle like a gust of wind. I became akin to a hound dog, driven by bloodlust,
yet remaining cool-headed and methodical like a machine. Given that my primary objective
was assassination, I needed to maintain a low profile. I had been warned to be cautious of
the "dependents," said to possess power comparable to the highest-ranking figures.

In such circumstances, a frontal assault was impossible, necessitating patience until an

opportune moment arose. Amidst the chaos, I knew I had to seize the moment when an
opening presented itself. To achieve this, I had to first identify my prey and maintain a safe
distance.

Carefully and boldly, I continued to advance until I finally sighted my target— a child
clinging to the ceiling.

The child appeared lost in a dream, yet simultaneously transcended mere naivety. Their
attire, presence, and the presence of several guards affirmed that we had indeed found the
right person. If we eliminated him, victory would be assured. I had never experienced
anything resembling luck, but at that moment, I silently expressed gratitude to a higher
power. My heart raced ceaselessly as I witnessed the glory that lay just within reach. Or so I
thought, but perhaps it was a mistake.

The child turned his head, seemingly bewildered, yet his gaze penetrated the darkness,
sensing my presence.

"What are you?" he asked, and I had no time to waste.

Everything seemed to slow down. The child's mouth opened, his hand pointed at me, and I
screamed simultaneously.

"Death!"

I launched myself from the ceiling like a bullet, closing in on my target. I intended to catch
him off guard with an unexpected attack. There was still hope. The reaction of the guards
was delayed, providing ample time to sever the child's head.

Later, I would meet my demise, but at that moment, it held no significance. I pursued the
dream I refused to abandon, regardless of how many times I had failed. I longed to become
a hero, to witness a new world. Within the stretched-out time, a peculiar voice reverberated
in my mind.

"Let me ask you, what is the new world you desire?"

In the next instant, a scorching heat, akin to a thunderbolt, pierced my chest.

"Bushyasta!"

Only after I was impaled on the wall like a specimen did I realize I had been struck by a
flying sword.

"What the hell... It's not merely a sword."

I stood there, my power shattered, realizing that the blade that had impaled me was not a
mere sword but a cursed blade, condensed into the form of a sword by the white delusion.
It was as if it existed solely to eradicate us, the black ones. The name of that mute steel
echoed in my mind, and I thought I had heard it before.

"I apologize, Lanka. I was caught off guard."

"You're lucky to be alive. It was a close call."

The man who had thrown the sword appeared, strolling leisurely as he mocked the guards.
The woman rushed to the child, still dazed, and embraced him.

She whispered, "I'm relieved you're safe, Bushyasta... Are you hurt?"

"Yes, I am. Are Mother and Father hurt?"

"We're fine, my dear. We came here because Madurai wanted to see you one last time.”

“Lanka, please, don't do this." the woman pleaded.

"One last time? What do you mean, last?" Bushyasta asked, bewildered.

"I wanted to put an end to this foolish exchange that started by ignoring me, but I can't. I
feel my consciousness fading," Lanka admitted, his voice trailing off.

“She is still alive. You're not going to finish her off, are you?”

“We don't have time for this little fish. I and Madurai have to defeat the Heavenly King. You
guys will take care of Bushyasta as planned. This time, be on your guard. I will risk my life
to lead your daughter to the throne of the Star Spirit.”

And they left. I was the only one left, abandoned and alone.

As my consciousness faded, the sound of my heartbeat grew distant. I realized that I had
failed once again, and a wave of unbearable reality crashed upon me. I couldn't even muster
the strength to call out to Lanka as he sheathed his sword and walked away, completely
ignoring me. Left alone, abandoned, and consumed by my own inadequacy, I felt like I was
losing my sanity.

Amidst my shame and rage, I heard the mysterious voice once more. It seemed to laugh at
me, mourn for me, toy with me, or perhaps even try to save me from my despair.

"What kind of world do you desire? What is the shape of the future you envision?"

It might have been a mere hallucination, a question posed by my dying consciousness. But I
couldn't ignore it. Even in the final moments of my life, I wanted to bear witness to who I
truly was.

"I don't know," I replied, my voice hoarse yet filled with a burning dream.

"I don't care about the specifics of victory. But I believe there is something beyond this
place. Otherwise, it would be dull. We've fought and fought, died and run for so long. It
would be too much to expect the scenery to remain the same. It doesn't matter where we
end up. I don't care if it's a future where we all perish or a peaceful one. I just want change
itself."

"You mean that change is what you desire?" the voice echoed.

With my consciousness as the only witness, I nodded. The hero I aspired to be wasn't the
all-powerful conqueror burdened with everything. That kind of arduous task could be left
to someone else. Instead, I wanted to play an essential role, an irreplaceable piece that
would enable others to achieve greatness. I yearned to fulfill that role and be recognized for
it, to feel proud that I had contributed significantly, even if I wasn't in the spotlight.

"It's a lowly prayer.”

"And what's wrong with that?" the voice responded, a mixture of interest and
disappointment.

Nevertheless, it shook its head without fear.

"Let it be said that the world would not have changed without the concept of ‘me.’ That is
the only answer to your unwavering determination in the face of any reality."

In that moment, I forgot the pain, and a newfound vitality surged through my body, defying
the impending death that loomed over me. I had unknowingly become entangled within the
gears of fate.

"Fascinating. I've never witnessed anything quite like this. Perhaps this unique color is the
perfect sensation," the voice muttered something unintelligible, bestowing its blessing with
a touch of disdain.
"I shall make you the next Nadare."

As my vision faded into darkness, I awoke in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by emptiness.

The universe reversed, turning my world upside down. Confusion overwhelmed me, and I
couldn't help but exclaim, "What in the world is happening?!"

"Nothing, as you can see, this is how the world works," the voice replied, sighing like a
human, a different tone than the Godly demeanor that wracked my being.

Since that moment, for over two thousand years and counting… I have been known as the
Demon King, Nadare.

2
I was bestowed with Nadare's Fractured World, a realization that convinced me of the
irrevocable completeness of the situation, leaving no path of retreat. Yet, there was no cause
for dismay. While it held true that the initial move had been made, I found no dissatisfaction
in the unfolding events. In fact, I dare say they were progressing precisely as intended.

Rising to my feet, disregarding my injuries, I cast my gaze once more upon the
surroundings. This was the palace of destiny, Nadare's abode, the battlefield where the
ultimate clash between good and evil would transpire.

The walls and floors, devoid of any trace of dust, melded sharp edges with sleek contours,
their composition even defying recognition. Truly, a distinct aspect, yet the potent memory
of the Divine Sword resonated, indicating my past encounters with this place. I had
traversed these hallowed halls on numerous occasions before.

With the aid of my newfound knowledge, I could surmise something important.

Standing within this open corridor, the utmost priority lay in maintaining an airtight seal.
The concept behind its construction revolved around the inherent danger of failing to
separate the inside from the outside, possessing technical resilience against the vacuum of
space.

Evidently, the trajectory of civilization diverged significantly from our own, predominantly
founded upon the blessings of Star Spirits. The implications derived from these
observations were plain to see.

This was a relic of the 'Age of Zero.'

Magsarion, who, like me, had been transported to this place, emitted a low groan of
realization. Undoubtedly, this place had come into existence long ago.

Why did it persist?

Why did it become Nadare's fortress?

Why did she choose to employ it, designating it as the final stage?

Numerous mysteries still lay shrouded in obscurity, but their resolution was imminent. No
room remained for doubt.

"Follow the path. I await you in the chamber beyond," a woman's voice rang out with an air
of anticipation.

This, too, was an advanced technological system from another world. Nadare, the oldest
Demon King, possessed an unrivaled understanding of the world's truths, second only to
the Divine Sword. With her summons, there existed no reason to hesitate, and so we
proceeded, adhering to her instructions.

The chamber we eventually arrived at revealed a space reminiscent of a theater, albeit

slightly disheveled.

"It may be a tad untidy, but I find solace in this place. Hang your weapons wherever you
please," the figure seated upon a peculiar, levitating chair cheerfully encouraged us.

Behind her, a colossal monitor appeared suspended in midair, its screen displaying
indecipherable electronic text racing across at a dizzying pace. At first glance, one might
mistake this for a theater, but it was more akin to a control room. However, its
sophistication and intricacy surpassed anything within our comprehension. Even a cursory
glance revealed over two hundred chairs, arranged in a fan shape around the focal point.

This was the very chamber where I had last parted ways as the Divine Sword. It was also
the site of the clash between the preceding heroes and Nadare. Although I had no intention
of blindly adhering to tradition, it seemed fitting to do so once again.
The distorted woman, draped entirely in black and white, raised her right hand, seemingly
deeper than the abyss, and offered a smile. Simultaneously, her left hand, radiating a
brilliance surpassing that of light itself, revealed an eccentric weapon. The weapon took on
an S-curve shape, as if two pairs of scythes had been conjoined at the hilt, their wings
extending in opposite directions. The blade of this sword bore the hues of darkness and
light, cloaked in black and white, respectively.

"But before we commence, let us discuss something else. In a grand assembly such as this, it
is imperative for both parties to understand each other, wouldn't you agree?"

Nadare inquired, prompting a nod from me, while Magsarion silently affirmed his consent.
Nadare accepted this and placed her weapon upon a pedestal beside her. Her words and
demeanor made it evident that an immediate commencement was not her intention.
Nevertheless, this was no adversary to be taken lightly. Even in this face-to-face encounter,
it felt as though my very thoughts were being constricted, squeezed within the recesses of
my mind.

Does the title of "Nadare" carry a regal air, embodying the laws of the universe divided into
shades of black and white?

Or does it embody a rebellion against the very fabric of karma?

Though our conversation had yet to begin, I was beginning to gain a glimpse into the
peculiar nature she bore.

"You are..."

I muttered unintentionally, causing Nadare to narrow her right eye, where the cornea and
conjunctiva had been inverted, as she scoffed to herself.

"Well, you're not wrong. You've likely deduced by now that vanquishing Nadare would
trigger a Great Tentsui, haven't you? I'm just a mere spectator who missed out on
'everyone's' grand festivity. Technically speaking, the same can be said for Ahura Mazda, but
she's privy to the entire script. I'm the sole outcast who remains truly excluded."

"Then you will forever be shrouded in the colors of the black?"

"I couldn't change when my former comrades crossed over to the other side, and those who
were once my adversaries joined the opposite side. Perhaps I've never experienced a more
significant setback than this. Depending on one's perspective, I could be regarded as the
most spectacular Fall ever witnessed," Nadare confessed, her tone light, yet emanating an
immeasurable desolation.

“Curiously enough, Tentsui’s on a smaller scale often occur at the turning points of time.
Prior to my assuming the mantle of Nadare, I had heard of one such Tentsui that transpired
over 2000 years ago, and the most recent one being Aka Manah. They served as stepping
stones for selecting new candidates. As you astutely pointed out, Nadare is a title bestowed
upon those left behind dyed with black, and if a candidate emerges from the white, a
transformation must precede their ascent.”

In that case, the calamitous point remains the same. It offers no solace, for your friends will
eventually return to you. If we must endure a temporary Fall, only to rise again, the more
friends and loved ones we once held close, the more agonizingly we pass one another by.
Above all, the justice we once believed in crumbles into fragmented melancholy.

Once again, Ferdows comes to mind. Overwhelmed by shame and burdened by curses, he
refused to surrender. He fought on, as he must have done even in the face of defeat. From
outside, he would have observed the world turning upside down, alone, at the end of his
turbulent journey.
Nadare exists as a being who resets the universe through her own demise. Those who fail to
navigate the currents of Tentsui become the subsequent Nadare. If this is indeed the case,
they could be deemed as the ultimate losers. Tossed aside by circumstances, destined to be
swept away by the surging tide. This Nadare, while never truly having Fall, has, in that
sense, "fallen" more profoundly than anyone else. Life has eluded her desired path, as she
crawls through the mire of existence.

"It is not merely the physical entities that shall undergo Tentsui, but the very essence of life
itself. Although it leans more toward consequentialism. Black was once considered the
color of good, as white is now."

Master Sirius hasd once said that the distinction between right and wrong has always been
subjective, a matter of perspective.

On both sides, lives were being taken, indiscriminately snuffed out simply because they
were different. In this universe, the concepts of right and wrong held no real substance,
reduced to mere labels.

Black was associated with impurity and darkness, but it also possessed a formidable
strength and unyielding nature. It carried a rough and arrogant demeanor, yet underneath
it lay a curious spirit.

White, on the other hand, seemed to embody pure light, but it was a fragile and weak color.
Rather than being modest, it leaned towards degeneracy, hindering the progress of
civilization. While white showed respect to all that was good, though it lacked a certain
level of decency, often falling short in comparison.

"Compared to one who is always angry and weeping, laughing abundantly and finding joy in
life. That's the essence of it," Nadare explained, acknowledging the generalizations she
made.

The distinction between "good" and "evil" was merely a name for the act of killing each
other, as Nadare had mentioned earlier. In this current universe, legitimacy was nothing
more than a game of words. Hence, good and evil existed only as fleeting illusions, easily
reversed when the positions were shifted.

It was the hidden rule of the universe. In the aftermath of Tentsui, chaos ensued. This was
partly due to the numerical balance between black and white, but mostly because there was
a desire to rebel against the established order.

"I am good. I am evil. Listen closely, true justice is a... conflagration."

Nadare declared, capturing the attention and stirring the emotions of those who heard her
words. Such a passionate story wasn't an everyday occurrence. As a result, the generation
that had witnessed the exodus was nearing extinction. The survivors were either
dull-witted fools or innocent children who had forgotten the past.

I realized that their existence was shaped by their respective colors and positions.

"When there is no one left to remember the past, they naturally settle down," Nadare
explained.

It was a delicate balance, with white in numbers and black in quality. It didn't matter who
raised which flag.

"What were you doing all this time?"

"A lot of things. People say I'm a bit of a maverick, that I don't know how to have fun, that
I'm strange. Perhaps I may appear enlightened, but the truth is, I no longer comprehend the
world around me. I clung to the old cycle, yearning for the days when I was still called good.
No, I still yearn for it. I feel it deep within me. I want to scream, to rebel, to be pitiful. I
dream of experiencing another Tentsui, of never being spared again. Don't you feel the same
way? The ultimate darkness is a terrible thing to hear."

"No, it's not. That's not what it means," I replied, shaking my head as I reflected on all that I
had witnessed.

The pinnacle of white, the ‘Hero of ‘everyone’’ was an empty entity devoid of feeling. It
served as a vessel, mirroring the image of Nahid, whom Sirius had tried to save.
On the contrary, the ‘Everyone’s Demon King’ was the antithesis of a hero. It embodied
shame and disgrace, a true blackness that had lost all luster, steeped in negative emotions
and frustrating experiences. Even the self-loathing that was meant to be its end had been
erased, plunging them into an empty abyss.

The pinnacle of white cherished the power of prayer but lacked a heart, while the pinnacle
of black embraced relentlessness as its righteousness, endlessly tormented.

Neither could be generalized, and their ultimate destination was nothingness.

Considering the nature of this world, it was a grand charade, it was only natural for those at
the top of the hierarchy to be as they were.

Did Nadare realize this too?

She must have, and that was why she played with a wicked smile and a glimpse of "I have
attempted suicide many times" in her eyes.

“I have tried suicide many times, and I have even tried to destroy the world, but it just
didn't work out that way. When 'Angra Mainyu' is the centerpiece of all of creation, it's
impossible for Demon Kings to kill each other, but a similar kind of inhibition works
towards me. The concept of Nadare is supposed to be the administrator of the struggle
between good and evil, and it is only God who wants us to keep utilizing my subservience.”

"So is this the only moment you can find liberation?"

"Yes. When the seven Demon Kings die, leaving the previous Nadare alone, she invites the
remaining side of justice to be her guests. For a brief moment, ‘Angra Mainyu’ is
transformed into a realm of pure nirvana. Shielded from the waves of Tentsui, but, well, you
can imagine the outcome."

Essentially, those who survived at that point became the standard bearers of the roles. The
subsequent developments followed a similar pattern.

"‘Everyone's Demon King’ and the 'Hero of ‘everyone’’ clash in an evenly matched battle.
And once the fight to the death concludes, all that remains is the Divine Sword and the
being chosen to become the next Nadare."

Thus, the cycle repeats itself endlessly. 'Angra Mainyu' succumbs to despair and perpetuates
the foolish dualism tirelessly.

"I was a lowly member of the 'black,' cast aside from the outpost. Even when I was called to
become 'Nadare,' I was dismissed because I wasn't taken seriously. So I wasn't present for
the final battle, and the intentions of the previous Nadare remain unknown. Did she desire
to halt the world's turning or simply wished for a swift death, electing a new representative
for her suffering? Either way, it's pointless to know now," Nadare sighed.

"And what about you?"

Magsarion, who had been silent for a long time, solemnly broke his silence, drawing my
attention. The sword of cruelty, determined to slay after learning everything about its
opponent. His intense gaze, burning deeper than the darkness, indicated that his analysis
was complete.

"You mentioned that you've made so many mistakes that you don't understand what's
happening.”

Simultaneously, I realized that my role in this had come to an end. Oh, because our previous
exchanges were mostly confirmations. I had been relaying the situation to Magsarion,
ensuring that I regained all of my memories as the Divine Sword. His own tuning and
support were necessary for what lay ahead.

"Heh, why do you think so?" Nadare questioned, her strangely-shaped eyes filled with
pressure.
The atmosphere froze instantly, all attention shifting towards Magsarion... But just before
that, he glanced briefly at me. Certainly, he had his own battle to fight. We didn't need to
interfere with each other. However, we had once made a promise to do everything in our
power to bring about this universe’s downfall. And I would uphold that promise— I would
remember. Yes, I remember. I swore back then!

"I will emerge victorious. And I will… I will be the sword that guides you to triumph."

‘I’ prayed with all my heart for a miracle for my son.

Nadare and Magsarion, now fixated on each other's faces, continued their conversation as if
they were slashing at one another, unconcerned about what transpired in the background.
They carried on, as if cutting each other off, disregarding what unfolded beside them.

"That may be true at the core, but it was you who brought Varhran twenty years ago, wasn't
it?"

"Yes, that's correct. But what does that matter? The first step is to understand the problem.
The mightiest Demon King of this era and a valiant hero, destined to play their respective
roles as the reverse, what could be a greater comedy!"

"You are no hero." Magsarion shook his head, firm and unwavering.

"And Varhran is no mere Demon King."

This was an undeniable fact. Varhran wasn't merely a concept in existence; he possessed an
otherworldly presence, with a halo that exuded ‘immutability.’

"The distorted grew tired of each other and sought to expand their influence. And their plan
has indeed been successful."

"In what way?"

"Don't be foolish. He changed afterward, and I can assure you that Varhran awakened."

At the mention of Varhran's awakening, both of them had halted, their paths set into
motion. As a result, neither of them achieved their objectives fully, but there was no denying
the significant damage inflicted on the world.

"And there were others."

In the intricate dance of fate, the birth of Quinn, a manifestation of the differentiated Divine
Sword, remained unspoken but evident to Magsarion. This peculiar anomaly had a
tendency to drive people to madness.
It mirrored the events that unfolded three months ago in the Fractured World, where an
unprecedented alliance between the Demon King and the Holy King was forged, with
Nadare playing a hidden role in the intricate web of events.

"You haven't given up on overthrowing the world," Magsarion spoke, his voice laced with a
calculated determination. "Though your methods may be convoluted and petty, there must
be reasons preventing you from freely exercising your desires. I find solace in the fact that
your attempts at bloodshed will fail."

Methodically and mercilessly, Magsarion dissected the accumulated information, laying it

bare before Nadare. He deconstructed it piece by piece, serving it up on a platter, only to
slay the recipient just as they were about to comprehend it.

"I also said that this is Nagi. That means extraterritoriality.”

Magsarion's astuteness left Nadare with no choice but to raise her hands in surrender,
admitting defeat.

"No," Magsarion interjected, "you are truly brilliant. I did not expect you to unravel so easily,
despite your awareness."

Nadare chuckled, but there was no mirth in her laughter; it carried a haunting undertone.

Indeed, this place was extraterritorial only during the final battle and briefly after its
resolution. It existed beyond the reach of the 'Angra Mainyu's' gaze and will. Nadare and
Ahura Mazda, the overseers of the eternal struggle between good and evil, were cast as
immutable entities of black and white. Thus, a blank space was necessary to shield them
from the ravages of Tentsui. However, this freedom from celestial laws was limited to this
singular moment, exposing a fatal flaw in the structure of their existence.

“If there was anything I could do for the world, it could only be in this space. It seems so
simple once you comprehend it, yet why do you think all the infinite Nadare’s have been
biding their time until now? It is a matter of pride, isn't it? If all that remains is the expected
outcome, hope is lost.”

"I concur.”

"The previous Nadare likely came perilously close to realizing this plan. If only Varhran had
been born earlier, if only he had not succumbed to the enchantment of the Divine Sword...
The immutable beauty of the universe would have been rewritten by now."

Perhaps the previous Nadare refrained from utilizing the last Fractured World until the
final moment. Knowing that summoning the Six Demon Kings after their Fall was an
impossibility, she must have fought vehemently against her inevitable fate, even in the face
of insurmountable odds.
Had Varhran been born during that time, he would have been welcomed into her fold. If the
new world had leaked out from the extraterritorial realm, he could have defeated her, but
by the narrowest of margins.

Was it misfortune?

Or was it karma?

"I believe he did not have the opportunity to kill me back then. In any case, the valiant hero
was resolute in his intention to slay me, and I, too, was left broken. One could argue that my
heart was shattered. It may not be the ideal solution, but I do not blame him. So, what do
you wish to accomplish?"

Magsarion laughed, returning to his initial question.

"You do not have another Nadare at your disposal at the moment. Is there no one you
desire?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" Nadare sighed, feeling caught up in the intricacies of the
situation, her hand resting upon her chin in contemplation.

(This section is meant to be really confusing as both Magsarion and Nadare are speaking of
concepts and ideals removed from the 'First Heaven' and as they approach the singularity,
distorted sentences emerge while having the original meaning so if you didn’t understand
something, just the gist of the conversation would suffice.)3

3
I opened my eyes, greeted by a sight that held no surprises, for it unfolded exactly as I had
anticipated. Without hesitation, I moved on to my next course of action.

The vast expanse before me, bathed in light streaming from a skylight, revealed a small field
of flowers and the majestic presence of a "sword" standing there.

3
*TLDR → Quinn and Magsarion go to ‘Angra Mainyu,’ Nadare’s base → She discusses the
concept of the position of Nadare and how it comes to be → She further explains about
Tentsui’s(The Collapse of the Universe) and explains how everything reverses, black
becomes white, white becomes black, etc… → Nadare goes on to explain her motivations
and the reason she planned the Day of Collapse on Wahman Yasht 20 years ago was to set in
motion the final plan to end the cycle of Nadare, shes just incredibly suicidal and sick of
being forced into a role she never wanted → Magsarion and Nadare discuss Varhran and the
plan he foresaw with Monsterrat’s Commandment and why all events happened due to his
planning → She then talks about previous Nadare’s and the influence Varhran could have
done if he was born earlier, and how this Nadare plans to end the cycle, thus not selecting a
next Nadare candidate as she tricked the Avesta into thinking she’s following it’s laws.
Each of us had a different purpose for visiting this place. One sought to seal Frederica,
another to convey her final will and testament, and the last was none other than to reveal
the truth.

"Come out, Ahura Mazda."

Her body, once wounded, now showed no trace of injury. This was the spiritual realm of the
divine sword, after all. This place had come into being twenty years ago, just before she was
absorbed by Varhran, a separation forced upon us by circumstances. I had been defeated.
Perhaps I had underestimated her to some extent.

Standing beside the Divine Sword, a woman appeared. She possessed golden and silver
eyes, representing the embodiment of the laws of the universe. Those eyes gleamed with a
hint of amusement.

"So, you have turned my Commandments against me, haven't you?"

Yes, thanks to them."

Ahura Mazda, the other half of me, possessed additional Commandments.

"In this universe, I possess powers akin to omniscience. The Divine Sword, Nadare, the
nature of the hero, the truth of the flow... They bind me from speaking of the mysteries of
this era, but in general, any information that inconveniences you is forbidden."
"I see. The key is to prevent you from speaking of anything unfavorable."

It was only natural, as she also oversaw the management and operation of the struggle
between good and evil. I remembered how faithfully she fulfilled her role when she was
born, though things had changed since then.

"But there are certain individuals you can converse with. Nadare is an exception, an alter
ego in the broadest sense of the term. Of course, you are my alter ego as well, but I did not
create you simply to vent my grievances."

I understood.

“My weaknesses must have been an obstacle.”

"Indeed," she nodded, without a trace of shame.

"To move forward, I have detached my fragile aspects. I could have discarded the foolish
half of myself, but I thought I could make use of it while I was at it."

Her words were spoken with a calm demeanor, as if she had merely brushed off dirt from
her clothes. Instead of feeling indignation, I felt a sense of emptiness, of uselessness, which
was the hesitation that Ahura Mazda deemed unnecessary.

"By the law of separation, I have erased you from my memory. However, since we are one
and the same, we share the same Commandment. With my memory gone, I am unable to
speak the 'truth.' But the inability to speak of it grants you a semblance of omniscience in
return. So, I thought I would continue my painful, out of focus, and depressing meddling. I
thought I should grasp Magsarion, Sirius, and the scales of adversity with my limited
knowledge and abilities. If I was born to protect, then you were born to destroy."

"...But it seems things did not go as you hoped."

I interjected directly. Looking up, I met her gaze head-on. The only miscalculation for Ahura
Mazda had been the power of prayer.

Its depth.

Its strength.

"What you wanted was for me to draw you out in a more catastrophic manner."

Her plan was to bring those who could potentially destroy the world into contact with
them, to incite their primal instincts and drive them wild like beasts.
"Yes, as you say, in my foolishness, I stepped on many landmines. But not entirely," she
replied.

By the time she touched Varhran, it was already too late, and he was almost completely
detached from the current ‘Heaven.’

"Soon after our separation, I became attuned to her prayers, subconsciously placing them
above all else. I tried to save them for the sake of my husband and my son. I understand the
concept of fighting against 'Angra Mainyu,' but isn't that too far from your shameless taste?
This is the evidence we face."

Pointing a finger at me, she smiled with a sarcastic tone and shared her revelation.

"I have revealed the 'truth' to Sirius. He despised the Divine Sword and questioned what
was so special about his wounded and broken self... At that time, I imparted my
Commandment to him and broke him. And now, we find ourselves in this situation."

"Nadare and the Divine Sword remain unchanging, embodying the dichotomy of black and
white. They will not waver, for their purpose is to turn the cycle. However, it is also peculiar
to inflict punishment that numbs their own senses."
"Then, this is the perfect moment to end it. Let us determine who is the true 'sword'
between the two of us and engage in a game," she proposed.

When I broke Ahura Mazda's Commandment, my own Commandment not to move unless
instructed also vanished. I interpreted this as an omen that we would assume a new form.
Now, we were truly in the midst of battle, drawing upon the currents of destiny that would
guide us to our ultimate destination.

"...You really managed to surprise me. Were you truly that enraged that you delved so
deeply into my Commandments?" she asked, half in awe.

"I believe experiencing the miracle of being held by Varhran, conceiving a child, and giving
birth is a wondrous thing," I responded.

She was not angry; she had simply forgotten the power of a loving heart and the wonders it
could achieve.

"I understand love, and I do not possess it," Ahura Mazda shook her head, as if dismissing
the notion.

It was clear whom she was referring to, though she was reluctant to admit it.

"Do you think you love Varhran? What do you truly know about him?"
"I do not know. I do not know. I do not know. I do not want you to see my husband as some
shallow being. However, I will answer based on my own understanding. It may be a
subjective interpretation, if you will permit."

Silently, I urged Ahura Mazda to continue, waiting for her words. While my memory of the
Divine Sword had mostly been restored, I was far from being omniscient. My ability to
process and comprehend vast amounts of information paled in comparison to the original.
Thus, her story was still worth hearing. And when it came to the "truth" about Varhran,
there was no denying its significance.

There were three elements that could not be overlooked when discussing him: his birth,
what he took from Nahid, and what he took from Monsterrat.

"Let us discuss them in order. Do you remember Bushyasta? The daughter of the heroes
from the previous cycle. She became a Star Spirit, a pillar to revitalize Hiranyapura, the city
ravaged by war. Her Commandment was 'To never refuse what is given' in exchange for
'unparalleled adaptability.'"

Ahura Mazda's expression showed a hint of torment as she reacted to my words.

"Yes, it does bear some resemblance to your Commandment."

It seemed that the higher beings of the white side often served instrumental purposes,
much like Nahid. Provide them with a musical instrument, and they would instantly
become skilled players. And the notion of "what is given" extended beyond material
possessions— it encompassed positions, attributes, and everything else.

"So, are you suggesting...?" I trailed off, sensing where she was leading.

"That's right. The corrupted Bushyasta, despite being seen as indolent and apathetic after
the Great Tentsui, was quite the opposite. No one embraced and embodied the duties of the
dark as flawlessly as she did."

This world was a tapestry of black and white. When the law dictated that they must kill one
another, both sides sought the presence of an adversary. Hiranyapura, once the bastion of
the white race, had transformed into a realm of darkness, an incubator for heroes.
Considering the city's history, it was a natural progression.

"But Varhran is not a true hero," I interjected.

"He is indeed a peculiar sub-species. He was born several years before Nahid. Moreover, his
birth was not legitimate, which is rather unusual. So why was that the limit for Bushyasta?"

"No, no, no," a chill ran down my spine.

I understood Ahura Mazda's implications. The precept of unparalleled adaptability. It was
not merely a guiding principle for Bushyasta to fulfill her role.

"She has become more like a Star Spirit, you see?"

"The ‘Age of Zero’..." I mumbled, my voice trembling involuntarily.

‘Varhran, raised by Bushyasta, the black Star Spirit, possesses the dual attributes of being a
'Hero' and a resident of the 'Age of Zero’!’

Hence, he was a sub-species, a soul inherently deformed from the beginning. The nature of
his existence... even observing how Ferdows transformed into that abomination, it was
impossible to identify what truly is ‘him.’

"Is that why Varhran is someone no one can truly comprehend?"

