One day, the sky split apart.
It wasn’t just a figure of speech; it was a physical rupture.
Though his name had been forgotten, the Emperor could vividly recall that scene.
Fragments falling from the shattered sky. Pieces of dense darkness, heavy with overwhelming mass, plummeting down.
And when they struck the land, countless people perished.
This was nothing short of an anomaly.
An anomaly so severe that it defied even the authority of the Creator Gods, the most powerful among them.
In Geladridion, there were three Creator Gods.
Eternity and Night, who shaped the earth and heavens.
Nature and Creation, who birthed life and crafted the natural world.
And Fire and Metallurgy, who forged the sun and fire, distinguishing day from night.
Among them, the deity of Eternity and Night held the greatest power, having created the very world itself.
And the most potent manifestation of their divine might was the sky.
But now, the sky had torn apart. The world was collapsing. To the Emperor, who had mastered all theology, history, combat, and magic, this was clearly an abnormal phenomenon.
Yet compared to the impending crisis, this anomaly seemed trivial.
The cracked sky darkened, and between the jagged fragments, something began to emerge.
It looked like foam.
Foam that seemed as if it would pop at the slightest touch.
But by the time its immense size and density became apparent, the Emperor found himself kneeling involuntarily.
This foam was descending from the fractured sky, oozing with intent and hunger as it slithered toward the ground.
It moved across intangible clouds, stepping on empty air, slowly descending to the earth.
Its tendrils stretched out from the distant horizon.
Wherever its grasp fell, human souls and heads vanished.
Life faded away with astonishing speed. Like candles planted in sand against an incoming tide, they disappeared without resistance.
As the knowledge and souls accumulated by humanity were consumed to satiate its hunger, the Emperor witnessed the approaching entity.
Clad in crimson dragon scales, wielding a greatsword that resembled flames, standing over two meters tall with an awe-inspiring face, crimson hair, and golden eyes—a god.
The guardian of the empire, the king of all gods, and the most powerful deity. A god of War and Knowledge.
Under normal circumstances, his appearance would have brought cheers and hope. But this time, his arrival was uncharacteristically meager.
Was it because this massive black foam, large enough to engulf the entire institution, faced a god no bigger than a human?
Or was it due to the overwhelming presence that could be felt simply by looking at him?
The Emperor couldn’t tell.
However, when that strange being extended one of its tendrils to the ground, the Emperor could foresee the outcome.
War and Knowledge would die.
The age of humans would end.
Indeed, that was exactly what happened.
The sword of Supreme Divinity clashed sharply with the tendril dozens of times within a fraction of a second. War and Knowledge fell, headless, to the ground.
The trembling body of the god was torn into dozens of pieces, and the headless torso dissolved into the black foam.
It was a sight that defied comprehension.
War and Knowledge, who had split mountains, felled dragons, earned recognition from countless deities, and slain great evils in the past, had been defeated.
Even though the details of the defeat were unclear, two things were certain.
To survive, much would need to be sacrificed, and adaptation to the new era was necessary.
Indeed, that was what had to be done.
After absorbing War and Knowledge, the foam devoured many more.
No screams of torn souls were heard; life simply faded away. Heroes who rose up with swords in hand either became food or servants.
At the end, as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, the black foam spoke.
It referred to itself as the Supreme Divinity and demanded offerings of Nothingness.
There was no defiance. Not even from the Emperor.
Even he complied.
Out of the countless lives consumed, only fifty remained. The Emperor pleaded with the Supreme Divinity, known as the Veteran of Combat, to spare these fifty lives, promising to become a loyal servant.
The entity, now both the black foam and the Supreme Divinity, accepted the plea—in its own twisted way.
And there the memory ended.
But the Sword of Supreme Divinity noticed a change within itself.
The fifty commoners had become the flesh of the Sword of Supreme Divinity. Though their lives persisted, they lacked any soul or will.
Perhaps to the Supreme Divinity, consciousness meant little. The distinction between beings who retained self-awareness and those who existed merely as objects was irrelevant, and the Emperor understood this.
In truth, understanding was almost essential to move forward.
For over four thousand years, the Sword of Supreme Divinity lived.
The number of lives taken was not insignificant.
Neither was the number of civilizations destroyed. He truly lived as the Sword of Supreme Divinity.
Forgetting his name, forgetting who he was.
And