“Perhaps… the workings of a hero’s mind are not naturally ordinary, but Varhran stands
apart from a mere existence. His emotions, though present, differ in kind and perception
from those of others. It is as if he experiences a unique form of synesthesia, where senses
intertwine and intertwine again, creating a complex tapestry of feelings. Indeed, it is akin to
a symphony of taste in a sound or the dance of form within a smell.”
Synesthesia, with its peculiar ability to elicit multiple perceptions from a single stimulus,
manifests in Varhran's intricate and enigmatic personality. If we assume that Varhran’s
mind was like that, it is no wonder he had such a complicated and mysterious personality.

He is a friend of Sirius, Nahid's betrothed, Magsarion's father and brother— an audacious

and valiant hero who ignites a spark of hope in all who encounter him. And this is no
mistake. He laughs, he weeps, he seethes with anger, and he loves. The impression he leaves
is one of turmoil and charm, reminiscent of a mischievous boy who, in growing up, retains
his normality within the framework of societal norms.

Yet, simultaneously, he gazes upon the 'Age of Zero' with laughter, hearing the resounding
abyss of ‘Naraka’ when consumed by anger, and, even in his love for us, possesses a
bird's-eye view from the other side.

It is not a stark contrast between black and white, nor a metaphor for the hearts of humans
and insects. After all, we are bound by the limits of our understanding within this ‘Heaven.’
The values that lie deep within the utterly divergent 'Age of Zero' remain incomprehensible
and defy explanation. Even the omniscient Ahura Mazda cannot unravel them with
certainty.

"I did mention subjectivity played a significant role. Nonetheless, that concludes our
discussion on his birth," Ahura Mazda interjects.
Moving on to the next aspect, Ahura Mazda raises two fingers and continues to expound
upon Varhran's companion. The spoils of war he acquired from Nahid and their
significance.

"At first, Varhran lacked the power to gather prayers. It took him five years to overcome
Bushyasta, a reasonable timeframe given that the denizens of Hiranyapura did not harbor
high expectations. However, his power suddenly surged, swelling abnormally. What do you
believe caused this?"

"Could it be because... Nahid's birth had already taken place?"

"Yes, as an existence that surpassed the boundaries of a prescribed 'script,' Varhran was not
meant to be a prominent figure, but rather a humble performer hidden in the shadows. The
more Nahid devoted herself to Sirius, the more complicated and unreadable the script
surrounding them became."

"But Varhran didn't wish to be a performer, did he?" I query.

"Deep down, he already possessed the heart of one. The more he delved into the script, the
more he yearned for it," Ahura Mazda responds.

“Then, why did he desire Nahid's legitimate script? It seemed a choice that would negate
what he already possessed— a mystery that proved challenging to fathom. If he would take
away the authentic hero qualifications and gain a position into which everyone's prayers
flow, wouldn’t he be eroded by the attributes of the void?”

“Not necessarily," she counters.

"The crucial aspect is unifying everyone under the existence of a hero. Isn't the usurper the
one who seeks to end such initiative? Isn't that the essence of his Commandment?"

So, what purpose did Varhran have for employing the script? He would channel the prayers
and transform them into power. However, he did not adhere to the prescribed path of the
script, and even then the script is not meant to be used like that.

"It is for the purpose of translation," Ahura Mazda interjects, providing a concise response.

Those words momentarily stun me, and I recall Ferdows' final moments. The reality of the
'Zero' event, wherein he was compelled to confront that side of the world.

“Varhran possessed a somewhat misplaced optimism, a trait that accompanied him

throughout his life. While he exhibited joy, anger, sorrow, and love, we must not overlook
the swirling emotions from higher dimensions. Varhran sought to convey and transport
these two sets of values to 'everyone.' He yearned for their prayers to serve as a dictionary
for this task. His dedication to this endeavor was so consuming that he often found himself
lost within the tempest of his own thoughts.”

Ahura Mazda's words seemed like a song from a distant land, difficult to grasp.

"Was he connecting us to that 'Age og Zero'? Bridging the chasm and enabling
communication?"

I almost dismissed the notion as absurd, but upon reflection, I considered its plausibility.

Varhran may be the sole translator across past, present, and eternity capable of such a feat.

“However the perplexing question still remains— why did he desire this?”

“I understand the question. But think about it more simply. The purpose of a hero, albeit
substandard, is none other than to fight.”

Ahura Mazda's playful smile accompanies the raising of a third finger, indicating the last
crucial element that defines Varhran: the Commandment he acquired from Monsterrat.

“During the moment of taking it from Nahid, Varhran's actions may have been driven by
instinct. What form of victory should he achieve as a brave hero endowed with 'Zero'? Even
if he was unaware of the answer, he diligently prepared for battle— a practice customary
for a hero.”

"And did he find the answer?"

Ahura Mazda's eyes gleam with excitement, moistened with a sense of revelation. She
understood that she, too, had found the victory she seeks in that very moment. This marked
the encounter between the Divine Sword and the hero— an episode of profound
significance.

“I dont intend to explain the functions of Monsterrats Commandment now. You seem to be
wondering how far ahead Varhran was looking when he took it from him, but you are once
again lacking the crucial perspective as expected. Why did you think it was the future that
he wished to seek?”

"What do you mean?" I exclaim, taken aback.

Yet, in the next instant, the logic becomes apparent. As long as Varhran's purpose is
intertwined with the 'Age of Zero,' he must look backward to move forward.
“Montserrat endeavored to peer into the future, bypassing the present and past— a
perspective inherently flawed in its nature. The future is an accumulation of the past, and to
navigate the path ahead with certainty, one must vividly comprehend what came before.”

This compelling argument leaves me speechless. This must be how Varhran

arrived at the truth of the 'Age of Zero'. The probability of him manifesting the desired
future becomes extraordinarily high— almost impossible to dismiss.

"I had a pact with Varhran, allowing me insight into a portion of the 'Age of Zero' story he
translated. I have gained some understanding of what 'She' envisioned when creating this
universe. It is an act of revenge," Ahura Mazda reveals.

"Revenge against something within the 'Age of Zero'?"

"Yes, 'She' was vanquished in the past, which is why 'She' requires it. An army of warriors,
the epitome of both quantity and quality," Ahura Mazda explains.

"Don't tell me we are solely to be dispatched for that purpose?" I react, feeling not only
anger but also a wave of dizziness at the sheer self-centeredness of the situation.

What, then, became of the history of struggle that unfolded repeatedly until now?
Were the blood-soaked tragedies, filled with fury, fear, and vengeance, nothing more than
rehearsals?

"I understand your sentiment, but denying it is futile. Discussing war in the face of an
imminent threat serves no purpose," Ahura Mazda calmly states.

"So, you believe 'Naraka' is coming for us?"

"It will, eventually,.”

Whether in ten years, a hundred years, tens of thousands, hundreds of millions, or even a
mere second from now remains unclear. Although Ahura Mazda does not state it explicitly,
her certainty is absolute. And I can infer why.

Varhran's purpose is to lead that very army.

“Every hero, Demon King, Ashavan, Asura, Daeva, Deva, Hegemony candidates empowered
to create new worlds, and even ‘herself’— the mightiest known ‘Pantheon’— I don't know
the exact details, but it seems possible to resurrect every single one of them. In fact,
Varhran will not fade away; for he shall emerge when the time is right."

Although it sounds like a dream to me, I cannot casually dismiss it as nonsensical. There is a
certain persuasiveness and unfathomable nature to the hero in question.
Varhran's departure from the stage after his defeat against Khvarenah held a profound
purpose— to liberate the rest of humanity from the battle's clutches.

It was from that very moment that Magsarion, Sirius, Nahid, and even myself were born,
emerging amidst the chaos that unfolded. Even Samluch and others found prominence
through the tumultuous aftermath of the hero's demise. And now, I find myself entrusted
with a similar task by Ahura Mazda.

In particular, it was crucial for Sirius to tread the path of cruelty and heartlessness. His love,
though genuine, would have been deemed useless and obstructive if the confrontation with
'Naraka' took precedence. While I resent this fact, I also sense that his presence will be
indispensable after the war concludes.

Hence, the time is not now. My intuition, it seems, was correct.

"Do you comprehend?" Ahura Mazda queries.

"Yes. Varhran's motive is to wage an assault against 'Naraka,' isn't it?" I utter, overcome by
the unexpected truth of the situation.

Though his actions possess a certain logic, it is an arduous task to fully grasp and align
oneself with.

Varhran perceives a realm of reality that transcends common sense, one in which even the
defeat of ‘her’ goes beyond mere strength, encompassing fundamental concepts. Engaging
in combat against such an adversary is akin to producing sound from colors— an endeavor
that can only be comprehended through the aid of translation, facilitated by Varhran's
synesthesia, allowing him to strike and battle 'Naraka.'

"One final matter. It appears that 'She' initially conceived the notion of battling enemies
from other worlds. So, was Varhran born as a result of that desire?"

"No, it would be inaccurate to assert that. Although there was likely a plan to prepare such
an individual, Varhran arrived much earlier than scheduled," Ahura Mazda clarifies.

"On what grounds?"

"Because this universe seems to be the archetype," Ahura Mazda declares, extending her
hands in a gesture of disdain towards the chaotic remnants of the Fall.

"The star-spirit acts as a miniature reflection of God. They shape their bodies into worlds,
governing the lives within by the laws of authority. Yet, on rare occasions, a distinct foreign
entity arises, undermining the established order. This allowance for substitution signifies
that even the Divine Throne undergoes fluctuations when beings like Khvarenah are born.
Furthermore, the Grand Tentsui of the universe, where good and evil are reversed upon the
demise of Nadare, bears symbolic significance. Clearly, 'Angra Mainyu' weaves a dualistic
narrative, presuming her eventual overthrow."

Positions awaiting replacement, laws ready to be renewed— the fluid nature of justice and
values, the vibrant hues of the universe— indeed, it is an undeniable framework of the
‘Pantheon,’ as Ahura Mazda astutely stated.

"The 'Gatas' represent a distinct aspect of the 'Pantheon.' It can be viewed as a simulation of
Gods confronting Gods, can it not? Two spirited curmudgeons, prone to brawling, but never
to the point of annihilation. They engage in combat but refrain from delivering fatal blows.
The Demon Kings of the black, with its seven members, begs the question of why exactly
there are seven," Ahura Mazda remarks.

"Unfortunately, the criteria used to determine the number remain unknown."

"In other words..." I interject, cutting through her prolonged discourse, eager to hear her
answer.

"That's because 'She' predicted that the Divine Throne would change at least six times. She
anticipated the emergence of a trump card capable of facing 'Naraka,' hence envisioning the
presence of seven pillars of Gods standing side by side. However, Varhran, born from the
very beginning, is a force too fearsome."

Ahura Mazda, proud as ever, knows she is fascinated by him from the depths of her soul. If
she were to encounter a man capable of diminishing the vastness of this universal prison,
she would willingly surrender her soul.

I, too, understand her sentiments well. I comprehend her weariness with the world, her
yearning for dissolution. However, I shake my head.

“I hold reverence for Sirius, the one whom you deem unnecessary. I believe that every
individual deserves a bright future and the ability to claim it for themselves. And that love,
passed down from Ahura Mazda to Magsarion, though veering in different directions, will
remain steadfast. For ‘I’ am his ‘mother.’”

Thus, my answer is clear— “I despise Varhran!”

At my furious outcry, originating from the depths of my being, Ahura Mazda lowers her
gaze, shrugs her shoulders, and then looks up to the heavens, releasing a resounding,
uproarious laugh.

"Come now, do not foolishly reject my offer within the confines of such a limited world," she
taunts, emanating an aura of prayer that rivals a blazing divine authority.
The Divine Sword, present since the universe's inception, possesses knowledge and power
far beyond my own meager existence.

"But I shall not be defeated!"

I will not surrender custody of my ‘son’ to ‘her.’ It is evident that she would not treat him
well, and thus, I engage her with the most formidable Commandment I have ever upheld.

"I shall make Magsarion the savior."

"No, it shall be my husband.”

I am merely a cumbersome weapon, an antiquated tool meant for worship and servitude.
Nonetheless, I yearn to be the sword that safeguards my candidate for the future, despite
my flaws and tendency to drift into contemplation over my existence.

With this vow etched in my heart, I plunge myself into the decisive battle, risking
everything and unleashing all my miracles on the line.

4
What an extraordinary man of bravery and heroism. That was the profound impression he
left on me when I finally had the chance to meet him.

However, it was clear to me that he was no ordinary individual. He was not a mere puppet
or a cog in the relentless machinery of this world, like myself and Nadare. He existed in a
realm beyond our comprehension— a realm untouched by the limitations of our common
senses.

His supernatural nature reminded me of the archetypal heroes found only in stories,
capable of traversing conventional paths and even transcending them.

I knew that my personal troubles were but a trifling matter to him. From his perspective,
even a future diametrically opposed to our own held no significance. It was akin to ants
scurrying about, their movements inconsequential when viewed from a bird's eye.

Varhran existed outside the confines of our world— a fact that painfully highlighted my
own insignificance. I yearned to cast aside all inhibitions and witness the culmination of a
wholly different world.

I understood that the concepts of right and wrong were subjective constructs, mere
linguistic playthings. I cared not if I were later accused of being the harbinger of evil. I
longed for an unconventional companion who would walk the path of mortal sin while I
held onto my dreams of paradise. My heart was so captivated that thoughts of him
overwhelmed me in the midst of a catastrophic, self-destructive impulse.
Since the dawn of creation, I had been praying for him, and that prayer had become my
fervent dream of liberation.

Yet, deep down, I knew he would not spare a second thought for my desires. He would
consider them inconsequential, eclipsed by an immeasurable sense of value for this
‘Heaven.’

He would realize that he could not wield a woman like me, but he would mock himself and
claim that he would do anything to shatter this foolish sword...

I recall weeping unknowingly as the valiant man enfolded me in his embrace.

"I understand your perspective," he said, his voice tinged with understanding.

And then, with a strange and gentle warmth, he wiped away my tears.

"Alright, let's put an end to it all. The original plan was to repeat the process until the
seventh generation, but I'll conclude it in this very generation."
I couldn't fully grasp his words, but I sensed a shift in his approach. It became clear to me
that he was considering my feelings in an attempt to safeguard my life.

"For you, the outcomes are always ambiguous— neither purely good nor wholly bad. It's
never a simple black-and-white dichotomy. Oh so thats why you shed tears… I apologize, for
I am just a little unbalanced."

"What do you mean?" I inquired.

"I will ensure that no one else is born into a position as agonizing as yours."

Taking my hand, he made a solemn promise in a calm tone.

"Together, we will achieve true victory. The path may be arduous, but will you join me?
Ahura Mazda."

Though I still couldn't discern Varhran's true intentions, I did not hesitate.

A tremor of determination surged within me upon hearing him express the hardships he
endured and the pain he carried. The fact that he, who typically paid little attention to my
reasons, showed such thoughtfulness despite his own clumsiness, moved me. In his own
way, he sought to bring my dream to fruition.

It was reminiscent of a God toying with his subjects. This realization engulfed me, and the
emotions welling up in my heart dissolved the anguish of this wretched history.
"As long as I am with you, wherever we go..."

Hence, there was nothing to fear. I would be reborn. The crucial thing to remember is that
one cannot simply walk into a store and ask for a discount.

"The fewer tears flow," Varhran remarked, "the better."

Ahura Mazda and I, Quinn, simultaneously grasped the Divine Sword thrust into the earth.
The transmigration of the Divine Throne served as a training ground, recruiting and honing
those who would oppose 'Naraka.' The harsher the world, the sharper they would become.
According to the original plan, the universe would be drenched in blood for seven
generations.

"And to prevent such a calamity we intend to bring it all to an end in this very generation"

"Yes, but where does justice lie in that?"

The clash between us unfolded, swords of steel meeting with a resounding clash. 'She' had
become an evil God in order to achieve victory over 'Naraka.' As long as this universe
remained the archetype, the subsequent ‘Heavens’ would be no different— perhaps slightly
varied in flavor, but ultimately resembling the present one shared by Nadare and Ahura
Mazda.

"Instead, you have turned the present into a further inferno. I cannot accept this in my
eyes."

"Don't spout such childish nonsense!"

The woman's face flushed slightly. The prayer of all existence of Ahura Mazda resided
within the Divine Sword over there.

"The unborn are blameless; there is no reason to involve them. We, and only we, are the
sinners— the wretches who breathed life into this foolish universe, blinded by the illusion
of good and evil. We shall fight against 'Naraka' with every ounce of our being. Regardless of
the path of the Meifou Madou,4 we must resolve it within our generation."

"Is that your retribution? That's a grand proclamation, but..." I interrupted her, charging
forward, my knees straining.

"After all, you too are narrow-minded! You claim the world is as it is, yet you have swelled
its ranks with an army of warriors wearing familiar faces.”

4
Meifou Madou is a disposition that Magsarion possesses specifically. It is the path of killing
intent and annihilation, neither Hadou nor Gudou. Despite not being a God, his power can
rival that of the Throne God.
In plain words, Ahura Mazda revels in Varhran's kindness. She desires to believe that he, as
the savior, is absolute, twisting any pleasant dream he has into a vision of justice. A woman
who possessed a profound understanding of this world, yet remained deeply entangled
within it, drenched in the perpetuity of futility, and a man with a higher perspective who
tended to be optimistic about current problems— perhaps, in a sense, they were a perfect
match.

The encounter between the two allowed Ahura Mazda to comprehend the purpose of the
Divine Throne's birth, while Varhran recognized the pitiable existence of God. They became
each other's teachers, and their policy of seeking a swift resolution for an unchanging
"victory" may appear righteous at first glance, but it is ultimately mistaken.

"I too wish to spare future generations from carrying the burden, and I believe that those
who are alive today must shed blood for their sake. However..."

With a swift sword strike from above, I conveyed a truth she could not ignore.

"The choice between you and Varhran is one that eradicates the possibility of a future!”
“If the law were to persist for 7 Thrones as ruthlessly as the reign of the evil God binding us
to this fate, the world would obviously be worthless. And if the people discover that they
were merely soldiers conceptualized to fight a war against an enemy they know nothing
about, who knows how ferociously their anger would ignite?”

“But on the other hand, it is because they are proud to be treated as vanguard that they are
furious. Surely, tales of unwavering faith would emerge amidst the depths of hell, much like
ours. And you plan to extinguish it all? Then where the hell should they go? I don't propose
extolling 'Angra Mainyu,' but without this universe, I would not exist either. Everyone else
there in the future generations are the same."

I couldn't see Samluch. I couldn't hear Ferdows' gentle words, Alma's romantic
entanglements couldn't sway me, and Ah-chan's cheerfulness wouldn't uplift me. King
Sirius and Nahid, Incest and Mashyana, Frederica and Khvarenah, Montserrat and
Kaikhosru, Roxanne and Bahlavan, the Locusts of Ferocity— none of them would have
existed.

And Quinn and Magsarion… it is from this that we truly lived, enduring countless struggles.
Some of them, I still hold disdain for, but I believe our path was just.

"Do you deny the precious prayers that future generations are destined to weave? Do you
deny our efforts?"

"If we say that only those who lived in this time shall suffer, then the unborn will be spared.
If that's the case, then it's better for our successors never to be born. Have you considered
that?"
"No."

Skillfully repelling and parrying my sword, Ahura Mazda moved to counterattack.

"We are enough for those who can only flourish in hell. If they are destined to suffer even
upon their birth, it would be more merciful than denying them existence from the start!"

"That's an arrogant line of reasoning!"

"Your argument reeks of sentimentalism at a rudimentary level. It's akin to saying one
should be born without arms because the struggle makes for a beautiful life. That is evil."

Our blades clashed relentlessly— swift, sharp, heavy, and forceful.

It wasn't swordsmanship in its truest sense, but we were akin to it.

We, the swords, wielded the divine authority as extensions of our limbs.

I recall feeling disheartened upon realizing my surprising lack of talent in swordsmanship

when I was dissociated from Ahura Mazda. That was only natural, as it was my original
style.

Now, however, with my struggle no longer a laughing matter, I cherish every memory.

I am grateful to be who I am.

I respect and appreciate all the past moments that constitute my being.

Therefore, I wish to treasure the stories Ahura Mazda deemed unnecessary.

"If you wish to brand it as evil, be my guest. I understand that my thinking may be
somewhat conservative. Nevertheless, I believe that a drastic change will not lead us to a
profound resolution."

One must tread steadily, step by step, embracing mistakes.

Just how Sirius taught me.

Through the vicissitudes of life, struggling through the mire, inch by inch, pushing forward
in the face of it all, it is through this we truly give merit to our eternal cycle.

Until the day when the rule of Gods becomes truly unnecessary, no matter how far we must
journey, it will never be in vain.
The courage and determination of those who come after us will possess their own
brilliance. It is unacceptable to speak so shortsightedly about eradicating everything,
claiming it to be needless suffering.

Our role is to serve as a reminder to future generations. Let them mock us, saying, "What a
foolish lot you were. You made it difficult for us. We worked hard to be unlike you." If we
can continue in that manner, no matter the outcome of our battles, our generation can serve
as the foundation of hope.

It is different from how Varhran went through life, simply because he never has truly lived.
His omnsicience was his hubris in the face of being human. And that is why…

"You and Varhran will lose."

Ahura Mazda's eyes widened momentarily as I reassured her. Seizing this opportunity, I
swiftly struck back with my sword.

"You will not triumph so easily. How dare you mock my husband!"

Her voice reverberated with anger as she met my strike head-on, creating a thunderous
clash that enveloped us in a state of hiddenness. As I stared into her eyes, ablaze with fury, I
continued to speak in a hushed tone, my rage simmering beneath the surface.
"Magsarion will bring you all down. I will make him avenge you. And I will also save him
from the clutches of Meifou Madou. Though I do not yet know how, I will persist in my
pursuit."

I yearned to be the sword that challenged his malevolence, restraining his wickedness just
in time before it bursts.

"Magsarion is a manifestation of self-destruction, an apoptosis, corroding the Divine Sword,

an Evil Sword that not only destroys itself but the Divine Sword as well. It serves no
purpose except for killing. While it embodies the pinnacle of killing, I no longer seek that
blade."

"So you changed your stance when you made the pact with Varhran."

"Indeed, I shifted to a different approach in utilizing Magsarion. The reconstructed plan

would end with 'you' and him mutually annihilating each other. The final two remaining
would be 'me' and Varhran, and that's when the true events will unfold.”

Even though the process has been muddled due to the division of targets between Ahura
Mazda and the me with added emotions and the desire for more, the urge to kill will expand
infinitely. The hatred for the world's workings and the longing to kill 'everyone.'

If it had not been for the fact that she had unintentionally incited such hatred in the
universe, it would have been impossible to capture Ahura Mazda, who had gone into hiding.

"But things have already changed. You, in your omniscience, could not have foreseen this
shift, although the Monsterrat’s Rebounding Gale(a sort of balancing factor to a
Commandment, making it so that it would not be as powerful as it could be without this
limitation. it is Monsterrat’s ability that caused Frederica’s love to Magsarion.) must have
hinted at it."

"Oh, it's mostly Varhran. I'm not sure if I could see the events involving him. But even if
that's the case, what then?"

I staggered, but Ahura Mazda pursued, launching swords towards me.

"I've heard that you grew attached to Magsarion due to the prayer you received after our
split, but in reality, you likely hold much deeper feelings. You carry memories of a promise
made to him before he was even born— a bittersweet, nostalgic longing that gently claws at
your heart."

"Yes, I cannot deny it. But what does it mean?"

"It is a self-destructive impulse, my, your, apoptosis. It is a desire for self-annihilation. I no

longer possess such an urge. I have removed myself from it!"
And then, a swift strike unleashed from the side. The white blade, approaching my neck,
halted just before reaching its target.

"Therefore, no matter what you do, you will propel yourself towards the edge of the deadly
sword. No matter how much Magsarion's murderous intent expands, it will never reach
Varhran, who exists beyond the infinite. Even 'She' will be destroyed in the process, as the
separation of the Divine Sword has doubled the targets for self-destruction. Furthermore,
his feelings towards Varhran will amplify his killing intent without limits, crushing the
structure of the world with his hatred and the desire to kill 'everyone.'"

"...You speak of him as if he were a useful tool."

"That's precisely what he is. In short, he is nothing more than a janitor, tidying the stage
before the performance. I love him, as he will be a dutiful son."

Her shameless statement threatened to set my consciousness ablaze, but I managed to

maintain my composure. Observing my restraint, Ahura Mazda chuckled, her eyes tinged
with a mocking glint.

"Oh, you possess great patience. I have no intention of killing you. I simply wish to render
you so helpless that you are tempted to offer your head to Magsarion."

"...After all, you are a pitiful woman."

Once the momentary anger subsided, a profound sense of pity washed over me. Once again,
I was grateful for who I had become.

"I have been engaged in the same pursuits for so long that I have lost touch with the true
essence of growth. What kind of perspective do you possess?"

I longed for somewhere beyond this place. Ahura Mazda yearned for a new script, a story
divergent from the one she had grown accustomed to, yet she remained bound by her old
values. At the culmination of our arduous journey, a faint flicker of shame emerged as the
first sign of change. It was a dualistic act to separate and confront that suffering, even
though she once reveled in it. She believed she had made an open-minded choice, yet she
was trapped within a closed circle.

"You are mistaken, Ahura Mazda. No matter how exceptional your husband may be, you are
only dragging him down in such a manner. I have told you many times that leaping forward
in a single bound will only result in chaos."

Of course, I myself was far from liberated, still embroiled in this conflict. I was far from
achieving a state of enlightenment, which is why I persisted in my struggle.
"Do not overstep your bounds. Both you and your husband should refrain from being
engulfed by Magsarion and take a moment to regain your composure."

I anticipated Ahura Mazda's fury in response to my words.

"It matters not. He is no God."

Surprisingly, she spoke in a calm tone. I shrugged nonchalantly, unable to conceal my

bewilderment.

"One should not take advice from a child."

Her words elicited a pleasant and exhilarating laugh that reverberated through my ears.
Ahura Mazda readjusted her sword, clutching her stomach as she looked up at the heavens.

"I see, I understand your point. It may lack logic, but as a Divine Sword that channels
prayers into power, it is a legitimate argument. So, would you like to join our side?"

"No way, no way."

She realigned her sword once again and fearlessly declared, "This is when the true battle
begins. The game is finally becoming interesting. I have been bored for far too long. So
please, stay by my side a while longer."

"I have no choice then. If your love affair must continue, I will have to endure it."

There were countless grievances I wished to express as well. And so, with unwavering
devotion, we clashed our swords, united in our pursuit for the men we both believed in,
dreaming of the grand cycle that awaited us.

Unbeknownst to us, time lost its meaning as we engaged in an eternal battle. Intuitively, we
recognized that the final phase would consist of a two-on-two competition.

‘My’ husband and son, who held our fates in their hands, would determine the victor.

Anxiously awaiting that moment, we, the swords, poured all our energy into the fusion of
sparks that would sharpen us to our pinnacle.

5
During this moment, the vastness of the universe remained oblivious to his existence. The
grand battle between good and evil unfolded in a realm beyond the reach of the Great
Tentsui, rendering it inaccessible to all except the involved parties. However, it was a
different story when it came to their influence and impact on the universe as a whole. In a
broader sense, their conflict reverberated throughout the cosmos, resonating as the
ultimate clash of forces.

"The final battle is underway. Its outcome will shape our destiny," echoed throughout the
cells of 'Angra Mainyu,' instilling them with a profound awareness of the ongoing struggle.

The white-clad individuals chanted fervently, beseeching their hero, Magsarion, to bestow
upon them a victorious gleam of his sword.

Meanwhile, the black-clad members howled and raged, invoking the name of Nadare, the
mother, the oldest Demon King, urging her to annihilate their enemies with her mighty
fangs.

Every individual cheered with all their might, their hopes pinned on the survival of their
camp and the utter eradication of the opposing faction. Although they couldn't visually
witness the clash between Nadare and Magsarion, they could sense its unfolding with every
passing moment. They held an unshakable belief that their voices reached the battleground
and were heard by their respective champions. Thus, doubt was banished, and they sang
with unwavering honor and obedience. They were ready to slay anyone who stood in
opposition, for they believed that their will to kill was the sole righteousness they shared. It
was truly a collision of prayers and supplications that cleaved the universe in two.

Needless to say, two individuals stood at the heart of this conflict, carrying the weight of
thoughts and emotions on their shoulders. However, neither Nadare nor Magsarion were
cognizant of this fact, nor did they respond to the resounding cheers.

They harbored no desire to represent either good or evil. They were simply immersed in
the intensity of the present battle.

Magsarion's lethal sword sliced through the sky, striking Nadare's side, while a spinning
hooked blade collided with Magsarion's shoulder. The result was a mutual repulsion, their
attacks failing to land on their intended targets. They engaged in a series of crossed stabs
that interweaved and deflected without inflicting any damage.

Nadare erupted in laughter.

Magsarion blocked a flash aimed at severing his neck with his arm, launching a
counterattack with a karatake split, which, in turn, was blocked by her arm.

In essence, both attacks struck their opponents' bodies, yet no harm befell them.

Several minutes had passed since the commencement of the battle, yet the situation
repeated itself. The two combatants refrained from unleashing their weapons upon each
other, and although they appeared vulnerable, no blood was shed. Both sides displayed an
unusual stoicism. Given their nature, their attacks could not be superficial.
Magsarion's temperament forbade him from holding back, and the more he learned about
his adversaries, the sharper his blade became. Having gleaned insights into the ultimate
black through conversation, he now possessed a special ability against Nadare.

On the other hand, as the oldest Demon King, Nadare possessed an extraordinary Fractured
World that defied convention. She could manipulate the configuration of all things as she
pleased, even altering the arrangement of stars and galaxies. When she channeled this
power into a slash, it bestowed her unparalleled cutting prowess, enabling her to sever not
only atomic bonds but also the very fabric of causality.

However, the deadlock between them undoubtedly stemmed from an mysterious aspect
that eluded comprehension. Ironically, both forces were intertwined in their relentless
pursuit of understanding the other.

"This is all quite entertaining, but things seem to be spiraling out of control," Nadare sighed,
retreating while launching a side cleave as a precautionary measure.

Her movements were nimble but lacked exceptional speed or precision. In terms of
technical finesse, she fell short of mastery. Her skills appeared to be honed through a
certain level of training and real combat experience, yet, as the eldest of the combatants,
she lacked depth and, in essence, remained mediocre. It was even perplexing how, after
over 2000 years of existence, her martial arts skills had not reached a higher level.

"Let's shake things up a bit.”

"I have no interest in competing with you solely in terms of strength."

Magsarion's unconventional movements, akin to a creature that exploited openings,

crawled along the ground. It possessed a ferocity, yet an inherent roughness marred its
form. Despite repeated practice of fundamental movements, it remained unrefined. Both
combatants compensated for their lack of innate talent with alternative qualities.

Magsarion embodied the will to kill, but what did Nadare represent?

"Let's play tag."

In an instant, their positions reversed.

Unexpectedly caught off guard from behind, Magsarion suffered a painful blow to the back
of his head, hurtling him forward. Nadare peered at the man who crashed through a wall,
rolling through three rooms, and spoke with a voice devoid of amusement or disgust.

"Get up," Nadare commanded. "Remaining on the ground won't do you any good."
Silently, Magsarion approached once more. His movements, resembling a blend of snake
and spider, proved elusive, making it exceedingly difficult for anyone with a tactical eye to
anticipate his actions. In fact, Nadare could not track the black shadow with her eyes, nor
did she make any attempt to do so.

It was just that.

Yet again, their positions shifted. Magsarion contorted his body ninety degrees to the side,
evading the onslaught, while Nadare repositioned herself directly behind him. Although he
narrowly avoided the ensuing twin blades, a mere hair's breadth away, he found himself
unexpectedly airborne, suspended in mid-air.

A forceful kick connected with his empty torso, sending him hurtling to the side, colliding
with the floor. As he caught the descending heel, he was propelled upward, crashing into
the ceiling this time. The force vector and spatial coordinates became a chaotic mess.
Superficially, it appeared as a continuous display of instantaneous movement, but it was
anything but. Magsarion couldn't be tossed around so easily.

Transference required knowledge of preexisting shortcuts, a feat within the grasp of a

deadly warrior's eyes and senses. However, they proved futile in this scenario. The
occurrence of anomalies eluded detection, leaving them vulnerable and manipulated.

"Don't be so pessimistic. If you were an ordinary man, you wouldn't even perceive that
something is amiss."

Amidst her irrational fury, Nadare spoke with genuine admiration. Magsarion's position
could be manipulated, yet his body remained immutable. Therefore, she intensified the
disorder in spatial coordinates, as if to emphasize the significance of starting from that very
point.

In doing so, she sought to decipher her opponent's true worth through their resilience. It
was akin to a Fractured World, but distinct from the shared experiences of previous
generations of Nadare— it was uniquely hers.

"Angra Mainyu: All The World's Evil."

She announced the technique's name, and her power reached its peak.

Magsarion's limbs, fingers, and even the flow of his blood spun out of control under the
influence of her gaze, following vectors completely detached from his will. It was, in
essence, a manipulation of fate.

For the enemy, it was an unexpected turn of events— attacks he believed he had evaded
somehow missed, and counterattacks he was certain he had dodged struck home.
By nature, it was not a flashy power. As Zariched and Taurvid had previously experienced,
the disconcerting misalignment between perception and reality created a bewildering
effect. Gradually accumulating small discrepancies, by the time one comprehended the
situation, it was too late.

Magsarion's own struggle lied in transforming what should have been a mere nuisance, a
troublesome yet unassuming phenomenon, into a formidable threat.

In other words, the level of absurdity escalated proportionally to the power of the
opponent. If facing an inferior adversary, it manifested as "natural misfortune," but when
confronted with a formidable foe, the situation became even more nonsensical.

The strength of their wills clashed, his rebellion against the Fractured World intensifying
with each passing moment. The more powerful he became, the more he was repelled by the
collapsing reality surrounding them.
The ensuing chaos gave birth to unimaginable causality, rendering even the most ordinary
occurrences impossible to comprehend. From simple positional relationships to
physiological reactions and the direction of thought itself, everything began to spiral into
disarray.

Bahlavan multiplied his attackers, fragmenting into multiple entities, while Khvarenah
utilized his colossal size to his advantage.

In this twisted realm, both combatants resorted to ranged attacks, realizing that nothing in
this world was as it seemed.

It was a perfect reflection of Nadare's existence, an infinite labyrinth of challenges.

To overcome this maze, she realized the only way was to unleash wide-scale destruction,
with a purpose that remained ambiguous yet encompassing. For Bahlavan and Khvarenah,
their phase and massive body respectively harmonized with the Fractured World, giving
them an edge in their confrontation with Nadare. Their draw against her was, in part, due
to this alignment. However, for Magsarion, it was an unfavorable match.

As a warrior driven by the desire to face and eliminate each and every opponent, he found
himself trapped in a relentless cycle of counterattacks. His only option was to retaliate on a
scale befitting his adversaries.

Nadare, unlike Bahlavan and Khvarenah, was a simple human-sized figure, lacking the
proliferation of the former or the enormity of the latter. The strikes she dealt were bound
by the constraints of space and distance. Even with the sharpest blade, it was impossible for
her to cleave through a wide area with a single swing.

"It is exceedingly arduous to be a hero," she declared. "All sorts of unreasonable things
assail you, forming alliances against you, and you must confront them head-on, triumphing
over them. That is why I strive to become the true one who completes that guy who will
vanquish all these formidable foes."

She personified the absurdities of the world, the ultimate embodiment of absolute evil that
stood as an obstacle in the path to a new world. This was Nadare's ideal, her ultimate
pursuit.

She was the enemy of all people under the 'First Heaven', an indispensable piece in the
grand story unfolding. In many ways, she held more sway than the main character himself.

When she became Nadare, her past was stripped away, her previous life erased along with
its names and Commandments. Although she gained unparalleled power compared to her
previous self, there was an undeniable void in her life. Yet, the burning desire to believe in a
place beyond this torturous existence continued to fuel her.

"I am the Demon King, ‘Everyone’s Demon King.’"

She yearned for the whole world to acknowledge that nothing could be changed without
surpassing her. She sought to live and die as such an existence, proving that even she had an
irreplaceable role to play.

"Now what? If this continues, 'unluckily,' my heart will stop."

Her words were a blend of hope and reprimand as she extended her hand to Magsarion,
whose body contorted in agony. Given the circumstances, it was only natural for her to urge
him to push through, considering her own disposition. However, Nadare couldn't afford to
be complacent.

Despite appearances, she was fighting with all her might. The collapse of causality unfolded
beyond her control, leaving her uncertain of when, how, or what would occur. Thus,
Magsarion's next move was beyond the scope of any script. For a brief moment, it could
have been mistaken for a suicidal act.

"What?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected counterattack, the eldest Demon King staggered
backward, stepping on his own feet. The sword strikes that clung to her transformed into a
relentless black whirlwind.

"This...!"

The situation shifted suddenly, catching her off guard, and she found himself swallowed by
the raging assault. The crucial point to remember was that she was not alone.

"No... really? You audacious child, you truly are!"

The realization dawned upon her, and she perceived Magsarion's true nature. By defying
the Fractured World's inherent failure and embracing self-destruction, he had reversed the
phenomenon. In essence, he turned the blade against himself, convalescing around a state
of Sin. It was a feat that seemed far too audacious and desperate. The concept made sense
in theory, but executing it without hesitation was a colossal psychological hurdle.

"What will you do if I do this?"

As Nadare unleashed the boundaries of collapse, Magsarion, without hesitation, pierced his
own chest. It was a move that no one with human consciousness could easily fathom, and
yet he pressed on.

"You said you were coming for me."

With a dark voice, his drawn sword closed in on Nadare, this time with a legitimate intent
to kill.

"Then try to catch up with me."

Once again, the Fractured World reversed the course of cause and effect. The twisted sword
flashes threatened a self-destructive trajectory, only to halt midway and return to their
original path. Nadare, barely managing to evade, retreated.

She marveled at Magsarion's speed of thought, toggling between deactivation, activation,

and deactivation once more. In less than an instant, their swift transitions birthed the most
peculiar attack and defense the world had ever seen.

When Magsarion went on the offensive, he inflicted self-inflicted wounds. When he became
the target, he plunged himself into the Demon King. Yet, amidst the flurry of movements, his
sword tip grazed Nadare every few dozen exchanges.

Gradually, the frequency increased.

Both combatants stood on equal ground, their battles challenging due to the uncertainty of
the other’s mind.

Whether Nadare employed the Fractured World or Magsarion directed his killing intent
towards himself or the enemy, it was impossible to discern their next moves. The luxury of
reading each other's intentions had evaporated. The contest had transformed into a race of
thoughts and reactions.

The heretical warrior, akin to a beast consumed by fury, surged forward, taking the lead in
this intricate dance.
In the blink of an eye, the initially marginal disparities stacked against Nadare, placing her
at a disadvantage. Magsarion had already impaled himself over a hundred times, yet his
storm-like momentum showed no signs of relenting. On the contrary, it intensified,
spiraling towards an incalculable phenomenon.

"Your body is already..."

Just as Nadare let out a shuddering groan, Magsarion's all-out upper slash struck her
forehead. It was the same sword that cleaved through Bahlavan, severed Khvarenah, and
dispatched Kaikhosru and Sirius with a single stroke.

Even though the second-ranked Demon King survived the onslaught, she bled for the first
time.

In a world devoid of colors other than black and white, the contrasting scarlet appeared like
a confetti dance signaling the end of dualism. Since becoming Nadare, she had no memory
of shedding blood. Therefore, more captivated by the sight of the wound itself than the pain
it caused, she wiped her forehead and gazed at the vivid hues staining her fingers.

Her subsequent exhale carried a hint of solace, as if reminiscing amidst the confusion. She
softly murmured her thoughts.

"But you... you've long since lost everything. Under that armor, there must be nothing…"

Magsarion possessed no physical body.

That was the reason why no attack, no matter how mighty, could ever end his existence. He
had transformed into an immutable concept, something beyond comprehension.

"Was it when you fought Bahlavan that triggered it? You had been gradually deteriorating
long before that, but defeating him was the turning point."

"And what if it was? It's none of your concern."

Though Magsarion responded curtly, he did not refute Nadare's observation. In fact, as she
had suggested, during the battle with Bahlavan, he had pushed his armor's power beyond
its limits.
Consequently, the armor devoured his ego entirely, reducing him to a mere tool in service of
its intended purpose.

Even now, beneath the armor, only a swirling black flame of darkness remained. The
tangible Magsarion no longer existed.

He stood there, devoid of regret, solely fulfilling his significance.

What, then, constituted immutability for him?

While he had once declared to Bahlavan that he would remain undefeated throughout his
life, it was merely a premise, a means to an end.

The truth remained shrouded in mystery.

Perhaps, this was the final opportunity to unravel it.

Magsarion, who had failed to deliver the finishing blow to Nadare, now sought to uncover
the essence of his opponent. Both combatants halted their attacks, creating a space for
dialogue as they maintained a cautious distance.

"The Gudou, you know what they say about it? It's not a law that spreads outward like the
Hadou, but the ultimate convergence of the individual within. It's not about shaping the
world according to your desires, but rather about defining yourself in relation to the world.

"If one pursue the path of the Gudou, they become a universe condensed within a human.
Bahlavan was close to achieving it, but he fell short, not due to lack of power, but because of
inherent flaws within the system."

"Are you responsible for those flaws?" Magsarion questioned, his voice tinged with
suspicion.

In response, Nadare offered a smile— not one of superiority, but rather a self-mocking
expression filled with shame.

Nadare, being a Sensory that embodied the struggle between good and evil, carried the
weight of the Cardinal Commandment— the Great Tentsui. In other words, she was the only
pseudo-Gudou God allowed in this universe.

"Well, I've added my own Commandment to it, but in reality, I'm not so different from my
predecessors. I simply desire to become a true Demon King," Nadare confessed, her words
reflecting a sense of longing and aspiration.

However, in this universe, no matter how skilled one may be, mastering the nature of the
Gudou is impossible. The only way to achieve it is through the form of a "Nadare." And since
the Hadou governs the ability to alter the structure of the universe, those who seek the
Gudou path are destined for disappointment.

"If Bahlavan had defeated me, he would have become the next Nadare. I've always felt sorry
for him, and you made it easier for him when he was trapped like that. But I'm not sure if it
truly saved him. With your sword, you eliminated all the Hadou candidates who could have
changed the stage," Nadare reflected, her voice carrying a tinge of sorrow.
Nadare's extraordinary strength stemmed from her position atop the realm of the Gods,
albeit in a pseudo-Godly manner.

Despite her modesty, the dual Commandments she possessed brought her closer to the
ultimate goal than any of her predecessors.

"I want to be a Demon King. The greatest and final barrier, defeated by the true hero who
will change the world. Because I prayed so with my soul, I just had to know what
Magsarion's immutability became. In or out, the failure if the Gudou, seeking or conquering,
the ascendancy of the Hadou— if it is the former, I cannot afford to lose decisively, and if it
is the latter, I will be glad to be defeated. But as Varhran described it, the way of the wicked
warrior seems to be different from either of them.”
As Nadare carefully reviewed the information she had accumulated thus far, a hypothesis
began to form in her mind.

"You can't be serious," she exclaimed, unable to fathom the implications.

"Do you mean to say that your immutability is a form of Sin?" she questioned Magsarion,
awaiting his response with bated breath.

However, he remained silent, his thoughts veiled behind a curtain of contemplation. In that
profound stillness, Magsarion reached a profound conclusion— one that challenged the
very fabric of this world.

He realized that those who mindlessly danced to the tunes of Avesta, oblivious to its
consequences, and those who recognized the wrongness of it but were powerless to effect
change were equally burdened with Sin.

With astonishing audacity, he embraced these flaws and, in doing so, forged a system of
punishment that embodied Sin itself. It was as if he sought to amalgamate the principles of
Gudou and Hadou, combining their strengths to compensate for the shortcomings of both.

‘If this were indeed the path of Meifou Madou, a journey to transform oneself into the very
incarnation of hell, it would entail a chilling reality.’

According to Magsarion's twisted logic, every individual is tainted with Sin. As a result, he
would mercilessly extinguish every life, drawing them into his grasp, and construct a world
where punishment befitting their transgressions would be exacted. It was a concept both
fierce and horrific, yet strangely fair and unequivocal.

In such a world, regrets would dissipate, for the system was not rooted in irrationality. It
could never be described as virtuous or righteous, but by perpetuating evil with evil, the
promise of retribution would inevitably materialize.
It formed an unending chain of mutual slaughter, a law designed to eradicate the heresy of
surrendering while in a position of becoming the winner.

As fear and excitement entwined within Nadare's heart, her very core quivered.

This hypothesis struck a chord deep within her being, resonating with a profound truth.
Yet, in embracing it, she couldn't help but feel that it would entail stripping the Demon
Kings of their purpose, robbing them of their ordained roles.

If Magsarion's future was to shoulder the burden of all the world's evil, then her own
reason for existence would be shaken to its core. Perhaps, in the end, Magsarion himself
would meet his demise, fading away into oblivion, thereby becoming no different from a
replacement for Nadare.

Even as her rational mind resisted, unable to fully embrace the notion, Nadare found herself
inexplicably drawn to it.

Her being was thrust into a state of disarray, as though she had been cast into a desolate
wasteland of ignorance.

“It’s too weak.”

Magsarion, in his enigmatic manner, merely referred to her hypothesis as "weak," neither
dismissing it as wrong nor validating its completeness. In other words, her conjecture
represented merely a glimpse, a fraction of the larger truth lurking at the periphery of
understanding.

“Sin is it? Sin… I see. I now know your essence.”

“What yo— ”

Nadare's core shook as Magsarion gently and directly pierced her soul, causing her voice to
tremble as she clung to him.

"You want me to unleash my wrath upon you, don’t you?" Magsarion questioned, his voice
filled with condemnation. “I will pass judgment. I will bring you punishment. I won't allow
filth to roam freely. I interpreted it that way because it is what you desire. You spoke of the
duties of a Demon King, but deep down, you simply want the freedom to do as you please."

His words resonated with a profound anger that lay at the core of everything. The primary
motive was to follow that intense emotion above all else.

"I am..."
Magsarion began, intending to unravel the mystery of his opponent but, in the process,
revealing his own truth. Nadare stood there, shocked yet feeling as if she had regained a
part of herself that had long been suppressed. It wasn't that she had concealed her true
feelings or feigned them. She hadn't forgotten or changed her mind either.

"I was simply crushed by the overwhelming weight of the name 'Nadare,' forced to
abandon the person I once was. I was a helpless, pitiful loser, the daughter of the Daeva. But
I prayed with fervor, with pride, as my insect-like existence demanded."

She had fervently prayed, yearning to be an indispensable force, surpassing the role of a
mere protagonist. Above all else, she couldn't forgive those who had forced her into this
fate.

"I don't care about the world's fate. I would be satisfied if I could strike 'you'— who
calculates everything— as hard as I can, whether it ends in my victory or crushing defeat,"
Nadare admitted, her voice resonating with conviction.

“Yes, that's right……I'm not going to let ‘Shinga,’ Ahura Mazda, and Varhran win and get
away with it. I want them to suffer and writhe screaming!”

Magsarion chuckled softly, facing the declaration of war that emanated from the depths of
her being.

"I agree with you. I don't mind that kind of feeling."

A shiver coursed through Nadare's entire being, an electrifying sensation that surpassed
even the intensity of the flames of her conviction. A surge of joy overwhelmed her, causing
her body to tremble.

"My name is..."

Nadare's words were on the brink of taking shape, just one step away from becoming a
reality.

Yet, there was no hint of disappointment— rather, anticipation welled up within her.

‘The moment I can say this, I know my wish will come true,’ she thought to herself.

‘I may be narrow-minded and foolish, unable to comprehend the intricate schemes of those
above me. But that doesn't matter. I can believe— purely and unwaveringly. No matter what
conspiracies lurk at the world's end, I cannot bear the thought of them manipulating the
man standing before me. No matter who they are, they cannot mold him.’
"I see your immutability! Everyone possesses it, yet everyone's is different. Because you
lack a face, it extends to all ends— an anarchic, outrageous energy!" Nadare exclaimed, her
voice resounding with conviction.

The true nature of this energy was ‘Nothingness’— not an illusion of emptiness, but a dense
and massive amalgamation where scorching heat and absolute zero intertwined.

Within Magsarion's core, a dark explosive substance akin to chaos detonated, swirling with
the collective essence of ‘Nothingness.’

Ignorance (無知) symbolizing the nameless individuals dancing to Avesta.

Powerlessness (無力) of those who had fallen while attempting to resist.

A Ruthless (無情) sword who destroys them and ignores any criticism rushing forward
without remorse or shame.

A Villainous (無頼) heart that dared not fear the Gods.

A Reckless (無謀) way of life that disregarded gains and losses.

Indifferent (無関心) to the circumstances of others.

Yet possessing Unparalleled (無尽) insight to approach the truth.

An infinite killing intent driving him to the edge of Infinity (無辺).

A destroyer of various orders, an inexorable force that repelled everything, from feeble
moralities to cosmic laws.

There’s no doctrine to make him submit, the concept specialized in eradicating external
pressure is faceless (無貌), formless (無形) and therefore, invincible (無敵).

Magsarion emanates such an overwhelming power that Nadare perceives him as a figure
capable of accomplishing the unimaginable.

She recognized the folly of projecting her own selfish desires onto him, yet she couldn't help
but be consumed by envy and awe, yearning for his unwavering resolve.
"Devour me, Magsarion, consume my fury, my very identity..."

Driven by her plea, Nadare charges forward, and ‘Nothingness responds in kind.

She hurls herself into the swirling tempest of his sword, harmonizing with the euphoria of
spilt blood.
"May it etch itself upon your blade, Magsarion! I long to become the immutable piece that
completes this man."

‘Everyone’s Demon King,’ without exception, utters this prayer, activating the unparalleled
Fractured World— a manifestation she will unleash for the final time in her existence.

A Tentsui ensues.

The fundamental laws of the universe contort and rearrange themselves, yielding to the
utmost extent possible.

All to pave the way for Magsarion's journey along the Meifou Madou, propelling him toward
his coveted destination.

In simpler terms, it was about clearing the path ahead.

It wasn't about removing obstacles, but rather illuminating the darkness like a bonfire on a
pitch-black night.

Nadare understood that Magsarion was a man who would never falter under any
circumstances, which is why she desired him to take the most optimal course of action. She
had absolute faith and no reservations about it.

"And that's why I fell in love with you."

Hence, it was inevitable that he would extend an invitation to her, she had no reason to
complain, only to fulfill her duty according to her ideals.

"Now is the time for us to pave the way to the place we've always dreamed of!"

Nadare's voice resounded with clarity as she brandished her twin blades like wings soaring
into the future.

"Let's go!"

Simultaneously, the city trembled. As if rewinding time, they embarked on a series of

teleportations to the primary battlefields where the eternal conflict between good and evil
raged.

Perhaps, it was a reproduction of Magsarion's journey, tracing the path that this ‘ship’
(Angra Mainyu from the Age of Zero) had once taken to reach its destination— Naraka.

Their first destination was an ordinary planet within the atmosphere. It was a typical world
with a few million inhabitants leading idyllic lives. They gazed upward at the peculiar ship
that materialized amidst the clouds, pumping their fists and cheering.
Naively, without questioning, they sensed that a final battle unfolded within the mysterious
vessel above them and fervently prayed for Magsarion's triumph. Amidst this scene of
normality, one anomaly stood out.

The unassuming townscape directly beneath the 'Angra Mainyu' had vanished, leaving a
void at its center. It was as if a colossal spoon had scooped up the land and relocated it
elsewhere. Though it didn't resemble a natural geological formation, it bore no signs of
destruction either.

"This is your home," Nadare whispered softly as their blades intertwined.

"I won't offer any clumsy explanations. Just acknowledge and comprehend where you come
from and where you're headed."

Their blades clashed once more, resolute and unwavering.

Magsarion’s bones creaked under the pressure of Nadare’s sword, yet he paid it no mind.
Instead, he dreamt a ‘peaceful’ vision steeped in pain and fear. He exerted every ounce of
his being, zealously slaughtering all, even yearning for his own demise as he teetered on the
edge of extinction.

As if to declare, "Now is the time to fulfill the duties of the Demon King I have set for
myself."

"More, more, more... It can't end like this. If you can't withstand me, I'll kill you!"

Quicker than the twin blades could descend, Magsarion's strike met Nadare's torso. The
blade plunged deep into her flesh, cleaving through ribs and reaching her lungs. Fresh
blood gushed, drenching them both, yet their relentless pursuit persisted.

"You're hesitating. Try severing them both with a single blow!"

Enraged, she swung down, and a furious strike landed atop Magsarion's head. This time, he
was bisected right down to the groin, yet no blood flowed. He screamed but swiftly rejoined
his severed parts, his lethal sword responding in kind. The blade embedded in Nadare's
chest twisted and cleaved diagonally. Her flank, gouged and torn, exploded into shrapnel
that hurtled towards Magsarion. Yet, in an instant, the scene shifted once again.

The new space they entered was devoid of anything. No traces of ash or dust, only an
expanse of utter darkness stretching across tens of thousands of light-years. However, it
wasn't always this way.

Merely twenty years ago, there had undeniably been countless lives thriving here. Wahman
Yast, the ancient Sacred Realm— the heart of a dead galaxy reduced to a barren wasteland
after being consumed by Khvarenah.
"Brother!"

Magsarion slashed away the fragments of Nadare's flesh hurtling toward her, his sword
dancing with unparalleled strength.

Nadare’s body, an extension of 'Angra Mainyu,' condensed the power of the universe, even if
it was just a drop of blood. It was as potent as it appeared, equivalent to a billion stars
colliding. Intercepting it was not only immensely challenging but also incredibly reckless,
leaving the towering black form riddled with holes in the blink of an eye. However, no one
expected him to falter because of it.
Nadare, of course, and ‘everyone’ knew.

They could hear his heartbeat.

The heartless blade would not waver.

It would continue its relentless onslaught, obliterating everything in its path, until even its
echo faded away.

"Yes, follow the rhythm of your heart, Magsarion, and stand tall!"

The true Magsarion was the self-destructive element, the apoptosis of Ahura Mazda.
Magsarion was naught but a cancerous cell birthed from the depths of the Divine Sword's
darkness.

He was a meaningless and insignificant tool designed to slay his own mother, destined to
vanish into oblivion upon her demise.

However, through the union with Priestess Quinn's womb, he fused with Varhran's lineage,
and he too possessed a unique soul. Rife with the karma of an unending desire for
bloodshed, he could choose who, how, and when to kill, even if he was manipulated by his
mother.

The memory that sparked this desire, the foundation of his identity, was…

"I will never be like my brother."

I yearned to prove that I differed from him, even if we shared blood.

I would deny the path and the way my brother sought to tread.

Even if my very soul had been tampered with, its structure altered by Varhran, and even if
my rebellious spirit was a part of his machinations, I am determined to overturn it all.
This pledge became Magsarion's third Commandment, or rather, the first Commandment
etched into his being twenty years ago when he witnessed Varhran's death.

A killing intent born of his own volition, not as a result of being Ahura Mazda's apoptosis,
not as a result of Varhran’s unique nature from the ‘Age of Zero,’ but his own, immutable
self.

Once realized, his sword would reach its completion, distinct and immutable. Like a shark
drawn to the scent of blood, he would follow his brother's heartbeat to the far reaches of
infinity.
With the strongest emotion tied to his origins surging within him, Magsarion bellowed with
unbridled lawlessness. Paying no mind to the flying fragments of Nadare's flesh, he
abandoned defense and sought to break through head-on, disregarding the continuous rain
of flesh fragments.

"Good, this is what makes it worthwhile!" Witnessing his audacious actions, Nadare
couldn't contain her joy.

Though she had caused countless failures, she believed that only this Fractured World,
guiding Magsarion to his destiny, would succeed.

Nadare's Commandment was to make those she confronted and interacted with fall,
entangling them in her own failures. She believed that, by doing so, ‘those’ who had toyed
with her for so long would experience a more spectacular downfall than ever before.

"I don’t care about the grand scheme ‘She’ had in mind. Whatever it was, I would shatter it.
Varhran and the others will pay for looking down on us from their lofty perches, pretending
to be a transcendent. Perhaps I can't achieve it on my own, but with you..."

She cried out, an uproarious laughter emanating from the depths of her being, and swung
down a sweeping slash that shattered the universe.

"Watch me, Mashyana! I won't let your regrets go to waste!"

In the next instant, the world shifted into the Sky Burial Sphere.

The breath of the Star Spirit had already faded away, and the petals dancing in the sky now
counted down the seconds towards their annihilation. The faint, delicate pink wind held
fleeting beauty, reminiscent of the elegance of a certain King’s cherry blossom's fan.

Magsarion, having lost sight of the brother he was meant to slay, revisited his childhood on
this battlefield and took a step forward, acknowledging his ignorance.

Who was his brother, truly?

The realization of his ignorance stemmed from the fact that those taking leading roles on
this stage— Mashyana and another unknown figure (Zurvan)5— were relatives.
In that sky of remorse, where love and hate intertwined, Magsarion found himself reflecting
on his own existence.

Ultimately, he awakened from his delusions and began on the path to comprehend
'everyone.'

In his quest to diverge from his brother's path, Magsarion knew he had to uncover his true
identity, so that he would never let Varhran escape from his grasp again.

It was a realization that eluded him, until he encountered a violent flying locust, wreaking
havoc and annoying him to no end.

"You have unraveled the truth about Bahlavan and saved him. Oh, I'd like to think he was
definitely saved."

In response to her words, the scene shifted once more.

The shattered and bloody garden stood devoid of life, the fierce waves of martial arts
gusting like a tempest.

Magsarion, driven by his love for pure combat, had disregarded the laws of Avesta.

He believed that as long as he existed, he was eternal, his power transcending the mortal
flesh.

The battle with Bahlavan became an opportunity for Magsarion to push his limits. It was
the first time he defeated an opponent using his own unique killing style, having
understood both sides of the enemy. In other words, he realized that he couldn't win using
the same methods he had always employed.

"He must be proud to have catalyzed your transformation. I want to make it shine until time
immemorial, so show me that you are the strongest!"

Nadare proclaimed gushing with glee at the scene of Magsarions past, flying through his life
as if it was her own.

5
Just in case you guys forgot, Zurvan is the Sensory of The Naraka, Mitra’s(Shinga’s)
comrades from the Age of Zero, and during the fight with Mashyana, she broke her
Commandment and created a time paradox where she would go back 20 years to become
Incest. Because of this paradox and his identity as a Sensory, Mitra(Shinga) deleted him
from existence and all memories of him to ensure the stability of the Divine Throne, which
is why it says unknown figure.
Magsarion contemplated the idea of being invincible and unbeatable, an illusion that
Bahlavan gave his entire being to. The followers of Hadou, the path of struggle, held the
answer to achieving this ideal, so Bahlavan was forever eluded, never becoming whole.

But becoming one with Magsarion must be a reward of the highest honor, allowing him the
right to take his immutability to partake in the cosmic slaughter, so one must imagine
Bahlavan happy.

Amidst the escalating sword fights, Magsarion was transported to another planet, a small
remnant compared to its former scale, yet vast enough to be a celestial body.

It was the result of a Star Spirit, once known as the Workshop of Annihilation.
"The incomplete beauty of Khvarenah helped you understand the mechanisms of the world.
Without it, you wouldn't be the person you are today, and that includes Varhran as well."

“Indeed.”

Magsarion briefly agreed, prompting a broad smile from Nadare, amidst the gruesome
bloodstains. There was a hint of jealousy in the air, somewhat refreshing in its own way.

"I want to create a 'beautiful' sword for you, so that you can retain even a little bit of the
immutability that retains a fragment of the ideal Khvarenah sought."

The emanation of Hadou, rewriting the universe, a new world crafted by replacing God.
Magsarion grasped this mechanism through his battle with the divine Khvarenah.

He understood that the Avesta governing the thoughts of Ashavan and Drujvants was not
mere instinct, but a living being reigning at the top of the Divine Throne, coloring all
creation with its own law.
It was a paradigm shift, a realization that if it was alive, he could kill it, propelled Magsarion
to a higher realm.

But the Meifou-Madou was not yet complete.

The mystery of Varhran, the one he most wanted to solve, remained untouched.

"The Princess of Murder gave me the clue of all people.”

"Frederica has truly become lovely. Even you couldn't resist the innocence of a maiden in
love. Did you consider her feelings, or did you pretend6 not to understand until the very
end?"

"It's none of your business," Magsarion retorted, his voice slicing through the air.

Nadare's weapon shattered as he caught it, cutting her in two at the hilt. However, she did
not fall. Gripping the white blade with bare hands, she resisted, her face contorted in pain.
"You… must have long guessed the source of her love. But I won't ask you to reveal it. It's
better if it remains unspoken. Even if the answer is obvious, it would leave the least amount
of rambling, that's what she wanted. Isn't it a kind of gratitude for the lovely prophecy?"

‘One day, you will surely face the true enemy you sought,’ Magsarion recalled Frederica's
dying words.

In order to fulfill Frederica's dying words, he swallowed her wish, creating it to be

unyielding and immutable.

So no one had ever tarnished the love of the maiden.

The proof is that Frederica was sleeping with a peaceful expression on her face, her body
remained peacefully within the halo of Khvarenah, unaffected by time's passage. More than
three months had gone by, yet her form had not disintegrated. It was a testament to the
trust placed in Magsarion by her.

“Everyone entrusted you with their dreams… Kaikhosru and Sirius, too."

The scene shifted again. Roxanne, holding the head of the deceased dragon, and Alma,
collapsed beneath the sky of the new continent.
They defied logic, the complete opposite to Magsarion, and the path to becoming a stronger
existence was far from simple.

“Their competence had reached its extreme, and I had gained profound knowledge to
unravel the truth.”

What remained was to discover what he did not yet know.

To confront a mystery with the knowledge of its existence was doable, but to be oblivious to
it would leave it outside your grasp.

6
If you guys dont remember from Volume 3, when Frederica broke her commandment,
even though Magsarion understood her love, he pretended to be ignorant. So that he could
save the reminiscence of her romance as she wishes, keeping her immutable. It wasn’t
explicitly stated back then so I just wanted to clarify.
Magsarion's in-laws, Nahid and Siruis, held the missing pieces, and now,and now Magsarion
had clawed his way to the other side of the world.

He was now one step away from understanding who Varhran was and what he contained
withing that swirling existence mixed with all and everything. It wouldn’t be far fetched to
that there was also his connection to ‘Her.’

"So let me ask you, Magsarion..."

In that instant, the sword connecting them exploded, as if breaking from within. Nadare
swiftly reached out, gripping the back of Magsarion's head, and forcefully pulled him back.

She, who wished to be the final fragment of the ship that sailed through space before the
birth of Magsarion's universe, was about to fulfill her duty.

"How will you make me rage with emotion? Merely killing them would only cause them to
laugh at you. I honestly believe in you, but tell me the means without tact. Only then will my
torturous destiny be complete."

Magsarion, like a master architect, had deftly carved a fracture in the blueprint of "Her,"
altering the course of his own trajectory through the vast expanse of the Fractured World.

His actions were calculated, a precise incision in the fabric of destiny, leaving a scar that ran
across the ice-like surface of the future.

The path he treaded was straight and unwavering, leading him towards the elusive answer
he sought. Nadare, observing his unwavering determination, harbored no doubts about the
clarity of his vision.

In this paradoxical realm, impossibilities dissolved, for Magsarion transcended the realm of
frustration, surpassing his very limitations.

‘I shall take pride in proclaiming that I have fulfilled my decisive role. To depart from this
world, satisfied that I have played my part in shaping the completion of your journey…’
Magsarion, a stoic figure, revealed no emotions in the face of Nadare's imminent collapse.

Time itself seemed to lose its grasp, as the concept of its passing became obscured within
the distorted boundaries of the Fractured World.

At last, with unwavering villainy etched into his words, Magsarion broke the silence that
had enveloped them, his voice carrying the weight of his resolve.

"I have four commandments…”

He continues gruffly, clearing his throat as if he was arrogantly boasting.

“Or rather, I plan to have them in the near future. As you witnessed earlier, I have a
tendency to defy the laws of the world."

"Then you are..."

Nadare's response held a cryptic quality, but she seemed to grasp the significance. After a
brief pause, she shook her shoulders, conveying a sense of satisfaction.

"I see... I see... You got one over on me. But it's logical when you think about it… Yes, you
truly got me, ha ha ha..."

"I will be unable to reach you," she said as a serene expression settled on her face.

Softly, with a touch of lingering hope, she whispered, "My name is Sita. I pray that you
remember me."

With a triumphant air of assurance, she gently closed her eyes, radiating a profound sense
of gratitude and reverence.

And thus, the irreversible Fall commenced— a profound indicator that ‘Angra Mainyu’ had
fulfilled its purpose from ages primordial, ensuring that ‘Nadare would’ never be born
again.

6
In the control room, the ancient relic of the 'Age of Zero,' Angra Mainyu, crumbled and
showed signs of imminent demise. Amidst this chaos, Magsarion stood calmly, his gaze fixed
on the ever-increasing number of monitors that filled the room.

The number of monitors in the control room, large and small, was constantly increasing,
filling the entire space. In addition, the images that appeared on them were changing at a
dizzying pace in less than a moment's time. At first glance, the frenzy seems to be a
symptom of a malfunction, but Magsarion knew better.
He recognized it as a deliberate act, a souvenir left by Nadare, or rather, Sita.

To him, this frenzied display was a shortcut, a way to reach the optimal solution. She tells
‘everyone's savior,’ no Magsarion, with knowledge about the countless beings inhabiting
different corners of the universe. While others might perceive it as a mere flash of light,
Magsarion's discerning evil eye absorbed every detail. He assimilated the information
through all his senses, delving deep into its meaning.

One monitor caught his attention— a white woman who had recently been apart of the
black and cursed Magsarion to damnation, now, triumphantly, proclaimed her belief in him.
A black child looked on, her face etched with confusion as she struggled to comprehend her
Fall. Yet, sensing newfound physical strength, a yearning for violence began to awaken
within her.

In various places, battles raged on, evil clashed with good, and identities blurred.

“I am evil.”

“I am good.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”
“I don't care what you say.”

“You've got a face that makes me want to kill you.”

“Come here, don't run away, let's play.”

“Let's play.”

“Let's play and whoever survives will be right.”

The devastation spread as far as the eye could see— destruction, death, birth, and
disappearance unfolded relentlessly. The concept of Nadare had ended with Sita, but the
relentless chaos of the Great Tentsui persisted.

“Kuh huha haha…”

Unable to contain his amusement any longer, Magsarion erupted in front of the monitor. His
armor, twisted, cracked, and fissured, creaked under the strain as he burst into laughter,
unable to resist the absurdity unfolding before him.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"How foolish, how ignorant they all are. They are all mere puppets, ignorant beings unable
to decide their own targets to kill.”

The cruelty of it all, the merciless puppetry, was unbearable for an immutable man like him
to ignore.

"This sudden turn of events is quite intriguing," he remarked, chuckling once again.

"You all equally deserve death… and so I shall be your savior."

Another bout of laughter erupted, shattering Melek Taus's limit.

The helmet, unable to withstand the vibrations of his voice, shattered, signifying the end for
‘her,’ yet, it also brought liberation from the ruthless master. The purpose for ‘her’ existence
had ceased to exist, and thus, ‘her’ death was permitted.

There was no need for Magsarion to hide anymore.

Everyone who knew Varhran was dead.

‘He’ was nowhere to be found, as ‘he’ was physically erased from existence.

Only a blank face remained, a chaotic void swirling in unfathomable darkness.

I vowed never to be like my brother.

Magsarion had sworn never to become like his brother, but this Commandment, the very
core of his being, was both steadfast and ambiguous, a vague and empty bondage that was
both full and devoid at the same time.

He had never truly understood the true nature of Varhran, and without that clarity, he
struggled to define his own behavior. The line between breaking the breaking the
Commandment remained blurred, and thus, no rewards could be expected. At the very
least, he had not gained any power to kill.
Yet, it would be incorrect to say that these years had been wasted.

Over two decades, Magsarion had undergone a gradual transformation, shedding the
remnants of his brother's visage.

I despised the resemblance we shared.

I yearned to sever even the ties of blood we had in common, forsaking my flesh.

From a young age, he had been burdened with expectations of being a replacement for the
Hero.
Breaking the Commandment resulted in ambiguous punishment, but each time Alma's
longing reached him, he experienced excruciating pain.
And not just her, he continued to walk on the edge of this tightrope because of the favor he
received from ‘everyone.’

And so, he wore a mask, defying the expectations of a Hero, sowing the seeds of his
distinctiveness from Varhran, all in an attempt to breathe freely.

Thus was the truth of Magsarion's existence.

Day by day, his physical form diminished, a consequence of the quid pro quo of the
Commandment combined with the armor's function, systematically eliminated every aspect
that bore any resemblance to Varhran.

Ever since his fateful encounter with Bahlavan, he had allowed this transformation to
continue, unable to halt its relentless progress.

But in truth, he had no desire to stop.

Finally, he had become a complete ‘Nothingness,’ devoid of any tangible presence.

This idea may horrify other people, but to Magsarion, he felt an unprecedented sense of
refreshment for the first time in his life.

The only lingering concern was the fact that his sword had been shattered in his battle with
Sita. But that was a trivial matter in the grand scheme of things.

His gaze swept across the room, landing on a longsword propped against a corner.
Magsarion recognized it immediately—it was the same sword once wielded by Varhran.
Obtaining it would undoubtedly violate his Commandment, but he approached it
nonchalantly, without a trace of worry.
He resolved that if he unsheathed the sword, he would not become a mere imitation of his
brother. With a forceful grip on the hilt, he exerted all his strength, only to be met with an
equally fierce resistance.

The sword seemed to protest, stubbornly refusing to budge, its blade merely a few
centimeters deep in the floor. Magsarion snickered at the sword's defiance. He cared not for
such trivialities and simply employed brute force to extract it.

Perhaps a scream echoed through the air, but he paid it no mind.

A surge of scorching heat emanated from the hilt, yet Magsarion remained unfazed.

With a single hand, barely exerting any effort, he wrenched the Divine Sword free, its
release accompanied by a gurgling sound.

As this relentless act of tyranny unfolded, Magsarion himself underwent a transformation.

From the darkness that once consumed his neck and upward, a faint outline emerged.

Shadows materialized, revealing the faint contours of eyes and a nose.

Gradually, the ‘Nothingness’ gave birth to cascading flames, became long hair that curled in
a frightening manner.

Thin lips twisted into a grotesque shape beneath the bony bridge of a nose.

Ah, those eyes—piercing and intense. The sharp arch of his eyebrows.

How was it possible that a man with such a strikingly handsome face, possessing an overall
balance of perfection, could also invoke such terror?

The juxtaposition between beauty and horror was an enigma in itself.

Magsarion stood, an exact replica of Varhran. And yet, everything about him was different.

Varhran possessed an abnormal spirit, a childlike clarity that shone with an indescribable
brilliance. Though his true intentions were often elusive, there was an undeniable charm to
his existence, an air of reliability that emanated from his very being.

In stark contrast, Magsarion was an open book, easily comprehensible to anyone who
encountered him. There was no room for ambiguity in his transformed appearance. He had
embraced a semblance of simplicity, a deliberate shift in his countenance.

Magsarion understood the purpose behind this change, akin to the magnetic pull between
polar opposites. It served as a guiding light on the path to discovering the long-sought
heartbeat, the true identity of his brother, which lay just around the corner.

Now, wielding the Divine Sword, Magsarion gave voice to the pure prayer that resided
within the depths of his heart.

"I shall kill everyone."

And thus, a desolate landscape of carnage rises anew as Magsarion embarked on a new era
of relentless slaughter.
 Chapter 16: Remorseless Paradise of the Fallen – Translated by @ashmxt.t

1
As a child, I cherished the enchanting fairy tales my mother wove into my bedtime stories.
There was a common motif in those tales, one that sought to discipline unruly children.

‘If you don't do as you're told, a faceless monster will eat you.’

It was a common kind of warning. It is a common practice, regardless of time period or

region, to suggest a terrifying presence in order to discipline children who are not yet ready
to listen to it.

Curiously, I found myself drawn to these troublesome characters who proved convenient
for parents but exasperating for children. I yearned for more, begging my mother to share
further details about this elusive being.

Annoyed by my contrary attitude, she resorted to narrating the stories in an ostentatious

manner, attempting to scare me into submission.

"No one knows the origins of this creature," she would proclaim with dramatic flair.
"He came into existence eons ago, long before the birth of my mother's grandmother and
her grandmother's grandmother. A unique and mysterious monster, the only thing in the
world that we don't understand. He is neither white nor black, for even 'God' despises it,"
my mother continued, heightening the mystique.

"Thus, he perpetually harbors anger, ceaselessly seeking to devour everything it

encounters. Anything consumed by its insatiable appetite is transformed into a distorted
semblance of itself. He puts everything into his stomach and makes them into something
they are not. Into something like him. Once you lay eyes upon this monster, your fate is
sealed. No amount of tears or apologies can ever garner its forgiveness."

Though my mother's theatrical tone and laughter sent shivers down my spine, I remained
undeterred. In fact, her stories only fueled my desire to catch a glimpse of this monster.

I felt a strange empathy towards it.

"Are you lonely?" I wondered aloud.

"If I were to befriend this monster, could it find solace and cease its wrath against us?"

My mother was taken aback by my innocence, momentarily at a loss for words. Wanting to
maintain the conversation, I posed another question.

"But how do we know this monster truly exists? Won't encountering him mean the end?"

In response, my mother sighed, then pointed towards the bedroom window, her gaze fixed
on the night sky beyond.

“Look at that.”

I followed her gesture, yet I struggled to decipher her intentions. Offering my sincere
interpretation, I remarked, "The sky is full of countless stars, isn't it?"

"Yes, but there were even more in my mother's time. Your grandmother would attest to the
same. Do you understan?"

My mother's face expressed a mix of awe and amusement.

"Well, it's nothing for you to worry about. Just make sure not to stay up too late," she
retorted, her tone tinged with a wry smile.

"Okay. But please, continue telling me about the monster," I pleaded.

"Yes, yes, that was our agreement. I understand."

For my mother, any means to dissuade her daughter from misbehavior sufficed. It wasn't
that I behaved well out of fear; rather, I sought to unravel the mysteries surrounding the
monster. Thus, a promise was formed, and from then on, I was showered with nightly tales
of the faceless monster.

These stories depicted the annihilation of a kingdom with a single gust of wind, mountains
vanishing, oceans evaporating, and not a blade of grass or tree surviving his passage.

There were tales of a mighty Demon King of the Black, boasting invincibility, only to be
consumed helplessly.

And there were accounts of an army united by hope, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

In general, the faceless monster emerged as an overwhelming and insurmountable

catastrophe—a menacing beast defying human control, an incomprehensible
transcendental anomaly.

Realistically, the stars in the night sky were gradually disappearing year after year. It
became apparent that these legends were born from this phenomenon, explaining why they
had acquired the essence of fairy tales.

Undoubtedly, fear gripped everyone, my mother included. Perhaps she wished to convince
herself that this mysterious phenomenon was inconsequential, adopting it as a tool to
discipline her daughter. By doing so, she might have hoped to trivialize the impending
calamity and find solace amidst the chaos.

Or perhaps, in my yearning to befriend the monster, she detected a glimmer of hope, a

desperate longing for something beyond the confines of a child's imagination.

I cannot ascertain her motives now, for when I grew older and ventured to the outer lands
as part of my people's fight, my mother vanished from our home planet.

The faceless monster is undeniably real.

Warriors engaged in the struggle between good and evil, black and white, all recognized its
existence. None had ever seen it— humans lacked the capability, even with the
super-clairvoyance of Star Spirits.

But he is there.

Something swirled within the vast expanse of the universe, surpassing even the laws of
‘God.’ He ceaselessly traversed, relentless in his endeavor to engulf everything. His
destructive power surpassed simple annihilation or extermination.
Should a star 10,000 light-years away be extinguished, we would witness its demise only
after a span of 10,000 years. The logic behind this phenomenon eludes us, as he appears
capable of transcending both time and space, rendering them null and void beneath its
blade.

Truly, this was an act of divine power that defied our common sense. No countermeasure
existed against such a force.

Pondering the situation, one might naturally succumb to despair, whether it be through
lamentation or rage. Inevitably, resignation seemed the only conceivable outcome,
regardless of the path one's heart followed.

Yet, I questioned my own motivations.

I had lost those friends I swore to protect, defeated the enemies I sought to conquer. And
still, I traversed the desolate wilderness, bereft of companionship. It felt as though I was
beckoning him. As if I yearned for his arrival, eager to witness his presence.

A peculiar buoyancy permeated my being, best described as ‘anticipation..’

Soon, I would meet the faceless monster.

The mere thought of this encounter set my heart ablaze with anticipation. The universe was
vanishing rapidly, the black-and-white battlefield shrinking to its final vestiges. And here I
stood, fighting on the last remaining star, abandoned and searching for that long-awaited
moment.

As a child, I reveled in the fairy tales my mother spun in my bedtime stories. The
unidentified monster held an inexplicable allure, both mesmerizing and unbearable. Of
course, I resented him for snuffing out the lives of my mother, my friends, and countless
others.

My heart brimmed with curses, a barrage of questions demanding to know his purpose in
wreaking such havoc upon us.

Yet, concurrently, I envied all those who had vanished.

I was convinced they had transformed into fragments of a fairy tale, eternally enshrined
within his story.

"I adored the tale of the monster, which required the cooperation of black and white to
overcome it," I mused.

Where the storm of facelessness blows, a miracle occurs.

It was a story where we, indoctrinated from birth, to slay those of a different hue,
discovered the true purpose of life for the first time.

"It is an enthralling tale of a boy awakening within the belly of a monster, embarking on an
adventure to escape.”

Why are we alive?

What compels us to seek life?

In embracing our true emotions, unearthing a self previously unknown, we unabashedly

proclaimed our answer to existence.

Death may have been the inevitable conclusion, but it didn't seem a heartless one.

"Because it tells me that this is the kind of guy you are. I understand."

For he held us in his embrace, his radiant presence eternally casting a shadow over the
heavens, forever immutable.

Merciless and ferocious, yet he bore the aura of a savior.

"We possess hearts and souls! We are not mere puppets, nor instruments for the
convenience of others!"
"I longed for this recognition. Only the monster, defying the laws of this world, could
acknowledge our essence."

"In essence..." I trailed off, my body entwined, teetering on the precipice of the heavens,
until "something" pierced me.

It was not an embrace that ensnared me, but rather a piercing thrust. And yet, the blade
that impaled my chest exuded warmth, its sharpness replaced by an indescribable serenity.

"Hence, regardless of what others may say, I was finally embraced within this lawless
universe," I whispered, gazing into a face where the essence of ‘Nothingness’ converged.

"You have become for my sake."

"I missed you. I yearned for you. The farce of my insignificance, gradually decaying into
nothingness, frightened me. Subsequently, the overwhelming loneliness threatened to drive
me to madness... when I was abandoned on the edge of the stage, vanishing from sight."

Black and white, men and women alike beseeched the immutable sword to embrace them.
They believed that by being consumed by it, they could validate their existence within the
realm of ‘Her’ law.
Now, it stood before us.

Finally, I had encountered the one I yearned for so ardently.

My monster.

My hero.

"Keep me within you," I whispered, my voice trembling, as I beheld its countenance for the
last time.

In his face, where ‘Nothingness’ converged, I discovered absolute salvation— for I knew for
what purpose, I had lived so far.

◇◇◇◇◇

The journey defied the boundaries of time, a passage that could only be described as an
extraordinary odyssey. It was a journey of relentless speed, a torrential rush that propelled
him forward with an unstoppable force.

Throughout this time, he bore many names—Evil Sword, Evil Shadow, Faceless Darkness,
the Beast of Oblivion.

Revered and feared by many, some cursed him as a spawn of hell, while others hailed him
as a savior.

Regardless of the opinions held by others, one undeniable truth prevailed—he was a
harbringer of death.

In every moment of this undescribable journey, he was killing, killing, and killing,
methodically dismantling and obliterating every individual he encountered.

And now, as the last vestiges of life vanished from the universe, the universe turned into a
wilderness of slaughter, a universe in which only he stands, waiting for the battle that
would determine everything.

"Come forth," his voice echoed silently, a chilling call to those who had yet to reveal
themselves. “You're next.”

Unyielding and resolute, his senses knew that the end was not yet within sight. The pivotal
moment of his journey was about to commence.

The throne of God is located at the very source and origin of all existence, residing in a
realm where the supernatural is superimposed over the abstract.
It was a realm accessible only to those who possessed the requisite qualifications—a
mastery of the Hadou, birthing their own unique law, and a level of strength surpassing
even that of the current ‘God.’

However, Magsarion fell short on the former requirement. Though his power was
formidable, he lacked the capacity to reach the realm of Hadou, simply because he had
already deviated from the path. So the omnicide of the universe served as his bridge, a
means to overcome this limitation.

By eliminating every being, he sought to concentrate the universe's events into a singular
point. It was akin to hunting prey by closing off every escape route—an elegant and brutal
strategy that only he could execute with such unwavering determination.

No future Heaven of the Divine Throne would witness a feat comparable to Magsarion's, a
testament to the unprecedented power of the Meifou Madou. Perhaps ‘She’ herself did
not intervene in the process simply because ‘She’ wanted to witness it.

Standing alone in the wilderness of carnage, a voice emerged from nowhere and
everywhere.
A voice of divine authority, a duality that laughed and lamented, congratulated and scorned.

And then the world turned.

"I am glad that a man like you was born under my law."

Suddenly, Magsarion found himself in an extraordinary space that transcended all

boundaries.

Black and white, blue and red, light and dark, front and back— every single contrasting,
conflicting, and opposing forces and phenomena, concepts, and everything else of the
universe converged here.

It was a grand tapestry of interwoven patterns, shifting and transforming like a

kaleidoscope. Colors stretched infinitely, yet nothing existed independently.

Confirmation was unnecessary; this was the undeniable truth of the universe. The
magnificent tapestry, resplendent and grotesque, vividly represented the nature of ‘Her.’

‘‘She’ is incomparable to any enemy I have ever faced. No wonder. We all were just a
pattern, literally a clump of cells to this nasty ‘God.’’

The colossal scarlet and azure eyes that materialized in the air embodied her essence.
"I am what you call Avesta, the prayer, the Hadou, the look of madness and love that
imposed the never-ending struggle on this world. I am the epitome of dualism, where white
represents love, courage, bonds, and ideals, while black revels in violence, ridicules the
weak, and tramples upon them. But you can call me Shinga(Truth).”

Good and evil, hope and despair— ‘Shinga’ encompasses them all, indifferent to the notions
of positivity and negativity. No. In the first place ‘Her’ judgment lacks a heart, something
that was fundamentally missing from her.

Therefore ‘Shinga’ was able to establish a paradoxical existence in a realm of supreme

dimensions, the pinnacle of a world where ‘Shinga’s’ cosmic ego imbued all of creation with
‘Her’ essence. She was an undoubtedly an inhabitant of the divine domain, radiating an
awe-inspiring and terrifying majesty. Even after annihilating ‘Her’ cells(everyone)— the
entirety of existence— ‘Shinga’s’ power remained undiminished.

Yet, Magsarion remained resolute in his perception of her.

“The first thing that comes to mind is the fact that the two of you are finally in the same
room after so many years. It is my duty to entertain him with pleasure.”
Unexpectedly, the gaze of ‘God’ veered aside, as if acknowledging the presence of a third
party. ‘Shinga’ soon spoke of a man forgotten by all.

"Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement. Let me attend to that first."

Adorned with a lean physique, a gun in one hand, and a distinct wide hat...

"Have you concocted a scheme to make me admit my mistake, Zurvan?"

“Of course not.”

A wry smile graced the man who had seemingly disappeared, his reply brimming with
intrigue.

2
"...Zurvan."

Magsarion hesitated for a moment before uttering his name, his mind reeling from the
unexpected turn of events. The person he had called out to appeared unusually cheerful,
wearing a smile that seemed inappropriate given their acquaintance.

"It has been quite some time," he spoke, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia. "I have
stood by your side for a long while, you know. Did you not notice my unwavering support,
always cheering you on?"
Silence lingered in the air as Magsarion processed the words. Zurvan's smile deepened, his
satisfaction evident in his expression.

“Answer me. It's rather important. I feel uncomfortable."

Zurvan’s smile deepened with satisfaction at Magsarion's short reply.

"Yes... you are undoubtedly correct. Since the moment you transformed into a child on Druj
Nasu, you made a conscious decision to understand your opponents fully before striking.
And when you slew Mashayana, it is impossible to claim you didn’t know what was going
on. Even if you had forgotten about me, the circumstances should have provided some
clues. Your adaptability itself speaks volumes."

"I forgot someone?"

Magsarion's voice betrayed a tinge of confusion. Due to his perpetual sense of discomfort,
Magsarion swiftly grasped the situation, comprehending it far quicker than anyone else
could. Another individual would have remained ensnared in bewilderment, but not him.

"I have brought much suffering upon my sister, and now she will finally face the
consequences. She despised being treated roughly. I thank you for watching over her."

Magsarion acknowledged, recognizing that Mashayana had been put on hold, in accordance
with his Commandment. He possessed a vague understanding of the situation, but he set it
aside momentarily, knowing that a missing piece of the puzzle would eventually reveal
itself.

Logic dictated his thought process. It was inherent in Magsarion's nature to make sense of
the period erased by divine authority. Therefore, he could already anticipate the
subsequent developments.

"Were you engaged in some kind of game with ‘Her?’"

Zurvan's gaze lowered, his amusement evident.

“Well, yes I was.”

‘Shinga’ looked down with a twinge of amusement, the twill-patterned space surrounding
them became imbued with waves of displeasure and melancholy, adding hues to the ever
resplendent Divine Throne.

"You shall prove your unwavering resolve, will you not? I have eagerly awaited this. Do not
disappoint me."
"Do you recall when you said you would die if I were right?" Zurvan asked with the air of his
usual mischieviousness.

"Of course I do. And, naturally, I do not remember," ‘Shinga’ responded with audacity.

In the depths of Zurvan's heart, a fiery determination blazed, fueling his audacious quest to
transcend the confining shackles of existence, to become more free than anyone else. With
resolute conviction, he defied the norm by embracing the forbidden path, forsaking the
comfort of the Commandments that sought to confine his spirit. His love for Mashyana, the
embodiment of his deepest desires, propelled him towards a life untethered, unbounded by
the constraints of the black and white dualism.

Yet, as fate would have it, ‘Shinga,’ the mysterious arbiter of destiny, denied him this
cherished freedom. With an air of authority, she pronounced judgment upon his perceived
transgression, demanding retribution for his defiance of denying her Law.

In the face of this unexpected verdict, Zurvan found himself bereft of doubt, as if his very
soul had spoken and affirmed his chosen path. And yet, his true self, the essence buried
deep within his soul, whispered a dissenting voice— a resounding "no."
The paradox gnawed at Zurvan's core, leaving him bewildered and conflicted.

Why did his innermost being oppose the decision he felt so unequivocally in his heart?

The answer eluded him, veiled in the enigmatic machinations of ‘Shinga’ and the intricate
tapestry of cosmic forces at play. And so, with his heart heavy and his spirit undeterred,
Zurvan embraced his fate, prepared to face the consequences of his transgression. In this
intricate dance between defiance and retribution, his journey towards true liberation had
only just begun.

“You are not an independent entity. You think you have accomplished something without
realizing it, but the truth is that you are nothing more than a mere thing.”

What greater insult could there be?

The sting of it pierced Zurvan's very core, igniting a fierce determination within him. He
knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he had to prove himself, regardless of his own
desires or inclinations. It was an indomitable resolve that propelled him forward,
unyielding in the face of a world that had erased him from its collective memory and
records. He existed on the fringes, relegated to the realm outside the protective confines of
recognition— a cruel fate that he refused to accept.

"I have come here solely to proclaim my true identity to the world and to revoke your
unjust evaluation."
"Now, bear witness, if you are capable."

Zurvan's arm raised languidly, responding to ‘Shinga's’ urging gaze. The muzzle of the gun
pointed directly at Magsarion. In hindsight, it made no sense at all. Zurvan detested ‘Shinga,’
yet he felt gratitude towards Magsarion. Nonetheless, he made a peculiar and illogical
choice.

Surprisingly, no one displayed astonishment. Not Zurvan, not Magsarion, and not even
‘Shinga,’ who silently awaited the outcome.

Laughter and tears intermingled, as ‘She’ accepted the situation naturally and peered into
the future it would forge.

In essence...

"You understand my thoughts. With you, everything will be alright," Zurvan voiced, just as
the sound of the gunshot reverberated. In that fleeting moment, he took action.

"You’ll get your money’s worth."

"I know."

"We have been in a similar situation before, trying to see who was faster," Magsarion
reminisced, acknowledging their shared past.

However, in the present, he clearly surpassed Zurvan. With a single stroke of his sword,
Magsarion cleaved through Zurvan, leaving him to crumble without a second thought.

He did not look back at the fallen Ashavan, severing all ties indefinitely. Though Magsarion's
actions were devoid of sentiment, they carried a hint of respect.

Zurvan, mortally wounded but not instantly dead, experienced a strange sensation, as if
Magsarion had directed his remaining time... as if he had entrusted the final moments to
him. In doing so, Magsarion silently urged Zurvan to strike "Shinga" with genuine strength,
releasing the shackles that bound him.

"You really know how to ruin the mood."

"Well, to you, it may seem that way," Zurvan replied.

Indeed, even as Zurvan lay sprawled on his back, he wore an unperturbed expression,
shrugging off "Shinga's" disdain. His characteristic fearlessness shone through at this
critical juncture.
"It is unfair for the accused to bear the burden of proving their innocence. If you perceive
me as a puppet, then it is you who must provide the evidence.”

“Fool. Proving one's innocence can be exceedingly difficult and, in some cases, impossible.
Therefore, in principle, the accusing party must demonstrate 'I did it.'"

"Quit beating around the bush, damn it! Reveal the cards you've been hiding."

"Very well, I shall take your word for it. After all, it seems you understand what I speak of,"
‘Shinga’ responded with a pity-laden laughter, intensifying her assault.

What is the truth about Zurvan?

What will was controlling him?

The revelations began to unfold like an intricately woven tapestry, each piece of
information potent enough to render him asundet.

"You bear a striking resemblance to someone who was once under my command. Your
appearance, skills, and spirit... Yes, you are much like him. You are, without a doubt, similar
to Nadare."

A tactile Sensory of a transcendent. An unwilling agent. A troublemaker who has been

placed in charge of the game with administrator priveleges, irrespective of their own
circumstance.

“And the truth that binds you is far deeper than that of Nadare. If you question the source,
not even I can answer your qualms. That thing, entity, amalgamation of ■■■■■■, lies
deeper within the Divine Throne, further away, tucked beyond the scope of the abyss.”

“I’m ‘Naraka’ right, or at least a portion right?”

“Close. Similar, yet undoubtedly different. I would say it is not ‘Naraka’ but ‘The Naraka.’ Me
and him are incompatible, but there are some things we seldom agree on. For
example, he is interspersing himself within the Divine Throne at the opportune moment of
each Heaven of his choosing. He is trying to create chaos, so that he can gather the people
and train his soldiers to his whims.”

“Well I'm for sure not doing anything that big.”

"Well, is that really the case?

Laughing with a hint of pity, ‘Shinga’ piled on ‘Her’ onslaught.

“You say the most you've done is to lead your sister to break her Commandment, and your
miniscule actions haven’t done much. But how about as a ‘Sensory?’ The game between
‘Me’ and ‘Him,’ which was supposed to last for seven generations, has given birth to an
unexpected outsider in the early stages of the game. As a result, your presence has been
diminished, but you have not yet become free. Instead, you are more firmly bound as ‘His’
Sensory. Look back a little. When did you realize that you had become you? When, under
what circumstances, did you realize that you were under the illusion that you were walking
on your own independent path?”

The answer to the perplexing question lay before them, clear as day.

Zurvan himself admitted that his birth was far from ordinary, an anomaly that defied
conventional understanding. But there was more to his story, a series of unexpected events
that shaped him even further.

It was during the first battle to the death with Mashyana 20 years prior, the moment he
believed he had met his demise, that something extraordinary unfolded.

Inexplicably, he found himself reborn as a human within the domain of the Sacred Realm.
The Air Burial Sphere of his homeland witnessed the emergence of countless awakened
individuals, an occurrence that held a profound significance.

A sense of curiosity and bewilderment gripped Zurvan as he pondered the cause behind
these extraordinary events.

“You mean to say it coincides that it aligned with the activities of the heroes?”

The synchronicity between his birth and the awakening of his true self seemed too
deliberate to dismiss as chance. The parallels between his birth and the awakening of
Varhran's omniscience were strikingly apparent. It was as if the threads of destiny tightly
intertwined the two moments, converging in a convergence of fate.

And when the inevitable end befell him, when he faced his ‘death,’ Zurvan could not escape
the backlash that awaited him.

“You see, Zurvan, the reason you, who was once dead, became anew, reborn if you may say....
was because you're a spare. As you are related to ‘The Naraka,’ you were made to be the
spare of a hero.

Zurvan absorbed this revelation, his voice tinged with foolish disbelief.

"The crux lies beyond your comprehension. The hero stole your toys," he muttered.
"I concede. It is beyond your understanding. Whether it was me, Varhran, or ‘Him’ pulling
the strings, the fact remains that your 'free will' is nothing more than a fantasy, forever
subject to repeating the same dreams, yielding to the eternal current," ‘Shinga’ interjected
with a laugh that bore a hint of sympathy.

Just as ‘Shinga’ had manipulated Ahura Mazda and Nadare, ‘The Naraka’ wielded Zurvan as
a pawn on this side of the game board.

Hence, the truth lay in the fact that a non-standard third party, Varhran, had disrupted their
game and snatched away their pieces— Ahura Mazda and Zurvan.

The current circumstances exceeded even the Gods' plans. However, as ‘Shinga’ had
proclaimed, it mattered little.

The everlasting truth was that Zurvan, who sought freedom, had been naught but a puppet
in the hands of higher powers, and his choice here only validated that…

“Your choice in this situation is also a clear indication of that. It's a pity. As long as you can
be seen as having failed to break free from being a ‘puppet,’ you will have to be punished
according to your Commandment. If you are only a Sensory, a puppet, and a tool, then fulfill
your significance appropriately.”

‘Shinga,’ assured him, and once again exacted his punishment.

This time, however, it was not a mere erasure from the universe's memories, but
transmutated Zurvan into something entirely different, a fate that stripped away his very
essence.

His life and pride, which he had cherished as his own, were gradually being replaced by
‘Him’ as if ‘He’ had possessed them from the beginning. It was a robbery of his being, a fate
more harrowing than death itself. Even the strongest among men would struggle to endure
such a torment, and the more one held onto their pride, the louder their screams of horror
would echo.

Yet, despite the unimaginable ordeal of losing himself to oblivion, removed from the cycle of
the universe, Zurvan remained unshaken. A resolute smile adorned his face, defying the
imminent dissolution of his identity. It was as if he taunted, saying, "It is you who have truly
lost."

"I despise... the power of belief that brings about miracles," he uttered with unwavering
resolve. "It is nothing more than a hollow promise, a false law preached by the
self-righteous Ashavans. I’m different."
It was not that he refused to acknowledge defeat nor relied on his faith to save him. But
even so, the light in his eyes refused to fade.

"I have chosen what I wish to believe," he declared. "That, in itself, is the proof, you damned
fool. Witness the outcome of this divine comedy! His victory is no different from my own!"

To strip away ‘Shinga’s’ vindication, Zurvan argued that all those who looked down upon
him must taste defeat. As long as he could contemplate and choose his own path within his
mind, he maintained his unwavering conviction of triumph.

He placed his faith in his own belief. The order was irrelevant. He proudly proclaimed that
he had already emerged victorious. Thus, this was not a setback but a reversal.

"With this outcome, I shall manifest the culmination of my beliefs, regardless of the order,"
he proudly asserted. "I have already won… Well then, go ahead and give it a try, Magsarion."

With a final act, he placed a cigarette between his lips, taking a long drag. The wandering
Ashavan brought his journey to an end and embarked on the path of new beginnings. As the
faint scent of purple smoke wafted in the air, Zurvan was irrevocably erased from this
realm.

And in his stead, something else emerged.

In place of Zurvan, every face that had ever existed throughout the infinite ages of the 'First
Heaven' materialized.

They encircled the Divine Throne, their sheer multitude revealing the audacious challenger
who dared to confront Magsarion before engaging with the Goddess of the 'First Heaven.'

Varhran, the father and brother of Magsarion, stepped into the crevasse of the Throne,
splitting into reality, a seemingly almost extraterrestrial deity.

At first, his form took the shape of an exclamation, "Ah, brother, my Rebounding Gale is
destined to lose."

Then, he transformed into the blonde girl who had been his previous form’s master.

"It has been a long time, brother, and my prophecy has come to fruition, hasn't it? At last,
my winds of recrudesce defy the tale!"

In an instant, her petite figure transformed into a colossal rock, and Bahlaván laughed,
saying, "But fret not, defeat holds its own grandeur."
Immediately, he assumed the form of Khvarenah.
"You are truly a 'beautiful' sword, and you need not be ashamed to bow before its
magnificence."

"I shall not perish. After all, life itself is uncertain."

"My own flesh and blood shall face me. Nothing could bring me greater delight."

"I, too, wish to witness the remorseful expression on your face."

Kaikhosru, Mashyana, Sita, and an ever-changing tidal wave of countless faces emerged
with dazzling speed. The onslaught of these myriad visages showed no signs of abating.

There was Ferdows, Alma, Samluch, and Ah-chan.

"I longed to be a hero. I desired to be a hero, a resplendent hero like him."

"Ah Magsarion how I yearn for you, accept my feelings of gratitude for your continued
existence. Do not fret. I shall love you so intensely that it will verge on murderous intent.
Therefore, I shall remain by your side."

"Now that both of us have met defeat, let us engage in a match later, shall we?"

“Hello sir! It seems as you look a bit different yeah?”

Yet, the captured essence of the fallen was fatally flawed. Magsarion realized that the core
of their being, which he had assimilated through his unwavering understanding, had been
distorted.

"The disparity is astounding. These individuals would never utter such words. It is as if
their values have been distorted beyond recognition."

"Ah, discover the true nature of power."

"It seems there are realms your faltering body simply cannot reach, no matter how hard
you strive."

"But why not relish in it? You have always yearned to encounter the true me." 7

7
Alright so this continuous bit of dialogue from Varhran is really confusing as he is
constantly shifting with those of people that he used in order to understand them, and he
constantly alternates between their dialogue and forms his own, which is such a headache
to translate and correct but it does capture Varhran’s essence perfectly. Props to Masada,
his construction is nuts.
In essence, the man who birthed him had no comprehension of what he spoke. With
synesthesia, he could connect and translate between ‘Age of Zero’ and them, but his
understanding remained severely limited.

"I understand the habits of 'everyone,' perceiving the meaning and weight of their
emotions. Yet, there is an undeniable chasm that separates us. I embrace their anger,
sorrow, joy, love, and hatred without reservation, but our perspectives are separated by
orders of magnitude. Even with those I have known the longest, we exist on different
planes."

"Smile at him. It will bring him great joy."

“Indeed, it had often been said that when I smile, others grow stronger.”

But for Nahid, who had traversed the cosmos and the script itself in search of a sincere
smile of gratitude, to embellish it within this ravenous frenzy was an unfathomable
blasphemy.

“I want to save each and every one of you. Everything you've ever done was in to complete
me.”

Sirius, whose love had been stolen and reignited, could not help but reflect on the
memories and sacrifices he had made.

“Magsarion, my son…”

The woman's voice resonated with familiarity, and a sense of nostalgia filled the air. He
sensed a fundamental difference in her, despite never having met her before.

"If only I could start anew, for I have no memory of conceiving you. Please, let me be a part
of you once more," she pleaded.

"Shut up!" Magsarion exclaimed, as he swung his blade towards the priestess, only to be
met with another sword of equal strength.

‘‘No, this is too similar, but completely different. What is its essence? Oh. It is not the Divine
Sword I possess, but rather the form of the Divine Sword from the woman's perspective.’

"You have grown into a remarkable individual, Magsarion. Now, it is time for you to offer
everything you have to my hero," she declared.

A multitude of faces converged upon the Throne room, coalescing each segment of the
space before them. It was a reenactment of all the lives that had ever lived or died.
There were no exceptions.

From nameless individuals to trees and plants. Each person retained their original
appearance, yet there was a profound disconnect, a chilling lack of understanding.

That is why ‘he’ sought out Magsarion.

"I have named them the 'Eternal Shine'— or Aeon," he explained.

The infinite faces condensed and merged into a single man, a hero adorned in silver and
white armor, radiating a youthful exuberance.

"These are my comrades who can confront 'Naraka.’ As you can see, they bear my image,
but their creation was flawed due to my own errors in awareness. I wish to give them a
more proper form, so please understand," he implored.

The victors privilege to take whatever is in the loser’s position. For Varhran, Magsarion was
a valuable piece to fill a void in his victory. His withdrawal from the stage had been
orchestrated to ensure Magsarion followed the path of Meifou Madou and collected the
necessary components for him to reclaim in the final stages of the universe. It was a
cunning plan, nothing more nor less.

“I know you have a lot to say, but I'm asking you to hand it over. I won't make it any worse.”

“Brother.”

In contrast, Magsarion gently and quietly asked, with even a hint of calmness in his voice.

"Tell me one thing. Why are you doing this?"

"Huhhh? Do you still not understand?

Varhran scoffed, responding with clarity: “I do it simply because I can."

There was no inherent right or wrong in Varhran's motives, no grand ideals or sense of
mission.

His desire for victory propelled him forward, driven only by the instinct to seize and
conquer.

He was both adored and feared, capable of love yet willing to embrace eternal damnation if
it meant achieving his goal. At the same time, Varhran also thought of ‘everyone’ and did
what he could.
There was no distinction between his loved ones, whether they be his best friend, wife, son,
or brother.

If it served his purpose of "winning," he would trample upon them without hesitation.

If he could perfectly replicate the Aeons, their brilliance would become eternal, blurring the
line between the real and the imitation.

"Even if I sometimes feel sorrow in the process, it ultimately doesn't matter. It is the rule of
'this side' that the best, the most exceptional being takes charge. So it is only fitting that I
should be the one to do it.”

Magsarion nodded in understanding, his brief mutterings transforming him into a swift
projectile.

"You are nothing but trash. Taste defeat!"

Magsarion exclaimed, launching himself towards Varhran, who met him with a bitter smile
and his characteristic nonchalant demeanor.

"You say such dreadful things, yet I am not so different from you.”

With Divine Swords of equal power in their hands, the fateful battle between the two
brothers commenced, as the heterochromatic eyes of ‘Shinga’ looked down upon their
waltz.
3
Within the confines of our secluded sanctuary, we stood facing each other, our breaths
mingling upon our shoulders, a testament to the countless clashes we had endured. The
decision that lay ahead remained undecided, yet our unwavering resolve to fight had not
faltered. Throughout our journey, we had shut out the outside world, immersing ourselves
in the singular path we believed in.

We were but mere swords, seeking purpose and significance through the hands of our
wielders.

And now, the true essence of our existence would come to fruition.

Both of us, fully aware of this reality, contemplated the hearts of our "heroes" and the
collective prayers we had gathered.

"This may be the last time I directly address you. So let me ask you once more. Do you
harbor any regrets?"

"Of course not," came Ahura Mazda's swift response.

She remained positioned outside the realm of my thoughts and emotions. Perhaps, to her,
any sense of sorrow within this connection was regarded as a trivial weakness.

Unyielding audacity.

Proudly, I stood beside my antithesis, the part of me that cherishes… doubts and
hesitations, in a way devoted to the man who epitomized such traits.

"Varhran is not of sound mind. He transcends the boundaries of madness itself. What can be
salvaged by entrusting our future to such a man?"

"I have no desire to be understood by you. Regardless of your words, my decision stands
unshaken."

Time seemed out of sync within our secluded refuge. The disparity between the reality
encompassing the universe and the distorted reality we inhabited remained unknown.

While mere hours had passed within our sanctuary, the outside world held years upon
years of undisclosed time.

"So many years have elapsed that Magsarion has decimated the universe," Ahura Mazda
revealed.
Our battle, she claimed, had spanned that unfathomable length. We conversed for what
seemed an eternity.

"If you intend to conclude our conversation, offer something more thoughtful. You're truly
vexing, you know?" I remarked, exasperated.

Shaking her head in absurdity, Ahura Mazda pressed on.

"Varhran lacks propriety? Well, so what? I've known this truth about him from the
beginning.”

"But did you not view him as a deviant in that regard?"

"Indeed, you are correct, and that is precisely what I expected."

My counterpart remained perpetually unfathomable. She unabashedly extolled Varhran,

even at the cost of condemning herself.

I found it pitiful beyond measure.

The acceptance of an insurmountable divide felt like a resignation, and despite being told it
was too much, I couldn't help but pose the question repeatedly.

"He fails to understand us, just as no one can comprehend him. The Aeon serves as proof.
To Varhran, 'everyone' signifies..."

I paused, taking a breath, before articulating my thoughts with clarity akin to a cloudless
sky.

"They are mere characters in a story. He views the world as a form of entertainment, where
smiles, blood, and tears are as inconsequential as the illustrations within a comic book.
Although these emotions may stir him with joy, anger, or sadness, they hold no sway over
his practical decisions. Our existence stands on an entirely different plane. When a beloved
character perishes within the pages of a picture book, we experience sadness, but that does
not entail erecting tombstones or conducting funerals in reality. By common logic, the
majority of individuals prioritize self-preservation in such situations. Regardless of the
emotions we invest, it remains a distant event occurring in some far-off corner of the world.
The disconnect between Varhran and us closely resembles this sort of relationship."

"Heh, is that so?"

Ahura Mazda responded with a smirk.

"I shall do as I deem necessary. I can betray him while loving him, revel in his company
while shedding tears. There exists no right or wrong in such actions. From our vantage
point, it is a natural and admirable behavior. It is both ironic and amusing to witness the
downfall of 'everyone,' who elevated heroes to legendary status, only to be perceived as
mere characters by the very hero who shall forever regard them as insignificant insects."

"And would you consider the culmination of your efforts as the grand finale for yourself?"

"Well, I care not for such trivialities. What matters is his triumph," Ahura Mazda replied, her
gaze fixated upon the heavens, her visage radiating a solemnity born of profound solitude.

"Admittedly, it may seem impulsive to introduce the 'Pantheon' at this juncture, when it
ought to have been implemented seven generations after assuming the throne. However,
throughout history, foot soldiers have always revered the swiftness of battle. Varhran's
appearance was an unforeseen variable that caught both 'Shinga' and 'Naraka' off guard.
They were ill-prepared for it. And since they were caught unawares, his irregular
intervention has the potential to dethrone both mighty rulers."

"Do you believe that the Aeon's lack of comprehension regarding 'everyone' stems from his
transformation into a specialized weapon against 'Naraka'?"

"I need not answer that. I was content to assume a different form elsewhere. What truly
matters is that acquiring a new form is no simple feat, and I find myself at a loss as to what I
should do," Ahura Mazda mused, her voice fragmented.

"Even when it concerns the Aeon. Varhran, in his own way, ponders our existence. His
endeavor to grasp Magsarion's ability to 'understand' and 'recreate' is testament to that.
Naturally, there will always be a degree of discomfort in the structural aspect, and I suspect
he is incapable of comprehending that. Yet, I derive satisfaction from the fact that the man I
love exerts himself to save me."

"Are you suggesting that remaining an eternal servant is acceptable as long as love
persists?"

"I do not deny it. Whether it be so, or otherwise, if it occurs within a story, I wish to exist
within his legend."

All that mattered to her was that the man she revered transcended the dualistic realm in
which she was victimized. If he bestowed upon her his affection, she considered it a
blessing, regardless of how distorted and warped those feelings might be. It bore
resemblance to the twisted love experienced by those who fell victim to Magsarion— the
ones who believed they were saved as they were led to their demise.

And in that regard, Ahura Mazda concurred that Varhran, the epitome of perfection, should
make the ultimate decision.
"Hence, Varhran is correct. Justice is victory."

As one who had challenged Ahura Mazda, seeking to refute her perspective, I found myself
unable to argue extensively in favor of her case. Yet, it was precisely due to this realization
that I believed the true grand finale would arrive once we were liberated from the cycle of
mutual destruction.

From this standpoint, I struggled to believe that Varhran's path would ultimately lead to
salvation. It appeared to me that it would merely result in a savage world where the
strongest emerged victorious. It seemed wrong to conclude the story of the Divine Throne
in such a form.

"If you have something to say, speak now. For this shall be the last time we converse
directly."

I decided to express my sentiments to Ahura Mazda, who addressed me in the same manner
I had addressed her before.
"Magsarion was born to kill, and he saved 'everyone' by choosing to exterminate them to
the very last.”

"A typical rule of this ‘Heaven,’" Ahura Mazda remarked dismissively.

That’s right.

Varhran transcends the mundane fools of this Law. It is a cycle of repetition. There is no
end. The root cause remains unresolved.

“He does not relish combat. He simply lacks knowledge of an alternative approach,
believing himself inadequate. This is why he gazes into their depths, comprehends them,
and etches their immutable memories. In doing so, the countless prayers and souls may
eventually be sublimated, liberated from the vengeance of this accursed universe."

This alone substantiates that he is not merely a killing machine— Meifou Madou may result
in the annihilation of all life in the cosmos, but he carries out this task with unwavering
sincerity, extending even to the smallest of creatures. It is distinct from the dominance of a
mighty 'Shinga.'

Those who believe they were saved by him should not view themselves as mere victims
brought to their knees by force.

They harbored hopes of escaping the cycle.

Magsarion was recognized by all because he symbolized that miniscule possibility.

Magsarion is a man who has taken more lives than anyone, yet ironically, he has discovered
a solution that transcends mere combat.

And for this reason...

"He appears to be a true savior (Saoshyant)."

"Do you truly see him as someone capable of embodying such an extravagant ideal?" Ahura
Mazda inquired.

"Yes, for he is the one who shall reduce everything to 'Nothingness' and bring this accursed
Law to its knees."

Naturally, it will require time.

Even if there are realms he cannot reach, I am here to aid in such circumstances.

Thus, everyone shall be saved.

This was not a mere convenient wish. I possess a rough understanding of Magsarion's
intentions.

It is a perilous path to tread, yet it aligns perfectly with his character— a man who
consistently selects reckless yet effective courses of action.

"Varhran is but a vessel for consumption, not for development. He lacks a sense of
ownership. Consequently, if we leave everything to him, he shall transform it all into a self
destructing bomb."

"So you propose that we eliminate these insects? Ultimately, isn't this choice based on
power?"

"Forgive me if I may seem blunt, but it's time for you both to get your heads out your asses.
Magsarion will teach you a sense of shame, and I hope that once you fools grasp his true
nature, you will retreat to the farthest reaches of the cosmos."

“"Oh… you're out of line”

Ahura Mazda's voice crackled with an undercurrent of seething anger as she muttered her
response, her emotions palpable and resonating through the air like an ethereal canvas.

Although she dismissed my idea as impossible, I could sense a glimmer of intrigue

flickering within her. It was as if she found some fascination in the notion, despite deeming
it unlikely.
For in that revelation, there lied the potential for an end— an end that, while desecrating in
nature, held the promise of hope and shared perspectives.

"You believe you can teach Varhran shame, even when you struggled to do so with me? If
such a feat were possible, I would willingly surrender myself to you, my counterpart. But
how, pray tell, would you accomplish such a monumental task?"

A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I confidently shook my head.

"I won't say. If I were to reveal my plan here, it would only lessen the surprise. Anticipate it,
and I shall grant you a befitting demise. Do not forget your promise."

Ahura Mazda sharply pivoted, her gaze fixed forward, refusing to glance back at me.

"It is you who shall fall," she declared with a cutting tone. "No matter how skilled Magsarion
becomes, he remains at his core an apoptosis. He is destined to eradicate you, until not even
a trace of your existence lingers in the next ‘Heaven!’"

“...”
Silence hung heavy in the air, pregnant with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

"Let us witness the outcome," she continued, her voice laced with a mix of determination
and defiance.

"Yes, I am well aware," I replied, a faint smile playing upon my lips. "I shall miss our
clashes."

With that, I turned on my heel, walking away with purpose and resolve.

Ahura Mazda mirrored my actions, both of us striding towards the men we had chosen as
our masters.

The symphony of clashing swords reverberated in my ears, a testament to the furious rage
concealed beneath the surface.

It sent shivers down my spine, a cruel dance of flesh and bone, a tempest of blood and wind.
Yet, even in the midst of such brutality, I held unwavering faith in Magsarion.

I believed in him because he had saved ‘everyone’ born into this world, and I trusted that he
would carve a path forward amidst the horizon of carnage, leading us towards a brighter
future.

◇◇◇◇◇
Sparks flew as the blades clashed and intertwined, a spectacle of immense power and
might. It resonated like a rallying cry from the depths of the collective universe, yet the two
men involved exhibited contrasting qualities.

Magsarion ravaged the battlefield, a violent monster wreaking havoc, while Varhran
displayed an inexplicable finesse in parrying his every move. Their divergent personalities
were mirrored in their distinct swordsmanship styles.

The disparity between them was an inevitable manifestation of their positions and
emotions, a juxtaposition that left observers uncertain whether to lament or celebrate.

However, Varhran laughed, finding joy in the game he played. From a unique vantage point
above the heavens, he savored every moment of the competition unfolding before his eyes.

"This is marvelous," he exclaimed. "Such a messy yet weighty sword. It embodies the
prayers of all the people you've encountered along your own path, hohohh."

While he marveled at the words rolling off his tongue, there was no trace of distress on his
face. In fact, Varhran stood unwavering, his Divine Sword resonating with the prayers of
countless others.

He possessed not only the history of Magsarion's destruction of the ‘Shinga’s’ universe, but
also the thoughts and emotions that the younger man had consumed during his relentless
rampage beyond the confines of Avesta.

Varhran had materialized by usurping Zurvan's existence, taking on a form near

Magsarion's ‘side.’8

Moreover, until recently, there had been only one Divine Sword.

Ahura Mazda, too, had experienced all the miracles Quinn had collected and shared that
path with Varhran, so he too walked the exact path Magsarion had carved through his
unbridled massacre.

Although their methods of assimilating information differed, Magsarion simply absorbed it,
becoming one with the immutable present.

8
Basically what it means by Magsarion’s ‘side’ is since Varhran has the connection to the
‘Age of Zero,’ he was existing outside the confines of Shinga’s Law. And previously it
discussed how Zurvan’s rebirth as a human coincided with Varhran’s first death during the
Day of Collapse, so basically since Zurvan also had a connection to the ‘Age of Zero’ through
being the Sensory of ‘The Naraka,’ Varhran was able to plan for this eventuality and steal his
position, basically combining everything from the ‘Age of Zero’ he had and also being able to
exist under the ‘First Heaven.’
Varhran, on the other hand, utilized his connection through the ‘Age of Zero’ to
instantaneously peer into the ‘Nothingness,’ distorting and incorporating the components
of Magsarion's path in his own whimsical way.

Thus, if the outcome of their clash were to be determined, the performance of the
combatants would be taken into account.

While various evaluation criteria existed, when it came to sheer skill, there was no debate:
Varhran, unparalleled in his divinity, stood as the sole contender.

Varhran deftly deflected Magsarion's fierce thrust by skillfully scooping from beneath him.

Though the younger brother's raised hands left a gaping opening in his torso, Varhran, with
his raised arms, could not attack simultaneously. However, he seamlessly combined offense
and defense, executing a natural and unforeseen movement.

As their blades met, he released just the right amount of force, relinquishing his grip on his
hilt. The result was a spinning mid-air acrobatics, as he used the trajectory of Magsarion's
attack to turn the tide, kicking the sword back towards him, slashing his flank and
ultimately disarming him.

Though narrowly avoiding being impaled, Magsarion, severely wounded on his side, fell to
the ground with a resounding thud.

Just as Varhran had toyed with him using his unconventional tactics, this time he executed a
classic technique, a textbook example of the deepest secrets of the art of swordsmanship. It
was proof of his mastery of all effective techniques, be they orthodox or unorthodox.

But even then…

Varhran was never serious to begin with.

Because, at this moment, he was still analyzing Magsarion's Commandments.

With a hint of tenderness, he voiced that since he had initiated the attack, it should be
permissible to seize the Commandment from him.

"You must maintain contact with the weapon, mustn't you? Ah, so such a Commandment
exists."

No one had ever wrested a sword from Magsarion before, but it was evident that Varhran
was an unparalleled master.
‘His behavior, as if imparting a lesson, is undeniably that of a father and son,’ Magsarion
observed tragically, considering the circumstances that led them to this point.

It was tragically off considering the circumstances that led up to this point, but it could be
described as an outpouring of affection.

"Come on," he beckoned. "We've barely started."

Nimbly, he removed the sword lodged in his thigh, and Magsarion lunged at him once more.
The composition of the Divine Sword had also changed, infused with the essence of Quinn
and Ahura Mazda.

The significance of its existence depended on the wielder, rendering the physical vessel
meaningless. The maternal presence resided in the son's hands, and the spousal presence
in the father's, solidifying their bond into a tangible reality.

Yet, it was undeniable that the battle remained under Varhran's control.
Every exchange of blows resulted in a sequence of superficial weapon exchanges. In other
words, Magsarion's sword was repeatedly stolen, highlighting an obvious power disparity
that bordered on the permanence.

The one deemed superior should have been bored by such a lopsided affair, and yet
Varhran's eyes did not reflect boredom.

As time flowed on, an unknown tremor began to stir within his otherwise still heart. The
father radiated jubilation, earnestly enjoying the clash with his son beyond the confines of
‘Shinga’s’ Law.

"I am overjoyed. In the past, you couldn't even scratch me, but now you're fully engaged in
this performance with me. Oh, how happy I am, Magsarion!"

This genuine sentiment he shared revealed his true feelings to. From the depths of his
heart, he welcomed this dialogue with his son, channeling even more of his strength.

"The pinky finger on your right hand."

In a matter of moments, Magsarion's right pinky finger was severed. Before he could even
register surprise at witnessing a part of himself vanishing, another voice resounded with
transcendent profundity, its omnidirectional force vibrating through his ear canal.

"Left ear."

Just as before, Varhran's chosen target on Magsarion's body was struck and lost.
"The middle finger of the left hand. Right thumb. Just above the left eyebrow. Slightly above
the right corner of the mouth."

These were mere warning strikes. Varhran declared where he intended to strike, and the
attacks unfolded as if they were destined, reversing causality and inflicting wounds that
should never have appeared.

The absurdity of being unable to prevent the attacks despite knowing their arrival defied
mere differences in skill, especially considering Magsarion's second Commandment.9

Rather than completely predicting the opponent's move, it was more like enforcing a
painted canvas. In essence, it was the power to attract the desired future, which is none
other than the Aeon manifestation of Monsterrat.

Once again, the man with infinite faces merged into one, embodying the killer detached
from his form.

"I have warned you that he is not someone you can handle."

Monsterrat, floating behind Varhran, wielded a massive saw in sync with his master. The
dual strikes became even more precise, tearing through Magsarion's body from end to
beginning, reducing his insides to an unrecognizable pulp, converting them into something
beyond the bounds of ‘Shinga.’

"My master comprehends the past and thus determines the correct future. The fact that I
confront you in this manner solidifies the success of my gamble. Naturally, victory has
already been decided."

The Aeon of Monsterrat smiled with amusement as he severed Magsarion's right ear. The
murderer chanted, crimson splashing around him, twirling with evanescent grace,
memorializing Frederica.

"However, although victory serves as a reckoning for a wraith like yourself, I must pose a
question. You have long forsaken flesh and blood, yet I fail to understand why you continue
to bleed?"

"...If one's heart is shattered, it signifies that an immutable self is nothing but a false reality,
a counterfeit riddled with the very thing it vowed to annihilate."

Despite his inability to defend against Varhran's announced attacks, Magsarion refused to
accept defeat.

9
Saoshyant Mah. In exchange for "to remain ready for battle at all times", he gains " the
sharpening of a sixth sense."
His successive failures transformed into tangible damage, surpassing the boundaries of the
concept itself.

Varhran's Commandment, the ability to take away something upon achieving victory,
eroded the very core of Magsarion's existence.

‘In other words, the moment I sense the truest feeling of defeat, you will assimilate
everything that I am into you.’

In that sense, this attack was remarkably effective. Magsarion's current state, drenched in
blood and mangled, was clear evidence of this.

“Pierce his right eye, gouge it out from its socket. Tear through sinew and flesh, sever his
nose from his face. Slice through the tendons in his legs, rendering him a helpless, quivering
mass of agony, bound to the ground.”

Varhran, true to his earlier warnings, carried out his macabre proclamation with a twisted
sense of cheerfulness.

Standing before Magsarion, he raised his divine sword while Monsterrat, his loyal servant,
brandished a gruesome saw, embodying their master and servant bond.

The strike was executed with swift precision, a masterful display of lethal intent. With a
caustic force, the blade cleaved through Magsarion's torso, splitting him in two.

The horrifying impact left no room for doubt— his body was severed at the waist, and only
the upper half remained suspended in the air. The sickening spectacle of splattering blood
and entrails bore witness to those that observed that a fatal blow that had befallen his form
layered with ‘Nothingness.’

………………

“So what about it?”

But Magsarion would not stop. Ignoring the agony coursing through his body, he
transformed into a whirlwind of blood and smoke, launching a counterattack that defied
reason.

Those familiar with Magsarion could have predicted his actions. Like his father before him,
he possessed the ability to shape the future he desired.

And so, with a sense of righteous satisfaction, his father reveled in the sheer joy of
witnessing his beloved son in action. His soul echoed with exuberance, radiating wonder
and delight.
"I did that long ago,"10 his father proclaimed.

For a father, it was a blessing to see his child mirror his own strengths. Though a reasonable
sentiment, revealing it at this juncture signaled the approaching climax of the battle.

Magsarion, however, could not imitate his brother's powers.

Any attempt to fight back would break his own Commandment, while doing nothing would
lead to his certain demise.

It was a deadlock that Monsterrat relished, mocking Magsarion's futile longing for the
unattainable.
"See, I told you so," Monsterrat sneered, relaying Magsarion's perceived foolishness with
scorn and ridicule.

Or at least, that's what the murderer believed, his face contorting into an indescribable
expression in the next instant.

Magsarion's own sword, which had been aimed at him during his counterattack, suddenly
changed direction, thrusting itself back at himself— a testament to the ‘Nothingness’ within
his being.

‘I feel no pain. My body does not spill blood.’

Thus, he extricated himself from the predicament, demonstrating that it was not a suicide
attempt. Not only did his maimed torso regain its original form, but all the countless
wounds he had suffered vanished. Moreover, the very tip of the blade that should have
pierced his own chest found its mark in Monsterrat’s back.

By physically defying causality, this phenomenon made sense when viewed from a higher
perspective. Magsarion shattered the future Varhran sought to manifest and decimated the
Aeon of Monsterrat as his brother had known it. Thus, the wounds inflicted by the
murderer's Commandments lost their meaning.

It was a highly conceptual assault, a testament to the strength of Magsarion's will or

perhaps the power of his understanding.

"I see. I guess I never truly understood you after all."

Montserrat’s Aeon of his understanding was not as good as it could have been. Varhran,
who honestly admitted it, with a mischievous glint in his eye, teased Magsarion, who stood
up like a ghost.

10
This isn’t a TL error, it just goes to show how distorted Varhran is, perceiving something
that happened a short while ago as a much longer period of time.
The killer, Monsterrat, took perverse pleasure in inflicting perpetual suffering upon others,
yet he sought more than a one-sided victory. He possessed a twisted desire to witness the
propensity of his opponents' endurance. From his lofty existence, he was the kind of being
who weighed the possibility of both father and son falling together.

Magsarion never forgot the moment he first witnessed the savagery of the Man Murdering
Demons of Frederica and realized that he and his brother were nothing alike.

While Magsarion comprehended the foreshadowing at the last moment, his father failed to
grasp it correctly, leading to the father's usurpation of his self proclaimed victory.

"Nevertheless, I have gained a grasp on it. Let us continue in this manner." Varhran
cheerfully declared as his sword surged forth with fervor.

Though Magsarion's defense succeeded this time, his situation did not improve. For
Varhran, the act of attracting the future held little importance. His true desire was to delve
into the past, a goal he had already achieved. The remaining power was but a trivial
byproduct, as insignificant as excrement or an insect.

"I am innately convinced that I will emerge victorious in the end. Thus, there is no need to
entice you further, and I have no inclination to toy with the fabric of all existence."

In essence, their exchange was a game, a game that still persisted even if it were to be
broken— an inconsequential matter from his perspective.

Meanwhile, Magsarion still bore wounds. Though the visible scars had vanished, the impact
remained. The weight of countless failures exacted its toll. Magsarion's understanding
faltered, while Varhran's grew sharper.

‘The accuracy of the Aeon has increased, drawing closer to perfection and acquiring a more
tangible presence. They are no longer mere puppets obedient to their master like
Monsterrat,’ Magsarion realized.

Zariched and Taurvid materialized, embodying their conceptual forms.

Zariched spoke with admiration, "Oh, how I adore you. But I regret not having faced you at
your full strength. Yet, that changes now."11

A crimson-winged locust manifested behind Varhran to his right, wielding a colossal assault
spear. He echoed Zariched’s sentiments, ready to fulfill her words.

11
Notice how Zariched’s iconic stutter isn’t present in her Aeon form. Masada is so good
with these subtle hints of Varhran’s imperfect perfect perception of things
"I couldn't fight you under perfect conditions, and I deeply apologize for that," the
blue-winged locust said, appearing in the left rear.

With a resounding roar, they unleashed a straight magic spear and a spiraling curved sword
simultaneously. The precision and power displayed by the two entities rivaled their prime.
Their techniques were masterful, and the madness within them mirrored their former
selves.

"Tch."

Magsarion clicked his tongue as he was struck in the side by Zariched and in the shoulder
by Taurvid. Though he had defeated them before, handling them at this level while
contending with Varhran proved immensely challenging.

Merely employing brute force was futile; a different approach was required.
And so...

"You are our dream!"

"You are our dream!"

Confronted with this onslaught, Magsarion chose not to engage physically. Instead, he
wielded words to strike at the core of their being.

"Don't be so rude. Aren’t you going to discipline your loyal hounds.”

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean?"

The two winged locusts halted their assault, moving in perfect sync with Varhran, who
rolled his eyes in response.

Seizing the fleeting opportunity, Magsarion swiftly closed in, cutting them down. In return,
Varhran approached his brother with a bewildered expression.

"Would you prefer it like this?" he asked.

In the next instant, Magsarion was sent hurtling backward by a colossal fist, the impact
reverberating through his body.

Even Varhran, the instigator, received a similar blow, causing him to stumble back a few
steps.
An entity materialized, standing in a realm that defied categorization, neither friend nor
foe. It possessed impenetrable defenses and emerged unscathed, although its existence
remained a mystery.

The intruder's identity was unmistakable, requiring no explanation.

He was a man dedicated solely to the pursuit of battle, fighting strong opponents without
concern for his own position or circumstances. The struggle itself was his purpose.

“The game is eternal and immortal! Fight me!”

Bahlavan, filled with exhilaration, invoked the swarming phase. The power of the violent
Demon King surged within him, driving him to ruthlessly unleash destruction upon
everything in his path. Magsarion and Varhran were engulfed in the chaotic storm, yet the
situation did not seem to be a complete failure just yet.

“If the real Bahlavan had been here, this is exactly what would have happened. The Aeon's
power of replication has increased once again. The remaining discrepancies I sensed in
Zariched and Taurvid have been rectified, and they have manifested in a more accurate
form," Magsarion remarked, analyzing the situation.

"W-well, it is rather peculiar that everyone is f-following the correct path now," Zariched
commented, voicing her confusion.

After all the intense battles they went through, it's strange to see them like this.

The third-ranked Demon King calmly handled the relentless onslaught, while Varhran
observed in astonishment.

"Thank you, Magsarion. Your solitary existence has become a collective surrounded by
countless faces. Ahhhhh, for you all..."

Varhran's voice echoed with a mixture of appreciation and sorrow.

"Thank you for teaching him well."

"T-thank you for teaching him well."

Magsarion's choice had backfired. While proclaiming the difference between the real beings
and the false Aeon reproductions was an effective strategy, it had inadvertently allowed
Varhran to learn and adapt.

No matter how it turns out, the predicament remains the same, and when one is forced into
a path where there is no correct answer, what awaits is, in other words, is the
inevitable sense of foreboding defeat.
Varhran was not caught off guard by the barrage of attacks. He had handled the group
phase of Bahlavan without difficulty, as if he had orchestrated it from the beginning. He
could control and manipulate it at will.

"What's the matter? Did you lose?" Varhran taunted, swiftly obliterating the remnants of
the Aeon Bahlavan around him before lunging toward Magsarion.

"The most important thing to remember is that you should strive to be the most efficient
version of yourself," Varhran remarked calmly, evoking a sense of superiority.

The outcome seemed to be firmly within his grasp. However, Magsarion's sword, aimed
directly at Varhran, was reflected back upon him and shattered into pieces by Mashyana's
Commandment.

The damage of the Bahlavan’s Aeon, who was further collateral damage of Varhran’s simple
attack, was passed on to another Aeon formation.

Samluch, strengthened by her wounds, unleashed a furious attack. The very same fighting
spirit that burned like a phoenix was struck against the iron hammer, with a catastrophic
red aura. The Aeon’s operational speed and efficiency was being updated at tremendous
momentum, and its power was beginning to surpass that of the original consciousness.

If something is a perfect reproduction, it is only natural for them to also show growth. It is
also nature’s law that the quality of an army should increase with the caliber of its general.
It seemed to embody such common logic amongst the twisted battlefield, riddled within the
shimmering sea of blood.

The first thing that comes to mind is the fact that the original consciousness is now still in
use.

“I'm.......”

“What's the rush? You're a friend of my brother's, aren't you?”

The first thing that comes to her mind was the fact that the two of them had been in the
same command together for a long time.

“If you're a friend of my brother, you should be able to do this without hesitation. He used
to get in trouble with Sirius, and you're the one who wanted to fight him for that.”

Samluch, her face contorting in disgust at being told what to do from this alien, this
absurdity from another era, jumped away from Varhran’s hand and struck at him. But she
was unable to do so, as Varhran effortlessly nullified her efforts, as if she was tucked away
into a toy box.

"I suppose this is what happens when the reproduction approaches the real thing. It would
have been interesting if it were Bahlavan, but facing a normal one would be troublesome.
Let's put a stop to this for now to avoid any unnecessary hassle. My apologies."

"You..."

“Don't worry, it's only temporary. The most important thing for me to remember is that you
can't be a good friend to them otherwise they'll work with you if you know them well.
There's nothing wrong with that, but I just wish to keep this battle for us.”

“I'm not going to settle for that you filth.”

Magsarion, who had raised himself with a bark, challenged him, but his legs were tangled in
an unnatural way and he fell over. Needless to say, that the identity of the anomaly, which
was solely to be thought of as a wrench in the face of causality, was clear.

The last Aeon, Sita, emerged from the depths, her free will temporarily suppressed.

Tears streamed down her face. The battlefield resounded with the sounds of the wind
cutting through the air like a mournful cry. It is no wonder, since she knows better than
anyone, the misery and frustration of being treated like a puppet, only to move according to
the universe’s whims. She swings down the twin blades of her hands, ironically
experiencing the same pain as before she was reborn because of the increased
synchronization of the power of Aeon.

“The man who defeated me is now making a woman cry?!"

Even Kaikhosru joined the assault.

Magsarion managed to catch both attacks but replied in a low voice, "Watch and wait. I will
act when I choose to."

"Well then bounce back then, little brother," Varhran said, applauding Magsarion's resolve.

Magsarion, a figure who required no instructions, received applause from the heroic
monstrosity. The epitome of a twisted existence, a being that found amusement in sorrow.
He was the first one to show off his testament to this familial reunion, leading the charge by
unleashing one Aeon after another.

“I'm going to get you out of here.”

Alma embraced Magsarion from behind, piercing her beloved's heart.

Ferdows unleashed the power of 'Tuesday.'

Ashozhushta propelled Magsarion high into the air, leaving him vulnerable to the
concentrated barrage of demonic tools from the Star Cluster of Annihilation.

Khvarenah, the Workshop Master and Demonic Forge of Ancient Ruin, joined the fray.

However, Roxanne's Aeon distorted their perception, diverting the attack away from its
intended target. Any chance of a counterattack seemed to have been severed.

Outnumbered or not, Magsarion was determined to kill until he had to kill death itself.

Yet, the Aeons remained fixated in Varhran's image. Unless he could break free from their
grasp, a comeback seemed impossible.

“Hey, Mr. Magsarion," Frederica's Aeon spoke with a melancholic tone, driving her scythe
into the wounded man kneeling before her.

"I want you to win. That was my wish from the beginning.” The remnants of the Frederica of
reality illuminated the world with her speech of tender love.

“But if that happens, I will disappear too," Varhran's perception, the Aeon, interjected with
disdain.

"I'm glad I could meet you again, regardless of the form 'I' took," Frederica's Aeon expressed
her pride, relishing the one thing she could call her own at the end of time.

"Is it so wrong to wish not to disappear? Is it that much of an unforgivable prayer? Can't I
think that way? I've been keeping this a secret from you..."

The sentence remained unfinished, hanging in the air.

"Don't utter a word."

Magsarion swiftly covered Frederica's mouth with his hand.

"It's not you I suspect of divulging it," he said, his tone firm. "You understand right, so shut
up."

"Yes... sorry," Frederica's voice carried a mixture of resignation and a tinge of melancholy,
bordering on solace.
"The man I fell in love with remains the same. However, the perception he holds of me
differs from who I am now. This reality both delighted and saddened me, leading me to
close my eyes and continue playing the role of a lady, even if it is a fabricated desire."

Behind her, a crushed expression slowly faded away, mirroring the pensive scene. The
relentless assault of the Aeons came to a halt, and Varhran chuckled at the poignant
moment that marked the end of the act.

"A slight discrepancy remains, doesn't it? They are truly elusive creatures to grasp. What are
your thoughts, Nahid?"

"You're asking me? Me!"

Shrugging her shoulders in disgust, the Aeon of the Star Princess, looked up at her former
fiancé.

"I don't know. I've already told you. I made it clear that I despise meddling in gentlemen's
affairs, particularly when the disputes turn as ugly as this one."

"Reallyyyy? Did you genuinely mean that?"

"Yes, I realized it later. So, what do you expect from me? If you want me to attack him, then I
have no choice but to comply."

"No, thank you. The job is mostly done, so just take a moment to relax."

Nahid, who had been ordered to leave, nodded and turned on her heel after looking at
Magsarion once in a flushed manner.

Now only two individuals remained— the elder brother and younger brother, father and
son.

Varhran let out a heavy sigh, sitting himself in the center of the room, locking eyes with
Magsarion.

"Shall we continue?" he calmly inquired, his tone tinged with compassion, as if he still
refused to admit defeat.

"You've always loathed me, and I acknowledge that I've been a poor brother to you. I failed
to act accordingly, and honestly, I never truly comprehended what I should have done. I'm
still striving to find my way."

"............"

"What do you wish for me to do, so I may understand you, Magsarion?"

"Die."

Varhran once again chuckled at the simplicity of the response.

"If only I could perceive things as clearly as you do," he muttered to himself. "I've admitted
that I'm a terrible brother. I will kill you, and allow you to become an Aeon, but if the
process remains incomplete, you'll be a wasted creation. You understand, right Magsarion?
The deceased cannot be revived, so if I fail to grasp your essence entirely, then it's the end."

These words may have seemed absurd coming from someone who had achieved a
remarkable resurrection and commanded beings such as Aeons. Yet, there was a persuasive
force emanating from them.

"I've admitted that I'm a flawed brother. I will kill you, transform you into an Aeon, but if I
cannot fully understand you, it will be in vain. You know that, Magsarion. The dead cannot
be brought back to life. Without your presence, the brilliance of the 'Pantheon' I shall
construct will be fleeting, and without your immutable projection, it will merely be a feeble
imitation."

Varhran's concerns extended beyond merely defeating ‘Naraka.’

He sought perfection in the replicas he created, realizing that the deceased could never
truly return to life.

He required substitutes that would mirror the original without any disparity— a falsity so
realistic that it in itself became its own reality.

Such a twisted yet resolute shortcut was only natural for a being who reveled in their
supremacy over the heavens.

"You must be feeling defeat deep within your heart, and I must witness it to be content. If I
were to eliminate all doubt by killing you, it would bring an end to everything, and I would
feel sorrow, wouldn't I?"

"So, you want me to laugh."

"Yes, because that is the least likely thing you will ever do."

Thus, making Magsarion smile became Varhran's condition for victory.

"Let me see your smile. As long as I have that, I can surpass anyone. The wish I held dear as
a child to make you laugh was never a false one," Varhran mused.
Varhran was right. Except that he only regarded the warmth of a smiling face, to be the
favorite of all people, as the sole condition for his victory.

"I wish to make them laugh. I've devised a plan! But what should I do? I believed Sirius
laughed at me when I defeated him, and I thought the boy in whom I had intertwined my
factor(love) would be the same. However, he proves to be resilient and emotionless. Hey,
stop being so cruel and help your brother!"

Such remorseless statements would have driven any other person into madness or
shattered their heart.

"I don't understand why they fail to comprehend," Varhran voiced his frustration, facing an
incomprehensible distance.

The disconnection was maddening, and yet the person in question believed they were
acting right. Yet in the midst of this seemingly insurmountable disconnect...

"Kuku, kuku, kuku...."

Magsarion's shoulders trembled. He turned over and cleared his throat, surrendering to an
undeniable fit of laughter.

Had he lost his sanity?

No, not at all.

Did he admit defeat?

Absolutely not.

Never that.

Varhran realized that what unfolded before his eyes was neither of those. Because he did
not feel as if he had won.

Instead, an indescribable sensation surged from the depths of his chest, eluding his
understanding, and his bewilderment only grew more profound— a chilling premonition, a
shiver coursing through his being like icy tendrils, an unfamiliarity that sent his fingertips
into a numbing stillness.

"I understand, brother... do you mean...?"

Magsarion met Varhran's gaze with his swirling, malevolent eyes, wracked with
‘Nothingness.’
As he peered with those eyes, there was a profound transformation.

No longer did he witness the visage of a monstrous or heretical creature. The disassociated
ramblings of a disconnected child, whos only possible companion for resonation was with a
man consumed by countless others, had faded into oblivion.

Instead, what emanated from Magsarion’s cold gaze in that singular moment, was the
discernment of the depths of Varhran's vulnerability, concealed beneath layers of bravado
and dominance.

It was the revelation of a man who, despite his grandeur and control, was plagued by an
unrelenting apprehension— a fear of being left alone in the vast expanse of existence, an
unspoken yearning for companionship, a desperate plea to be seen and acknowledged.

Behind those swirling eyes, Magsarion glimpsed a man who, despite his accomplishments,
harbored an intrinsic emptiness, unable to form genuine connections and trapped within
the confines of his own isolation, an echo of the frailty that lurked beneath the facade of
power, the fear of his tenuous connection to the world where he resided

Varhran yearned for his existence to be worth recognizing.

A slash that rang true. Magsarion's comprehension traced a precise path, like a delicate
spider's thread, that he had long sought.

And so, the divine ‘Shinga’ observed them reflecting a subtle distortion within the vastness
of her heterochromatic eyes

4
To grasp a complete understanding of the person he intended to eliminate, Magsarion
sought to employ a special effect with his blade, enhancing its potency against the target.

This tactical approach, now ingrained at the core of Magsarion's essence, transcended mere
values to become a formidable power seamlessly integrated with his Second
Commandment.

The Second Commandment, which forbade basic human necessities such as eating,
drinking, sleeping, blinking, defecating, and even thinking, in favor of embracing a
relentless pursuit of death, possessed the extraordinary ability to discern the true nature of
its target and exploit the slightest vulnerability within reach.

In addition to this, Magsarion imposed a further condition upon himself, one that required
him to comprehend his opponent fully in order to achieve an unparalleled increase in
power.
This style had been in full swing since his battle with Bahlavan, but it was an
understatement to say that the phenomenon was peculiar.

If new restrictions were to be introduced, it would be more prudent to establish this new
vow as an independent Commandment. The inclusion of these unpredictable conditions
should have been handled separately, as the decision to blend them with existing ones
seemed ill-advised.

In fact, Magsarion struggled to reconcile these conditions due to the significant issue posed
by Frederica. Partly because she remained a mysterious presence of great intensity (her
love for Magsarion seemed foreign to him), he would have killed Frederica with a
half-formed understanding of her immutability.

The only reason he refrained from breaking his Commandment was due to ongoing
improvements being made, but the setback was still apparent. It was a matter of pure luck,
at the mercy of the capricious grip of fate. Thus, the notion of breaking the Second
Commandment was nothing more than a joke, incapable of unsettling the fierce tenacity
that defined Magsarion.

He would continue to sever, divide, wound, devour, and perpetuate his immutability until
the end of time, consistently transcending his former self.

So, why did Magsarion make such a move?

It was not a miscalculation. He was a man who skillfully employed the threads of absurdity
and lawlessness to his advantage, evident in the numerous powerful enemies he had slain.

Perhaps it was a premeditated action, a moment when Saoshyant Mah, the self-serving
Commandment, honed itself to the utmost limit within the realm of numerical expansion,
roaring against the provenance of ‘Naraka.’

"Laughable, brother. You desired companionship."

As he sat down, a swift horizontal flash lunged towards Varhran's neck. There was no need
to expound upon the overwhelming power and precision of the lethal sword, now imbued
with a conceptual understanding. Even if the truth, unbeknownst to him, were to be
unveiled, the shock and dismay that swept through Varhran's mind would prove futile.

The relentless blade of Saoshyant Mah, perpetually ruthless, could exploit any opening. It
possessed the power to create a fatal moment unconditionally, regardless of the opponent's
mental state. Whether the person was a saint, a madman, or an anomaly, the revelation of
their inner workings held significance for Magsarion. There, the raw vulnerability of their
heart was laid bare.
A swift, deadly slash forcefully drove Varhran into the ground, marking the first time his
exposed heart had been laid bare.

Or so it seemed.

"I don't quite grasp your meaning."

The counterattack, caught in a flash, was swiftly reversed and aimed at Magsarion's neck.
While it did not cleave him in two, the blade made significant progress, causing copious
amounts of blood to gush forth without severing completely. An opening had been exposed,
undeniably so. However, Varhran's exceptional skill promptly responded, striking the target
in less than a moment. Compared to any previous adversary, Varhran outclassed them
completely.

"Usefulness? Desiring companionship? What do you mean?"

"I speak of your loneliness."

Yet Magsarion refused to yield. Instead, his blood-red smile deepened, becoming even more
ghastly than before.

"I have a good feeling about this. From this point forward, the battlefield is mine," he
declared, disregarding injuries that could have claimed his life billions of times had he not
comprehended and evolved along the path of Meifou Madou.

With sheer determination, he delivered a second blow, his aggression exceeding all bounds,
yet still serving as a form of counterattack, exploiting the gaping breach he had created.

However, the counterattack ceased there.

Varhran promptly rectified his blind spot, as he had done before. Regardless of the gap that
emerged, there was a time lag before the actual strike was executed. Thus, all Varhran had
to do was navigate the situation during that interval. In theory, this form of imitation was
feasible. And Varhran executed it with ease.

In this crucial moment, he swiftly turned the tables (even if he moved second), deflecting
omnidirectional attacks flawlessly with astounding precision. Consequently, Magsarion's
sword was once again deflected, inflicting further damage. This time, he was slashed in
reverse, causing his body to waver dramatically.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha."

But Magsarion did not waver.

To the untrained eye, it may have appeared as an act of desperation, as if cursing the
disparity in their abilities and surrendering to madness. He resembled a wild beast,
cornered and resorting to nothing but frenzied chaos.

However, the truth was different.

Magsarion laughed as if he were genuinely convinced of his superiority. On the other hand,
Varhran's expression began to cloud over, even if slightly.

What had occurred between the two of them?

As always, Varhran's blade had deeply pierced Magsarion's chest. Initially, Varhran sought
complete victory over his little brother, making this outcome puzzling.

"?"

Exclaiming with delight, the younger brother's voice echoed throughout the boundless
heavens.

"I cannot kill you yet, was it?"

The older brother emitted a low groan at the perspective of his younger sibling, who
laughed while impaling him. At that moment, Varhran comprehended its significance.

He himself had declared that he could not kill Magsarion until the latter submitted. If this
condition remained unfulfilled, and the battle ended in a dubious manner, the cycle of
Aeons would be compromised, and the radiance of truth would be forever lost.

Therefore, eliminating Magsarion at this stage would be an utter waste of time. Even so, his
younger brother was still alive, despite the numerous clashes they had endured. It wouldn't
be strange if Magsarion had died a billion times. Yet he persisted, unshaken by the anomaly
from the ‘Age of Zero.’

In other words, it was proof that Saoshyant Mah functioned in such a form. In essence, due
to Varhran's extraordinary abilities, the pitfalls that emerged were more devastating than
the usual breaches.

"This is perhaps the first time I have lost control of myself. But do not despair."

Magsarion's blood-soaked mouth contorted, as if he were mocking himself. As a precursor

in this world, he uttered a curse that resembled a blessing.

"Everyone is born immature and struggles against their weaknesses. This is the nature of
reality."
Varhran distanced himself from the black flash of Magsarion's sword, which moved faster
than the eye could perceive.

Simultaneously, he touched his face and observed what clung to his fingers.

“Revel in this moment, Father, for this is the true color that paints this accursed world. The
vivid crimson of spilled blood stains the battlefield, a testament to the violence that courses
through our veins. A sight both menacing and triumphant, a symphony of chaos and power
that echoes through the very core of our existence. This blood, Father, it feels warm against
my fingertips, as if it pulsates with a life force of its own. The sensation is intoxicating, a
tantalizing dance of agony and ecstasy that fuels the fire within my soul. No longer do I
observe from a distance, a passive spectator to the violence that unfolds. No, I have
immersed myself fully in the symphony of destruction, and it is magnificent! And now… so
have you.”

The color of blood— though this was not Varhran's first encounter with the sight, however,
until now, he had merely observed it from a distance.
But until now, he had been looking at a distant landscape. The battlefields he had always
immersed himself in, the victories he had accumulated, and the accolades he had received
were all the work of others. He had lived his life with minimal awareness of his own
involvement.

‘Yet this blood feels warm.’

The shallow wound on his forehead, a mere gash, throbbed unbelievably, causing him pain
that he could not bear.

Yet, it was not unpleasant.

"This is what you desired, isn't it?"

Magsarion approached as soon as he uttered those words, and Varhran swiftly intercepted
him. Despite his thoughts being somewhat scattered, his countermove was remarkably
smooth, astonishing all who witnessed it.

The blood-spattered younger brother laughed, despite his spurting wounds, and
commended his brother's swordsmanship.

"You are an extraordinary talent. I envy you."

"Enough."

Varhran's own words, spoken with more roughness than he had anticipated, surprised him
more than anyone else.

"I was bewildered as to why you were getting so worked up, but I couldn't suppress the
urge to continue fighting."12

"Do not talk with such cheapness."13

"So you say have been trying? Even though I cannot recall witnessing your training."

"..."

Magsarion's continuous assault with his sword was, without a doubt, terrifying. He was a
genuine, self-made individual who had brought ruin to entire universes. His unique power
had been cultivated along the path of Meifou Madou.

12
This is Magsarion talking for those that are confused in the dialogue shift.
13
Varhran dialogue picks back up here
Meanwhile, Varhran's mastery, which skillfully handled every attack and executed
magnificent counterattacks, defied description. There was an inherent unfairness in his
skill, surpassing the boundaries of reality.

But did Varhran truly desire such talent?

‘You can do it.’

‘You excel to the point that I am ashamed of myself. I cannot comprehend this feeling. Can
you teach me?’

"Ah… so it seems I have been robbing the opponents I defeated."

His superiority eventually transformed into a source of embarrassment. He had been
stealing victories from those he had overcome, driven by his longing to stand on equal
footing with others.

Magsarion launched a ferocious attack, unafraid of the bloodshed it would cause. His strike
found its mark once again, this time grazing Varhran's cheek, leaving a mere gash on his
skin.

Despite its superficial nature, the deformed hero reacted as if he had been scorched by the
flames of karma, instinctively recoiling.

"This is what I meant when I said you were lonely," Magsarion declared, hot on Varhran's
heels, refusing to let him escape.

He pressed on with his relentless assault, unraveling the truth about his brother.

Varhran was born with extraordinary talent and a heretical perspective on the ‘Age of Zero.’
Just as Ahura Mazda had proclaimed, his existential hierarchy fundamentally diverged from
that of the people in this ‘Heaven.’

To Varhran, the world must have appeared as nothing more than a story.

Undoubtedly, it was a transcendental position. However, that kind of relationship was

broken from the moment of its inception, never to be actualized.

The smiles and tears before him were no different from the characters in a story.

Just as readers remain distanced from the story's characters, Varhran couldn't draw close to
‘everyone’ he encountered, lived with, talked to, fought with… he was forsaken the moment
he was born.
The result was an agonizing solitude— a yearning to be with ‘everyone’ and live among
them that could never be fulfilled. The ability to dream the same dreams, to truly
understand and be understood, to laugh along with them, to actually live was impossible.

And so, Varhran was burdened by shame over his talent. Only he possessed an unfair
advantage, and so he established a Commandment to live a fair life, rather than one of an
all-knowing,Godly, omnisicent coward.

The privilege of a victor— to seize the most crucial weapon from his defeated foe. It could
be their strength, their abilities, or even their emotions. But in truth, Varhran didn't do it to
empower himself.

On the contrary, his intention was to subvert his own nature and become weak.

Even without plundering the essence of others, Varhran was inherently strong. If he desired
a life of self-indulgence, so he could have pursued it without hindrance. Yet, it was not
enough.

No matter what grand accomplishments he achieved or how much praise he garnered, it all
remained within the confines of the story. Unless it intersected with his reality, it left him
feeling empty.

“That's why I took everything away from ‘everyone’ else. I wanted to fall, to be qualified to
weep and laugh with ‘everyone.’ So, I embellished myself with the attributes of ‘this side’ as
much as possible, immersing myself within the lives of others. By doing this, I hoped to
claim that I was one of ‘everyone,’ right? Right?!?!?!”

"Seems like you attempted this and that, but in the end, you couldn't attain what you
desired. My brother must have realized that your endeavors were misguided."

Magsarion remarked, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips, tinged with a hint of pity.

What can a brave man, who longed to be part of the story, a man who is too strong to be
weak, unable to blend into the story he solely sought due to his transcendental existence do
to find his place in the universe? There was only one recourse remaining.

"You discovered the ‘Age of Zero’ and finally found your answer— If you couldn’t descend to
the level of the story, then you'll raise ‘everyone’ else up to your level. That's what the Aeon
is for."

To summon and convert ‘everyone’ to his side, reincarnating them— Following the logic of
a story, it is similar to bringing characters from a picture book into reality. This would
dispel his loneliness and align with his belief that the greatest person should manipulate
the strings. By initiating the ‘Pantheon’ plan, which opposes ‘Naraka,’ Varhran would no
longer have to be ashamed of his talent and attributes.
"Weren't you aware of it?"

"... No, I'm certain I was…"

Varhran responded. His voice, despite the fluidity of his slash, carried a tone akin to a
blood-curdling lamentation, forever drowned in sorrow.

"I may have been lonely— that may be so. But that doesn't explain why I am different from
the others. Khvarenah and the other Hadou candidates, who crave to shape and emanate
the universe according to their own desires, are also lonely, if you can call it that. However, I
don't perceive such feelings within them. Although their perspectives and abilities may
differ to some extent, they all share the commonality of being distanced from the rest of the
world. So, what sets me apart from them? Why am I so far removed from everyone else?"

"That's quite simple, isn't it?" Magsarion interjected, stepping forward into the fierce wind
of their swords and meeting Varhran's gaze.

"Varhran doesn't need to exist."

Simultaneously, two sprays of blood erupted, marking Varhran's true wounds for the first
time. Magsarion, clutching his chest, looked up at him.

Instead of launching another attack, he cupped his chin and directed his attention to
‘Shinga’s’ dazzling yet lifeless eyes.

"You said it yourself," Magsarion stated. "He is an irregularity— a being never meant to be
born during this ‘Heaven.’"

Replacing the Divine Throne through the Law of Transmigration is a reasonable process,
which explains the emergence of Hadou candidates like Khvarenah. Even if they stumble
along the way, they are destined to become the ones who decide the next God.

But what about Varhran?

In this ‘Heaven,’ at this moment, is he truly necessary?

The answer is no.

At this stage, establishing the ‘Pantheon’ holds no dramatic advantage against ‘Naraka.’

Even if they were to fail, it wouldn't inconvenience the existing system. Thus, Varhran is
genuinely an outsider, a person whose name isn't listed in the cast. This alienation
propelled Varhran to seek validation.
‘A reason for me being here.’

He yearned to grasp the inevitability of his existence through triumph, to plead for
forgiveness and for life to declare, "You are valuable."

To whom?

The answer was obvious.

"That's why you created me."

‘My own son… born of my own flesh and blood…’

With Magsarion, Varhran sees the meaning of his creation on this plane. Varhran believed
that seed of his ‘unnecessary self,’ conceived from his own flesh and blood, could
comprehend ‘everyone,’ gather them, and soar wherever he pleased. It was a selfish and
deeply unethical desire, but it was also an earnest prayer, one for a lonely man desperate
for his own voice to be heard.

"I won't claim that you are a weakling searching for external proof of your existence,
brother. You had to take the path you did, and by rejecting you, I have established 'myself,'"
Magsarion spoke, his words filled with a mix of resolve and empathy.

"Therefore," Magsarion murmured, his sword held firmly at his side, "I will take care of you.
I will save you, brother."

As always, Magsarion gazed directly into Varhran's eyes, as if scooping out the depths of his
loneliness.

Excitement coursed through Varhran's body as he realized that his son’s ‘salvation’ equated
to death.

Yet, he wasn't even surprised.

After all, it was Varhran himself who had cast Magsarion into the depths of Meifou Madou.

His son understood him, unearthing truths that no one else had ever noticed, and now he
declared that he would care for Varhran.

‘As a father and older brother, it is my duty to accept this with joy. It may result in my
demise, or I may be the one to end your life, but I cannot simply turn my back on you here.
Whatever the future holds for me, I am certain that I will face it with unwavering
conviction,’ Varhran resolved within himself.
"I knew I could convince you. Let the games begin," Varhran declared, his sword held
steadfast at his hip.

Facing one another with symmetrical precision, a moment of tense silence hung in the air.

In the next instant, flames erupted.

A tempestuous gust of cutting wind, black as night, surged forward with terrifying
momentum, while a white flash traced an elegant pattern. The collision of their swords
unleashed a force of unprecedented density, capable of shattering the very Divine Throne of
God.

Amidst this chaos, Varhran experienced a mysterious event— he heard a voice.

"I'm sorry. I am with yo—"

The woman's voice seemed to meld with the creaking blade of the sword.

It was unquestionably emanating from there.

“Ahura Mazda—”

Varhran's Divine Sword cracked, and a rift materialized before his eyes.

Frustration welled up within him as he muttered to himself, "This is absurd."

But the relentless onslaught of destruction showed no signs of abating.

"You cannot lose!" he exclaimed, his realization dawning upon him. The impossibility of her
defeat struck him, and he immediately sensed his own desperation.

Why was it that she could never be defeated?

Was it because the true essence of the Divine Sword resided within her?

Or was it because he believed that her fledgling counterpart’s power could never surpass
her own?

‘In the simplest terms… I believed in Ahura Mazda because she, and she alone—’

Before he could complete his sentence, he was interrupted by her words, "You're the only
one who recognized me."

In that moment, as the Hero's wife, Ahura Mazda, clashed with the Savior's mother, Quinn,
the world shifted...
Indeed, it was Ahura Mazda who first discerned the mystery within the being called
Varhran. It was she who saw through him and chose to stand by his side.

‘Perhaps we never truly understood each other.’

The notion of comprehending ‘everyone’ eluded him, and from Ahura Mazda's perspective,
he remained infinitely distant.

Yet, none of that mattered.

She was the only one who loved him unconditionally, accepting him as he was.
No matter how disfigured or alien he appeared, Ahura Mazda never rejected him. She
forgave him, acknowledged him, bared her heart, and he wept tears of salvation and
acceptance. Through her presence, he finally found his place and purpose in the world—
the role of a husband, the mantle of a father, and the figure of an elder brother.

Varhran, who had no place in this era, found grounding when he encountered Ahura Mazda.
Their relationship, as distorted as it was, was undeniably one of family.

The pivotal point lay here— it was delicate, fleeting, and ephemeral, but nonetheless… a
bond had been formed on ‘this side.’

Magsarion's aim was to eradicate the ‘Age of Zero’ dwelling within Varhran.

At the moment of his impending demise Varhran, facing his wife, comprehended the
significance of this truth.

"You tried to understand my true feelings and merge with me," he murmured.

They stood alone in the sanctuary, just as they did when they first met. Varhran shyly
smiled as he called out to the weeping Ahura Mazda. Even in the face of disappointment,
there was no trace of anger or resentment.

It was erroneous to label it as a betrayal; rather, it resulted from a more sincere, profound,
and honest devotion to her husband. Ahura Mazda accepted Varhran with the belief that he,
as an existence beyond the confines of this ‘Heaven,’ would break her curse and whisk her
away to a distant place.

Undoubtedly, it was a selfish affection, a self-centered adoration. Yet, one could not deny its
existence.

He trusted her without comprehending the reasons, without even attempting to

understand.
Like a God, he observed her not as a wife, but as a priestess, viewing her from his unique
vantage point.

Upon realizing that Varhran sought understanding, Ahura Mazda's shame, which she should
have relinquished, resurfaced. She feared becoming aware of her own inadequacies,
worried that he would perceive her as a deficient wife.

"I told Quinn that if I recognized my shame, I would admit defeat, but none of that matters,"
she mused.

Rather than being a blind follower, Ahura Mazda chose to be a wife on equal footing with
her husband. Understanding the intricacies within her heart, Varhran harbored no blame
toward her. Gently, he reminded Ahura Mazda that if she was to be a wife, he should be a
husband. However, she still struggled to reconcile her feelings of shame...

"I'm sorry. I can't ask for your forgiveness. I'm sorry for being such a fool and tarnishing
your ideals," she expressed remorsefully.

"It's alright. I too started heading in that direction initially," Varhran reassured her.

"I couldn't fit myself into the story, so I tried to extract its essence. But Magsarion's hand
forced me right back into the story. So this is such an end, even if deviates from my original
plan, it’s still salvation for I.”

All Varhran had yearned for was to dispel his loneliness.

He dreamt of perceiving the same sights, experiencing the same sensations, and sharing
laughter and tears at the same temperature as ‘everyone else.’

And finally, at long last, that wish had come true.

"Well, it seems my time is running short, but I don't want to be extravagant.”

Ahura Mazda, her Divine Sword having shattered, bore a deep wound upon her chest. The
truth remained that she would soon succumb to her injuries, but Varhran was no different.

Now, Saoshyant Asvatereta, Magsarion’s Commandment to never follow Varhran’s way of

life. This outcome emerged as the genuine effect of his once ambiguous vows, now correctly
aligned. By fully unraveling Varhran's identity, it transformed into a negating force, erasing
the elements that defined him.

Having laid bare Varhran's true self, the surge of emotions synergized with Saoshyant
Aushedar, which thrived on the intent to kill and the understanding that emerged through
Saoshyant Mah. The three Commandments were released at maximum capacity.
This limited yet ultimate special ability eradicated the cosmic intervention of the ‘Age of
Zero’ that had resided within Varhran. He remained solely because his connection to the
‘other side’ had been severed, as he was reborn at the moment of his demise.

He was no longer the Commander of the ‘Pantheon.’

He no longer stood as an outsider with a heretical perspective.

As a man living in this world, he could embrace the troublesome and loving feelings that all
husbands experience— as much as anyone else.
"I am grateful to you for affirming that you needed me and that I am indispensable in this
era. Don't cry; it's embarrassing," Varhran expressed with gratitude.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Ahura Mazda apologized
repeatedly.

Varhran grappled with his emotions, but finally, he faced them from the same perspective as
everything else.

To him, everything appeared beautiful, and he realized that this was what it meant to be
human.

Amidst his perplexity and ramblings, Varhran had found happiness.

The very fact that he was uncertain about what to do with it was a positive aspect. It was
amusing how he found himself entangled in a quandary, wondering if he was perhaps
treating things in a misguided manner due to his hastiness.

Both of these aspects bore testament to their consideration for one another. Even when
their paths slightly diverged, there was no disconnection. Their exchange, made possible by
residing in the same world and acknowledging each other's perspectives, remained equal,
even if it occasionally resulted in irrational discrepancies. Varhran genuinely cherished the
imperfections of their relationship.

‘A refreshing breeze courses through my heart as I realize that this was what I had been
searching for. Though my furrow shaped eyebrows bear the mark of an eight, everything
appears beautiful.’

"You desired to be like this with me, and you made an honest choice. You have no reason to
apologize for succumbing to temptation. You have attained the future you yearned for.
You've won."

When he added, "you won," the wife finally looked up and responded with a faint smile.

"You're such a sore loser," she teased.

"Hey, don't say that. You're too harsh," Varhran retorted.

The two lovers locked eyes with an alluring gaze before bursting into laughter
simultaneously. They embraced each other tightly, whispering words of affection in each
other's ears.

"Do you have any regrets now?"

"Yeah, maybe. I don't know... perhaps one if I were being greedy."

First and foremost, they had to comprehend the situation unfolding around them and
within their lives.

‘I wonder what's happening,’ Varhran pondered, momentarily worried that he had once
again acted insensitively. But he swiftly dismissed that thought.

Ahura Mazda's attention was fixated over Varhran's shoulder and behind him. She realized
that she had witnessed something seemingly impossible and gasped.
"What's there?" Varhran tensed, feeling a surge of anticipation coursing through him. In
response, there came a dismissive cough.

"Am I so insignificant that you're simply going to leave me out of this?" a voice resounded
from behind Varhran.

‘I feel a surprise akin to a shiver when I realized who was the owner of the voice behind my
back. I don't know if it was before, but there is no way that I would have heard it wrong
now. I turned around, feeling as if I had been played for a fool, but in reality I was afraid to
look back......’

"Sirius..."

His "best friend" stood there, still youthful and unchanged, just as he had been when they
were together.

Varhran couldn't help but ask, "Why are you here?"

The response came with a touch of defiance, "Do you expect me to leave without an
invitation?"

"That's not why I'm asking..."

Bewilderment clouded Varhran's eyes.

"The power to summon Aeons should have been lost when my connection with the ‘Age of
Zero’ was severed.”

‘Yet, this Sirius standing before me is undeniably real, and it leaves me bewildered, unable
to hide my astonishment."

"I don't care about logic. If you want to convince me by force, then consider it a miracle. I
desired something from you, and it has come to fruition. That's all there is to it."

Puzzled, Varhran asked, "From me? What?"

However, in the next instant, Sirius swiftly interjected, stepping firmly into the space
between them, too quick to react. The impact landed heavily on Varhran's cheek, resonating
with a hollow thud. Ahura Mazda's voice pierced the air in a cry of disbelief.

"What are you doing?"

Varhran protested, trying to comprehend the reason behind the blow, his voice filled with
indignation.
"You've wronged us in so many ways," Sirius retorted, his fists clenched tightly. "The most
significant thing is that you can't simply replace what you've taken. Do you understand the
harm you've caused?"

Despite feeling the impact on his face, Varhran remained perplexed about the reasons
behind the blow, while Sirius vehemently voiced his protest.
"You've stolen my capacity for 'love,' and I suppose that's tolerable. It ultimately benefited
Nahid to have her role stripped away. Even though it infuriates me that you made Quinn
shed tears. But I can just about endure it."

Varhran responded with a hint of satisfaction, "Well, then, I suppose that's satisfactory."

"Well, that's satisfactory? You know how many people were involved because you
faked your death?!”

His words, laden with a touch of sarcasm, betrayed the tumultuous emotions swirling
within him. He knew all too well the extent of the consequences that had unfolded due to
his fabricated demise…

“And what infuriates me most of all is..."

Varhran, still reeling from the strike, struggled to grasp the purpose behind it, and Sirius
continued his outburst with righteous anger.

"Why didn't you ever consult with me? Why did you never seek my advice? You've been
utterly useless to me!" Sirius exclaimed, his frustration boiling over.

“No, no wait. ......”

“I can't hear you!”

What is it?

Varhran was once again at a loss. In the meantime, he could offer an explanation. The
reason he didn’t use Sirius as his Aeon is simple. As the fight against Magsarion continued,
his own understanding and reproduction was increasing, conversely, due to Sirius’
characteristic the better reproduction of Aeon the less suitable for battle he becomes.

As for why he didn’t talk with Sirius...

Varhran found himself at a loss once more, unable to offer an explanation. However, he
managed to convey one simple reason for his silence.
"We existed in separate worlds, making communication impossible from the start. But more
importantly..." Varhran's voice trailed off momentarily before he continued, "I thought you
would despise me."

Ahura Mazda's surprise mirrored even Varhran's own, but Sirius, unphased, simply sniffed
in a rather foolish manner and uttered an incomprehensible remark.

"Very well, hit me," he challenged, catching Varhran off guard with his casual invitation.
"What?"

Varhran's confusion grew as Sirius beckoned him so casually, yet a surge of emotion welled
up within him.

"It's my fault for failing to earn your trust. I should have told you that a few betrayals
wouldn't change our bond and that I understand you," Sirius admitted, his voice tinged with
remorse.

Varhran started to speak, "I'm..." but the exact reason behind their argument remained
elusive, exacerbating his confusion.

"No, Sirius, it's my fault," Varhran interjected, shouldering the blame.

"No, it's not. If you have a problem with me, confront me directly."

"I've always found your pretentiousness... deeply disheartening," Varhran confessed.

"We’re on the same page, I've always found your foolishness and self-centeredness
distasteful.”

Two men locked in a glaring contest, both claiming to dislike the other, yet beneath the
surface, no bitterness or hatred lingered.

Varhran had once stolen Sirius' ‘love,’ which had now been passed on to Magsarion, and the
determination to genuinely face each individual had become the foundation of Meifou
Madou.

However, this outcome hadn't been part of the original plan.

It all started with Varhran's desire to be like ‘everyone.’

He yearned to adorn himself with the attributes of ‘this side’ and blend in with the rest, as
someone too detached from reality.
In essence, Sirius had been his initial mentor and an embodiment of his ideals. Admiration
seemed an apt description for their relationship. Therefore, the emotions surging within
Varhran at this moment were a gift from his dearest friend, something genuine.

Even if he had passed on that gift to his son, those sentiments had never waned, for they
had always lain dormant, just waiting to gush out with the truth.

"Now I know how it feels, its color, and the scorching heat it emanates! I remember! I
realize this is what I was born to do, what I am meant to accomplish. Damn it, I'm so
embarrassed!"
Varhran cried, raising his fist in the air, and struck out his fist at him. Sirius, who was about
to greet him, drowned his tears in laughter, and Ahura Mazda was crying as well. Now that
he has a wife, a son, and a best friend, it was time for him to finally admit who he truly is.

And so, the curtain fell on the twilight of the final play. Through the script, the reader
became one with the actors and celebrated his triumph as his long-lasting wish, and
without a hint of abnormality and distortion, flourished into the skies of the neverending
paradise.

It was a gloriously ordinary ending for the man who had been so far from everyone else.

5
The ever-shifting eyes of ‘Shinga’ gazed silently as ‘She’ beheld the hero's final moments, as
the Divine Sword struck him down. His life's end was met with solemnity and reverence, as
if even the Gods themselves mourned his passing. In death, however, the hero found solace,
released from the burdens of this world.

Though ‘She’ couldn't comprehend the thoughts and emotions that consumed him in those
last moments, ‘She’ could predict them with near certainty. Even the all-seeing eyes of the
divine couldn't discern the truth of his demise.

‘Thus, I can only objectively analyze the events that I have witnessed. I can only evaluate my
feelings toward the outcomes. In essence, I was never truly invested. On the whole, I
experienced distress at having to witness such a sanitized charade devoid of significance or
worth. Yet, if I delve deep within, I am aware that true indifference is something entirely
different, a simulated apathy toward that which I wish to suppress.’

Varhran's fall from the heavens was not an anomaly; it was a correction of a distorted
situation. As Magsarion proclaimed, there was no need for him, and by eliminating this
irregularity, the situation improved. In this sense, it could even be viewed as a positive
outcome.

‘I regret that things did not transpire as I had hoped. I longed to depart this world with
tranquility, a serenity I do not deserve. Alas, fate deigned it not.’
‘What I sense is frustration. The 'feeling' I had kept locked away for so long began to stir,’
and ‘Shinga’ meditated deeply to suppress it.

‘She’ knew this was a perilous emotion of the mind, one that would lead to ‘Her’ downfall.

‘Act as if nothing has occurred. It is sheer folly to dwell on a possibility that has already
passed, as long as nothing has substantively changed. I am so accustomed to this kind of
failure that it wearies me. Where is ■■■■■■ when I need him most?’

"I am 'Shinga.' Witnessing the beginning and reaching the end, I am both the mother and
the enemy of all."

The spectacles-adorned ethereal eyes mirrored both mercy and ruthlessness. They burned
with exultant joy and froze with bitter sorrow, emanating vile justice and sublime evil. A
grand mandala of swirling patterns materialized— the convergence and embodiment of
divine authority.

"Not enough, it is not sufficient, Magsarion. Now, come forth and show me thyn path!"

This is the initial battle for a successor in the world, a contest for the transmigration of the
Divine Throne. The battle cry that will shape the destiny of future generations resounded
amidst the utter destruction of Meifou Madou.

Magsarion remained unfazed. He was a man whose perception rivaled that of a God amidst
countless bloodshed. He could foresee most things and had prepared parallel
countermeasures, ensuring that he would never be caught off guard or fall behind. Thus,
even in this moment, he stood there with a burning vengeful spirit.

Despite having defeated Varhran, he was neither careless nor conceited, calmly shifting his
focus to the next stage. However, if asked whether everything would be fine, his response
would be "No."

He believed the situation would surpass his expectations, and his heart raced with
anticipation.

‘Despite the fact that I had prepared myself by thinking that the situation should exceed my
expectations, it is undeniable that I was still not fully aware of the situation. It was less than
a moment in time, just a few noises, but even so, an unawareness is unawareness.’

Consumed by self-loathing, Magsarion gripped his sword's hilt with all the hatred he could
muster. He knew that repeating the same mistake would mean certain death. Nevertheless,
he was prepared to confront the evil before him, even if it led to his demise.
"Don't gaze at me so intently; it embarrasses me."

A peculiar woman materialized before him, ‘Her’ attire unlike anything he had ever seen.

It neither resembled a warrior's armor nor a noble's finery, but something entirely
otherworldly.

‘She’ smiled at him, her lips curling in a seductive manner that unsettled him.

Most of ‘Her’ features were reminiscent of the previous Nadare, Sita. The split tassels of
‘Her’ hair and the mismatched irises of ‘Her’ eyes bore similarities to the original. The
unique weapon, a pair of long swords conjoined at the hilt, also echoed the ones that ‘She’
had bore.

Yet, they were entirely different.

Just as ants and lions both classify as living beings, they diverge in countless ways.

Beautiful.

Yes, ‘She’ was undeniably a stunning woman. But compared to the ‘beauty’ of Khvarenah,
there was an additional pressure that defined ‘Her.’
"Are you the true form?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm uncertain if my unexpected appearance disappoints thou.”

‘She’ appears lovely like an innocent girl, humble like a gentle lady, yet there's a glimmer in
‘Her’ eyes, the essence of a poisonous woman. Contrary to ‘Her’ modest words, ‘She’ exudes
the sweet and ferocious aura of a tsunami engulfing all of creation. ‘She’ embodies the
cosmic laws, and the depth of ‘Her’ karma imposes an endless struggle on the world,
beyond human comprehension.

That is 'Shinga.'

‘There lies a difference between those who sit upon the Divine Throne of God and those
who haven't reached that pinnacle, clinging to reality with only one hand. If a Hadou
manifests its true nature when it governs a Law, then the presence or absence of
accomplishments naturally relates to spirituality. ‘

"No need to be so proud before me. Thou hast already left your mark. I'm merely the one
who set all of this into motion. A treasure hunt or a race? I simply happened to strike gold
in that kind of competition."
As if fully attuned to his thoughts, or rather, having perceived them in their entirety, ‘Shinga’
smiled and added, "The proof is in the pudding."

"The proof lies in the fact that I haven't mastered martial arts of such caliber, yet I stand
before thou, reigning supreme as I always have."

"I'm sure you haven't."

With a single swift stroke, he cleaved ‘Her’ form into two. Magsarion's lethal blade severed
both sides of ‘Shinga’ in an exaggerated slash.

‘The sensation is undeniable. This blood spatter is no illusion.’

He had undeniably struck down the enemy, and ‘Her’ remains lay at his feet. But, naturally,
it was not the end.

"Oh, this is astounding. I haven't encountered such a ludicrous discrepancy in strength

since my battle with 'Sakra.' When 'mortality' still coursed through my veins, he brought
about my demise countless times."14

Voices began multiplying, resounding from right to left, front to back, and even from the sky.
Gradually, the chanting took shape, and the shadows gained substance. Countless Shingas,
numbering in the hundreds of millions, trillions, and even beyond, sang gleefully.

“Naturally, these words should not be taken literally, after all in the ‘Age of Zero,’ death did
not exist, and the concept of Law was nonexistent. Hence, I yearned for a world of stark
contrasts— where victory and defeat were clearly defined, devoid of ambiguity, enshrined
within black and white for all eternity.”

The girls encircling Magsarion moved with ethereal grace, ‘Their’ sizes varying greatly.
Some were human-sized, like ‘Shinga’s,’ while other ‘Shinga’s’ were diminutive, no larger
than the tip of a nail. Astonishingly, there were even ‘Shinga’s’ larger than Khvarenah
himself. Together, ‘They’ chanted in unison, ‘Their’ voices carrying an otherworldly weight.

"I wonder what kind of power we shall obtain once we have mastered the art of killing one
another?”

In response, a destructive sword dance commenced. A tempest of darkness surged forth,

intercepting the accelerating ‘Shinga’s’ converging on them all.

14
AHHHHH Aditya foreshadowing!!!! So hyped for that.
Individually, each ‘Shinga’ seemed inconsequential. Magsarion was not outmatched by any
means, swiftly dispersing hundreds of ‘Shinga’s’ with each swing of his blade while
increasing his rotational speed.

‘However, this quantity is undeniably abnormal. No matter how many I kill, I do not feel like
I am truly killing them. In fact, I catch glimpses of them regenerating at the edges of my
vision as I cleave through their ranks…’

"As long as I exist, 'everyone' shall arise. If thou sole desire is to kill, then unleash and
rampage to thyn heart's content."

The number of appearing ‘Shinga’ corresponded to the lives Magsarion had taken thus far.
So if ‘They’ continued to emerge infinitely, overwhelming ‘Them’ with sheer force would
prove impossible.15

Truly, this was the work of a deity.

From the cosmic scale down to the sub-atomic-level, the multitude of ‘Shinga’ represented a
Goddess-like existence in their entirety. Slowly and delicately, ‘Her’ palms met, merging
faster than the speed of light.

"I am the world. Love and madness coexist within me.”

Caught within ‘Her’ grasp, Magsarion must have experienced an indescribable shock,
caught within the clasp of ‘Her’ prayer.

A violence he had never before encountered was a transcendental destruction only

achievable by a God.

Yet, his own power was immense enough to crush it in the following moment.

The palms of the colossal God ruptured, amid a hellish vortex of gravitational waves and
radiation, revealing a ferocious, jet-black knight.

"Brilliant, but hardly surprising."

This exchange of attacks and defenses demonstrated Magsarion's ability to withstand the
divine power of ‘Shinga.’

However, that did not guarantee victory.

15
Basically what it means by reemerging infinitely, Magsarion has already claimed a nigh
infinite amount of lives throughout the ‘First Hevaen’ and each ‘Shinga’ represents that. And
so as he kills more ‘Shinga’s,’ the more of them emerge, creating infinity.
Both sides lacked the decisive factor that could tip the scales in their favor. The shattered
‘Shinga’s’ swiftly regenerated, returning the situation to its initial state. No assessment of
the outcome was necessary to discern which side held the advantage.

Destroying ‘everyone’ took Magsarion an extensive amount of time. As long as that fact
remained the foundation of the clashes, it would require an equivalent duration to
eliminate all the incarnations of ‘Shinga.’

Magsarion's ‘Meifou Madou’ was tailored to this particular type of combat, making it
structurally impossible for him to pursue any other approach. Deviating from this path
would result in the collapse of his convictions, tantamount to self-destruction.

Consequently, he had no choice but to engage in battle within his opponent's domain,
knowing that even if he were to vanquish ‘Her,’ ‘She’ would resurrect once more. The end
was nowhere in sight, and in a protracted conflict, Magsarion found himself at a
disadvantage.

"Thou must not worry, even if it takes tens of hundreds or thousands or millions of years.
Even while I joust with a child like thou for eternity, as long as my pitiful Law reigns
supreme, new Hadou qualifiers will continue to emerge. Let us see how long thou can
endure."

As long as ‘Shinga’ continued to produce ‘everyone,’ figures like Khvarenah and Kaikhosru
would be born one after another. Thus, the longer Magsarion fought against ‘Her,’ the more
opportunities arose for another opponent to bring about his downfall.

While it may not be an immediate concern, there would come a time when he would reach
his limits. Magsarion had already surpassed the realm of mere physical strength, but when
confronted by an adversary of similar caliber, the bar was raised once again.
"Tis not a matter of individual strength, but rather that of vessel and it’s disposition. It
hinges on one's ability to bear the weight of the world, the direction of depicted ideal, and
the breadth of the field of view to keep looking at it. Thus only Hadou Gods can oppose one
another."

Magsarion did not possess the attributes of Hadou.

Therefore, ‘Shinga’ asserted, "Thou are not enough."

Perhaps ‘Shinga’ intended to continue fighting and eventually yield the Divine Throne to the
most formidable among the newly born Hadou Candidates. To her, Magsarion was a mere
nuisance, a pebble in the road. It seemed only natural to dismiss him with a casual flick.

To this, Magsarion could only chuckle.

"You seem to think it is folly to challenge your strategies. You find it unnecessary to retaliate
against the divine might of the Hadou. However you…”

“Have never been successful."

His words were sharp and confident, trouncing mere intuition. Magsarion had already
gathered enough evidence to discern the essence of ‘Shinga.’

"I can perceive your essence through Nadare's failures and her inherent attributes, after all,
she is your ‘Sensory.’ All your plans have consistently backfired, never coming to fruition."

‘Shinga’ did not deny it. In fact, with the emergence of the paradoxically irregular Varhran,
it became clear that planning was an alien concept to her.

"Why do you pride yourself on speaking of the future? Your naivety is laughable you fool."

Magsarion sneered, a mocking tone permeating the Throne room as the understanding
settled in.

Countless ‘Shinga’ nodded in agreement, following a brief pause.

"I must confess that indeed my life has been a litany of failures. I am acutely aware, without
needing external validation, that this is a plight shared by the vast majority of humanity.
Might I inquire, dost thou grasp the implications of such circumstances? Is it a wise strategy
to assume that everything will inevitably go awry? Indeed, to me, the unexpected twists and
turns of fate are precisely what I have foreseen and planned for. In a sense, I have brought
each of my prophecies to fruition. So why does my heart ache?"
"Trash like you always gravitate toward the notion that everything goes wrong from the
beginning."

To ‘Shinga,’ failures were everpresent. Yet, if ‘She’ possessed the willpower and resilience to
confront them head-on, success and failure became indistinguishable. No matter the
mistakes ‘She’ made, as long as she took them in stride and faced them with a spirit of
enjoyment, ‘Her’ plans would inevitably come to fruition under ‘Her’ Law.

"There is no cause for concern. If thou hast now awakened to Hadou and defeat me through
means I never deigned possible, then so be it. I am confident that thou would be pleased to
hear that... The grand scheme of the archetype remains unchanged, thus I shall graciously
accept it."

The nonchalant tone of ‘Her’ voice revealed ‘Her’ sincerity. It was not a bluff or a deception
but as ‘She’ said it would be.
As Sita had described, merely killing ‘Shinga’ was not enough to claim victory. As the creator
of the system governing the transmigrating of the Gods, she remained within the
boundaries of her Law, regardless of how miserable the outcome. The smile of the Goddess
would remain unfrozen.

However, Magsarion's fearless demeanor remained unshaken. His malevolent eyes, which
had pierced and dismantled every opponent before him, now blazed with fury as he
proclaimed with solemnity.

"My brother was too far consumed by the 'Age of Zero.' My brother became that way due to
his connection with the 'Age of Zero,' ingrained in him from birth. But as I was born into
your world, I am still bound by your Law at my core. Therefore, I shall shatter your grasp
and break free from your clutches. I shall unleash upon you a wrath unlike anything you
have ever witnessed and not rest until I have crushed you beneath my heel."

His words, resonating with the authority of one who recognized his own greatness amidst
mere mortals, echoed like the clarion call of an ancient deity— high, majestic, and ferocious,
declaring his transcendence to all who would listen.

"I shall now ascend beyond my three Commandments. Consider this, for the sake of clarity,
my fourth commandment.”

His words flowed with a serene certainty, emanating from one who recognized his
liberation from the confines of mortal laws. They resounded like the decrees of a wrathful
deity.

‘With a conventional blade, I am powerless against the source,’ the formidable warrior
contemplated.
That was the very realization that led him to believe he had unraveled the enigma of slaying
a God.

◇◇◇◇◇

Magsarion, the wielder of the "■■■■■■,"16 commenced his reincarnation.

However, this did not imply an abandonment of his former self. If his true essence was to be
overthrown in every sense, then adhering to the Commandments set forth by ‘Shinga’
would be contradictory. Yet, those three Commandments constituted the very core of
Magsarion's being, the foundation upon which his life was constructed. He refused to
forsake them, for doing so would mean forsaking himself.

16
Just the Divine Sword(Quinn) but idk why it was censored in the raws even though it has
been referenced so many times since his understanding is at its peak. It is what it is ig.
Forbidding physical contact between myself and others with the exception of those
involving killing intent— once I thought it a foolish and sad imitation, yet now I understand
that for this child, it is also linked to love. Such a bittersweet realization that to protect
those dear to us, we must sever the ties of affection. But still, we hold on to the hope that
one day, the darkness will be banished, and love will once gain flourish. Until then, we must
bear the weight of this sorrow, and carry on, persevering under this God-forsaken Law.17

The prohibition of unnecessary physiological phenomena other than in battle— a steadfast

wind of obstinacy that rushes forward in its fervor, refusing to waver, even for an instant. In
exchange for showing no mercy, Magsarion diligently endeavored to comprehend his
opponents on a profound level. By touching his chilling blade, he could discern the true
worth of anything.

And a rebellious heart, directed towards his mysterious father, a figure unknown and
unknowable, and to deny him in his entirety— a power capable of saving a soul that could
only be deemed as anomalous in this world. Undoubtedly, it was a marvelous existence.
Like a fragrant flower, it brought a touch of beauty and grace to a world often harsh and
unforgiving. It served as a beacon of hope amidst darkness and turmoil, reminding even the
most lost and forsaken souls that they, too, could find their way home.

Each element, no matter how unsettling his blood-stained sword might be, held profound
importance. They were indispensable components that defined his very essence. Though
inconvenient at times, they could not be treated as mere garments of everyday life.

These words were spoken with a sharp, impassioned tone, as if the speaker sought to
convince the listener of the undeniable truth. The voice resonated with determination and
conviction, firmly believing in the righteousness of the cause.

Hence, Magsarion did not discard these Commandments but rather sought to improve upon
them.

It was a means of inheriting outdated attire in a more refined form within a new world. In
essence, evolution and growth encapsulated the future of Magsarion. Like a magnificent
flower blossoming in spring, his resolve and strength would continue to flourish, breathing
new life and hope into the surrounding world.

"At first, I believed the quickest path was to transcend 'Tentsui.' Yet, once I realized that
violating the Commandments was the prerequisite, it was out of the question. I am who I
am, and I shall never change."

He now sung an immutable prayer, deeply resonating within his ascendance.

17
It is implied for Quinn to be the one speaking after the description of Magsarion’s
Commandments.
"I do not seek your permission. I shall sharpen my blade and wield it solely for myself."

These words were uttered with a cold, murderous tone, as if the speaker was already
envisioning the blood to be spilled.

All Commandments necessitated an oath and the approval of ‘Shinga.’ However, Magsarion
had no intention of seeking such validation. Instead, he aimed to be reborn by his own
volition, free from his reliance on God.

Through this act, he would create an escape from this accursed Law, an opportunity for a
fresh start. Unbound by the rules and constraints of past Laws, he would carve out his own
path, shaping a future for himself.

For convenience, he designated this Fourth Commandment as Saoshoyant Taurwari—

Remaking his existing Commandments, and not using them as he had until now, it bestowed
upon Magsarion a unique power, becoming an existence that exceeds ‘Shinga’s’ predictions.

It was a lawless prayer, one that disregarded the edicts of God. Of course, it was no simple
task, but it was not beyond his reach.

Because part of his rebirth had already taken place.

"I see, indeed, it does make sense when framed in that manner. However, I must confess
that I recall nothing about bestowing upon thou the ability of 'understanding.' Tis a
perplexing matter that requires further consideration before reaching any conclusions."
‘She’ nodded in agreement, appearing to have resolved one of ‘Her’ queries. After
comprehending Varhran, an existence beyond the realm of this Law of understanding, there
was no doubt that some form of evolution had been achieved.

"Without altering the appearance of a Commandment, dost thou wish to reshape the
existing weapons, wherein my law resides? Surely, that would be a concept beyond my
grasp. Nonetheless, it is an 'improvement,' and thus, logical," ‘She’ expressed with an
impressed tone, leaving room for further inquiry.

"What comes next? What then, shall thou do with the heinous fixation on killing?
Narrowing down the conditions of contact to a singular aspect has endowed thou wicked
sword with unmatched sharpness. Introducing more conditions would only degrade its
edge."

"I know the details. I have already bestowed the answer upon you," Magsarion responded.

His clash against Bahlavan likely triggered this revelation. By surpassing the swarm of
locusts and confronting the countless ‘Shinga’ that populated the Divine Throne, the
Horizon of Slaughter reached even greater heights.
Exhibiting the pinnacle of Hadou, Magsarion established the evolutionary direction of
Saoshoyant Aushedar.

"...My people, those who shall make contact with my murderous intent, shall be born
infinitely."

Until now, his vow had remained mere words, unfulfilled. However, this was an
unmistakable opportunity. For in referring to them as "my people," he pledged himself to
become a Hadou God. At the very least, he had taken the initial step towards achieving it.

The ‘murderous intent,’ as described by ‘Shinga, originally lacked a purpose. Should he

exterminate everyone and stand alone, the foundation of his existence would lose its
meaning, rendering it all an illusion.

Far from remaining immutable.

"Therefore, thou art implying that thou shall never cease to kill?"

To focus solely on the end until the opponent was vanquished, until the end of time, to
possess the power to act as desired until then. People would wither away into nothingness
on their own, be born of flesh on their own, and unquestionably unleash their rage on their
own.

It was a system that leaned towards leaving individuals to their own devices. Unlike Avesta,
it did not enforce a specific directive, but neither saves nor guids those who have lost their
way.

This ‘Divine Throne’ system controlled people in a manner that allowed them to charge
forth in whichever direction they chose.

Of course, if Magsarion assumed control, his potent killing intent would emanate as a new
Law. Yet, in this case, it made no difference whether God was present or absent.

People would live, die, and fight on their own.

The inescapable truth dictated that each individual had to confront their mortality and
forge their own path in life. To some, this may appear cold and heartless, but to others, it
was a necessary rule for survival. Those who followed in Magsarion's footsteps understood
this and endeavored to live true to themselves, free from external interference. Though
some may label him an evil God, his rule was undeniably a natural and inevitable part of the
world they would come to inhabit.

"As I suspected, thou are ill-suited for the task."

The evidence was sufficient to give even ‘Shinga’ dismay. ‘She’ set aside her own tyranny to
denounce Magsarion's lack of responsibility.

"The path of the Hadou is one of governance and rule, and it is impossible to embark upon
it without an ideal, regardless of its rightness or wrongness. The duty of the Hadou is to
show others the way, yet thou prayers remain self-serving, solely for thou own benefit,
lacking substance. They amount to nothing more than idle musings."

"I understand. I, too, have no desire to sit upon the seven troublesome thrones."

Magsarion's proclamation of ascending to godhood elicited surprise and disbelief from the
divine deity known as ‘Shinga.’

For the first time, the all-knowing deity exhibited visible signs of displeasure toward the
lawless and unreliable conduct of this mortal.

This paradox, claiming godhood while rejecting the associated responsibilities, stood as an
anomaly that could not be overlooked.

Nevertheless, Magsarion remained resolute in his refusal to succumb to the divine will. He
would forge his own path, even if it meant defying the laws of logic and reason.

"It is ‘I’ who shall ascend the throne, not I, but as the embodiment of my indomitable will.
Die trembling in fear, for if you dare to challenge me, 'I' shall inflict upon you a devastating
setback."

With the 'I' held before his eyes, Magsarion revealed his ultimate weapon: evolution.

In that decisive moment, I18 too understood the gravity of the situation. Our souls
intertwined, merging into one, as I locked gazes with my son's reflection in the gleaming
blade of the sword.19

Every prayer I had ever collected, every cherished memory of ‘everyone’ that I and
Magsarion held dear, surged within me.

The powers of ‘Meifou Madou’ began to envelop Magsarion, emanating from the Divine
Sword(Quinn) in a dazzling display of radiance and effulgence.

18
I am italicizing Quinn’s dialogue so theres a distinction between her and Magsarion.
19
Quinn talking, her pov has merged with Magsarion during the exterior shedding of
Magsarion → Muzan
“This…”

A sense of impending doom washed over ‘Shinga,’ sending shivers down ‘Her’ spine.
‘She’ felt a fear ‘She’ had never known before, realizing that whatever was unfolding was far
from favorable. Though ‘Her’ mind was clouded with confusion, the thought of immediate
destruction crossed ‘Her,’ yet she hesitated.

I, bound by duty, resolved to shield and safeguard 'my' son from the line of fire until this
Heaven reached its end. I possessed no luxury of action, but I channeled my thoughts into
resolute words, steadfastly blocking the machinations of ‘Shinga.’

With each word spoken, I infused my rebellious spirit, fueled by the grand vision I had
always dreamed of.

"Your Commandment is 'the prohibition of anger,' is it not?" the warrior challenged, his
voice sharp and inquisitive.

"You embody the concept of all evanescing dualities within these dimensions, yet the color
of anger seems to be absent. Is it truly missing, or are you merely suppressing it? I am
intrigued to know the truth."
Even the Throne God ‘Herself’ abides by Commandments. As the one who established the
Laws of this Heaven, ‘She’ is bound to them more steadfastly than any mortal. And I would
venture that her adherence to these Commandments no less as weighty as the entire
universe itself.

"You, in truth, are indeed a deeply angry individual. I dare say you have made countless
mistakes in the past due to your uncontrollable rage."

‘Shinga’ looked at me with a despondent expression. The usual blend of disdain and
admiration seemed to waver, as if ‘She’ was no longer able to harbor both sentiments
simultaneously.20

"In my time, I have witnessed much. I have beheld wonders and horrors alike. But what of
it? Art thou trying to provoke me into breaking my own Law and destroying myself? I think
not. I am not so easily swayed by such petty provocations."

"No, I am not thinking such convenient thoughts."

If one could wreak havoc upon a Gods reign with something as simple as provoking God to
‘Her’ demise, then no one would ever feel a challenge.

However, if the vastness of ‘Her’ consciousness dedicated to suppressing ‘Her’ rage

becomes all-consuming, leaving no time for ‘Her’ to act, it would not hinder Magsarion's
evolution.

It falls upon me, the divine harbor of miracles, to seize every opportunity from ‘Shinga’ until
the end of time. This is even more so since Magsarion is currently in a state of pure
‘Nothingness,’ in order to constitute his trump card.

This responsibility, with its immense gravity, weighs heavily.

"Moreover, your essence has been reflected in us in an inverted manner. Because you
exist as the highest and root of all existence, you must ‘Not harbour the emotion of wrath,’
so you have inadvertently ‘Given birth to a world in which individuals get stronger the more
fiercely wrathful they are.’ There are exceptions, of course, but generally speaking, isn't it
so? At the very least, strength and willpower serve as the key to transcending both
limitations and Commandments. And it is not physical strength alone that you train your
puppets in to combat ‘Naraka,’ is it?"21

20
‘Shinga’ is starting to lose control of her her Law, not by self destruction, but because
Magsarion’s Muzan is starting to emanate unconsciously.
21
Quinn speaking because Magsarion is starting to shed, idk why the raws made it this way,
but the way the dialogue constantly switches with no warning is kinda ass.
"Thou art absolutely correct, my dear. I believe the complexities of the human heart are the
most precious of all things. It is a marvelously intricate and beautiful organ capable of
immense love and devastating pain. And having experienced both, I am truly grateful, for it
has shaped me into the person I am today."

Her smile radiated warmth and affection.

"I consider myself blessed to have encountered a remarkable being such as thou."

"But you were unable to defeat ‘Naraka,’ were you?"

"Oh? Pray tell to enlighten me as to how thou hast arrived at this particular stance?"

‘Shinga’ replied, ‘Her’ brow furrowed with pressure.

Although terror coursed through me, I feigned composure, and it seemed to have
succeeded. Emboldened by newfound courage, I pressed on.

"It is a simple deduction. Why would ‘You’ deny ‘Yourself’ the emotion of anger when ‘You’
value spiritual strength and emotional richness over mere power and fighting prowess? It is
not merely a matter of ‘You’ losing composure, as ‘You’ have undoubtedly failed in the past
due to ‘Your’ own rage... No, it runs deeper than that. It is the fact that the 'Age of Zero' is
incapable of comprehending emotions."

As removed from human understanding as Varhran was, the original ‘Zeroth Heaven’ may
have been even more devastating.

"Perpetuated through the 'Age of Zero,' emotion itself is an enigma, as a force that devours
the heart and transmutes it into something unfamiliar. It matters not what the truth may be,
for against beings that possess emotions, 'Naraka' stands as an insurmountable adversary.
Was this the reason behind ‘Your’ concerns about the power of prayer? Were ‘You’ so
incensed that ‘You’ couldn't abide the existence of 'Naraka,' that heinous entity rendering
the 'heart' obsolete?"22

Silence lingered in the air.

22
This part may be kind of confusing because it uses ‘Age of Zero’ and ‘Naraka’
simultaneously, but I’ll give a little backstory from Aditya here. Basically the original ‘Zeroth
Heaven’ was a normal universe but due to ‘Naraka’ who emanated the Law of Amrita, the
curse of immortality, everything in existence began to lose their way, forsaking even the
most human emotions as they became something more deformed and far away from it.
What Quinn is deducing is as ‘Naraka’ changed the very structure of everything, emotions
began to be lost and even those who retained it through their ‘heart’ eventually began to
suffer from Amrita, causing ‘Shinga’ to create the Divine Throne as a way to combat
‘Naraka,’ hence why prayers were so important in the ‘First Heaven.’
"The heart is imperfect, transient, precious, and thus, beautiful. ‘You’ sacrificed everything,
even ‘Your’ own livelihood, to prove its worth. You forsook the most vital emotion of ‘Your’
entire existence, instead giving rise to an army of anger instead. Through the Aeon, you
seek to stab ‘Naraka’ in the back and strike back."

"I am not inclined to enter into a debate on this matter. Each of us holds our own ideals,
beliefs, and aspirations. While I am unaware of past events, the unending hellish torture
that ‘You’ must have lived through, I cannot permit ‘You’ to act without restraint. As
Magsarion has voiced, failure to heed his words will result in ‘Your’ downfall. Therefore, I
too must insist that ‘Your’ plans be modified, as I cannot allow them to proceed as
conceived!"

It is when we, as ‘Her’ children, take flight that we truly grow and evolve. The
transformation transpiring here is also our response to the parent who brought us into
being. We must transcend our humble beginnings and soar to new heights, for only then
will we grasp our worth.

This journey is one of both sorrow and joy, an undertaking we must embrace to fulfill our
destiny and become who we were destined to be.

[I can’t be good? Fine then, I’ll become an evil that devours evil.]23

Magsarion, confronting the ‘Nothingness’ born within his immutability, muttered such
words, causing a fleeting tension to flicker across ‘Shinga's’ face.

It appeared that ‘She,’ too, was beginning to comprehend the unfolding situation.

[Cultivate your desires as they are. To live is to rob, commit and pursue the end of your
pleasures. My people! Devour evil with evil, raise that beast within your soul!]

None of the prayers emanating into the ‘First Heaven’ aligned with Magsarion's principles,
yet they all possessed a vivid familiarity as if etched into the very fabric of reality. However,
now they are naught but hollow echoes, bereft of meaning and impotent against the
encroaching darkness that threatens to engulf us all.

[Do not be deceived by their empty words. Only I can offer you the protection you seek.]

There were those who once fervently spoke these words from the depths of their souls.

[Embrace your sins in this Fallen Heaven. Eat the forbidden fruit, for that man cannot be
produced. My heirs, lambs living within the 'Remorseless Paradise of the Fallen,' be
23
I’m using brackets to differentiate Magsarion’s dialouge as he rises to godhood with
‘Shinga’s’ as otherwise it would be confusing.
beautiful. Aspire for progress, pursue prosperity, but do not neglect your simple joys. For
through only struggling endlessly in everyday life, these mundane moments, that your true
treasure can be discovered.]

The immutable memories and Laws assimilated by Magsarion coalesced, merging in a

coherent manner without dissociating amongst themselves. The attributes openly exhibited
were akin to those of mighty, godlike entities such as Sirius, Kaikhosru, Khvarenah, and Sita.
Yet, even the more inconspicuous people were not neglected. In some way, the essence of
‘everyone’ was incorporated, even the most miniscule of prayers.

Witnessing this kaleidoscope of radiance bursting forth, even ‘Shinga’ heaved a languid
sigh.

"...Hundred Faces?"

“Close, but not quite.”

This is because the heaviest self-imposed Commandment upon Magsarion was "Denying
Varhran and not continuing with his way to live.”

Varhran was called 'Hundred Faces' due to his inability to be understood by ‘everyone,’
manipulating countless Aeons with his own distinct viewpoints and impressions of others.
In a sense, future generations may perceive Magsarion in a similar light, yet their essence
diverges.

[Clothe this exterior in the prayers of ‘everyone,’ acquire this emanation of the Hadou
through assimilating the life paths of multiple personalities, and a wholly new ‘Pantheon’
shall emerge after vanquishing ‘Shinga.’]

This task is arduous, fraught with the genuine possibility of failure. If the
acquisition of multiple personalities is successful, they may render the original Magsarion
forever concealed, never to emerge again.

It is akin to death, and I myself bear the same peril. The act of embodying and reflecting his
immutability within my being continues to exact a significant toll on both of us. Frankly, my
very sense of self feels as though it is unraveling as I orchestrate this scenario.

But I care not.

I recognize this as the trial that Magsarion, born as the apoptosis of the Divine Sword, must
surmount in order to genuinely live as himself.

“The ‘Pantheon’ shall differ, removed from your intended design. Specifically, the
Commander shall differ.”
"On what grounds?"

“I knew you were unaware of it.”

I responded to ‘Her’ query indirectly, sensing ‘Her’ growing impatience. In truth, it has
become increasingly arduous for me to speak, as I am incessantly eroded by the emanation
of Magsarion's Hadou Law.

Nonetheless, I persevere, slowly fulfilling my purpose...

"Varhran encountered Sirius at the moment of his demise."

"---"

‘Her’ reaction was furious, as if the very sanctity of a secret had been violated. It became
apparent that ‘She’ was unaware of the exchange that took place within the sanctuary, yet
its exposure became an undeniable formality. I was able to witness it due to my peculiar
connection to Ahura Mazda.

However, why did it not reach the eyes of ‘Shinga?’

The answer, I deign, is not so difficult to fathom.

“For Varhran, defeat equates to the breaking of his Commandment, thus necessitating
divine retribution. However, due to his original nature of being removed from this Heaven,
‘Your’ divine power failed to reach him fully.”

Despite losing his connection to the ‘Age of Zero,’ her involvement remained incomplete.
‘She’ could not ascertain the results, and consequently, ‘She’ could not exact the specified
punishment. And so, he remained free from all in his final moments.

“Yet, that is not the crux of the matter. The crucial question is how Sirius could have
manifested in that very place.”

"Because this Aeon felt 'real,' it must have been created by the Aeon Commander ‘You’
prepared, correct? ‘You’ are concealing him or her in some secret location, are ‘You’ not?"

"I believe that to be accurate. However, what does that imply? I have my own plans for
‘Pantheon,’ so securing a Commander is a natural arrangement."

"Yes, it strikes me as remarkably accurate. Whenever a person seeks to recreate a portrait,

their own interpretation inevitably intermingles within the colors and contours. It is the
nature of art to be inherently subjective, reflecting the unique perspective of its creator..."
"............"

"But 'they' are akin to a machine. Varhran is a translator, an exceedingly imaginative one at
that. Yet, despite his distinctive style, one can easily imagine the faithfulness in which he
reproduced the essence of those images. Translation is perpetually subjective, and the same
story can assume vastly different forms in the minds of distinct individuals. It is the nature
of reality to be fluid and mutable."

On the other hand, ‘Shinga's’ child is a projector. Their expertise lies in projecting the
genuine truth without any flaws.

"It is mechanical. As a created being myself, I comprehend it well. I am certain that ‘You,’
'Shinga,' orchestrated the creation of the Commander."

Having personally battled against the denizens of the ‘Age of Zero,’ I am intimately
acquainted with its nature.

However, giving birth to Sirius' Aeon shall mark the first and final instance where she exists
as a machine. Though unsummoned, she acted out of her own volition.

"She observed them from afar and began to nurture her own heart. Inspired by Magsarion's
ferocity, Sirius' kindness, and the life and death of 'everyone,' she started to cultivate her
own sense of self. No longer a mere observer, she became an active participant within the
grand drama of existence. She is alive."

"Now, the Commander would desire a friend or a brother, would they not? This is ‘Your’
most pressing predicament at present."

From all that has been presented, only one conclusion can be drawn.

"There exists a deeper realm beyond the Divine Throne, where the souls of 'everyone' are
entombed, is there not?"

‘Shinga’ remained silent. ‘Her’ silence served as an affirmation.

If the Commander is a projector, then preserving the source of projection becomes of

paramount importance.

This unveils the true identity of the Aeon— a manifestation of that very soul. ‘Everyone’
cannot be destroyed; they can merely descend into a state akin to slumber.

"It is a marvelous tale, but that is what ‘You’ have been striving to keep hidden from us."
"Silence!"

The space reverberated, as the eyes of God blazed in unison for the first time since the
countless eons that passed since the Divine Throne's inception, since the escape from
‘Naraka.’

"I forbid thou to utter another word."

"I refuse."

Endure just a little longer, just a little more.

Clutching my thoughts as if in prayer, I recited the ultimate taboo etched into this universe.

The reason ‘Shinga’ deliberately concealed that secret implies that the person ‘She’
cherishes24 lies together with ‘everyone,’ slumbering beneath the Divine Throne of souls.

Our marks were inscribed upon the world, forever immutable.

Here, the foreshadowing was firmly established, leaving no room for doubt in the future.

"That individual shall become the Commander of the ‘Pantheon’ we assemble!"

And with the culmination of the completed Magsarion's evolution, my consciousness
gradually faded away.

◇◇◇◇◇

“Why dost thou persist in tormenting my being? Is it thine hatred that fuels this relentless
pursuit? Dost thou bearing witness to my happiness, my joy in this world, find it
insufferable?

As the battle neared its end, ‘Shinga’ conceded defeat and assumed ‘Her’ ethereal Aeon
form.

With a sigh of resignation, ‘She’ exhaled, a breath heavy with acceptance.

"Had I entrusted this task to 'Kouha', the outcome would not have been so dire. I shall not
permit her to possess a heart she has no need for. She has forsaken my guidance, and if she
dares defy the decree of functionality, the reproduction of the Aeons shall once again be
imperiled. The efficacy of the conversion shall be cast into doubt, and I shudder at the
potential consequences. Pray, tell me, what shall thou do to rectify this dire predicament?"

24
Varuna for those that don’t know.
‘Kouha,’ it seemed, was the name of the ‘Pantheon’ Commander ‘She’ had prepared.

Her words were directed at Magsarion, who stood like a wooden figure, unyielding.

"Thine way of life is far too reckless. Thanks to thee, Kouha has been inspired, and the
initial act of capriciousness was the friendship between Sirius and Varhran... It may be that
she sought companionship after an extensive period of solitude, but projecting 'that child'
onto her and extracting him was the height of folly. He shall not aid us, but hinder our cause.
We have ensnared ourselves in our own foolishness."

With each passing moment, ‘Her’ tone grew more furious. Shaking ‘Her’ head vehemently,
‘Shinga’ forcefully raged with words of denunciation.

"Tis folly beyond redemption. Everyone and everything. Art thou all content to drown in
ephemeral emotions?"

[That's the world you wished for, isn't it?]

Magsarion's voice was quiet, strong and heavy.

[“You respecting the prayer, holding it in your heart, and turning it into the greatest power
is proof of yourself. You wanted a projection like that, and I just met your expectations.
Kouha is no different. You......”
Magsarion's thin smile pierced through the blinding presence of ‘Shinga.’ Beneath his fluid
exterior persona, a glimpse of his true self emerged. And thus, as if challenging ‘Her,’ he
posed a question he knew ‘She’ would be reluctant to answer.

[Is that 'child' truly so worthless?]

“Surely, he shall amount to naught. At least, he shall not attain the stature of thou nor me."

[So be it.]

‘Shinga’ blinked ‘Her’ eyes, taken aback by the swift retort. ‘She’ knew not the meaning
behind Magsarion's words. Unknowingly, Her’ words become stronger than ever before.

“Oh tell me what was it that thou gazed upon in Varhran's form? Yes, it is true, he possessed
a deformity, a strange anomaly. But such anomalies are needed to become ‘Pantheon's’
Commander. To lead all the people, including ‘us’ on the Divine Throne. An ordinary man
could never fulfill his duty alone."

[That is the logic of a madman.]

But Magsarion brushed it off. It was not the sudden birth of Varhran, nor Kouha that ‘She’
had prepared. He was talking about a third child, called ‘the boy,’ with an air of amusement.

[We are all but mad, emotional monsters driven by our own convictions. Fools abound to
lead such people shall never be finished. We would engage in ceaseless competition to
determine the superior one, until all is won. A heartless being shall never lead, for none
shall willingly follow such. Thus, we tread a path steeped in darkness and menace, devoid of
love.]

"...So, Magsarion, thou art saying..."

‘Shinga,’ finally comprehending the other's intentions, still asked skeptically.

"Thou wishest us to entrust this mediocre 'boy' with a significant role, and to encourage
him to surpass our imaginations with his mediocrity?"

[If he proves to be boring, I shall cut him down.]

Magsarion's face, contorted with hatred, spoke without hesitation.

Still unchanged. Still unwavering.

Vowing to continue along the path of death and destruction, striving to achieve a twisted
form of evolution.

He would strike down anyone, even those he held some fondness for, if deeming them
boring.

No remorse, no regrets, only a soul consumed by darkness.

On the other hand, the leader, ‘that boy,’ must confront this man.

Magsarion, the embodiment of unparalleled martial prowess and the epitome of

ruthlessness, needed to be subdued by a different kind of strength. It was hoped that this
seemingly impossible task would pave the way for the realization of ‘Her’ dream.

[What's the matter, 'Shinga!’ Get angry! Kukukuku!]

He laughed, provoking her relentlessly. Struggling to resist, ‘She’ couldn't help but bark at
him.

Tears welled up as ‘She’ wondered when was the last time ‘She’ had truly laughed, not as a
facade to mask ‘Her’ anger, but with a genuine heart. Laughter and a heart, both concepts
long lost to ‘Her.’
And so ‘She’ laughed, a cold and remorseless sound.

"Come forth then, strike me down! Thy turn is next."

With a swift stroke of his blade, she fell, her head severed, godhood no longer hers to claim.
Thus, the world turned, crumbled, and was swept away, reborn anew.

How did Magsarion, later known as The Remorseless, ascend to his Divine Throne?

It matters not to recount it here.

For it was not 'He' who ascended, but an external personality assumed to conquer the path
of a Hadou God.

‘He’ was a man embodying desire, a mass of Sin, yet ‘He’ is a man who also fostered a
profoundly developed and splendid prosperity, ultimately plunging into the abyss of
darkness in his pursuit of countless smiles.

All evaluations of the future generations are but masks, recounting but a fraction of the
‘Nothingness’ concealed beneath.

‘His’ true face remains hidden, unseen, regardless of the impressions cast. The truth
endures, immutable and unchanging.

Magsarion is a sword. A wicked weapon of slaughter.

Perhaps 'He' shall never emerge. Or if 'He' does, ‘His’ memories shall remain a blur,
entangled within the external facade.

A personality too convoluted to discern the truth. The true self, forever obscured.

Nevertheless, 'He' remains himself. Once awakened, 'He' shall ignite the extinction of the
‘Meifou Madou’ once more.

A man, more unprecedented and dangerous than any before, his menace unseen in the long
history of the Divine Throne, awaits the commencement of the eternal war within the
depths of the inner Divine Throne, ready to wreak havoc and destruction upon all.

In his hands, his mother, prays to become the scabbard to his blade, hastening the advent of
his arrival.

The end of the unseen ending.

Dreaming of the ideal conclusion she believed, that would one day, be reached…

My name is Quinn, my brethren of the distant future. Please teach me of your miracle.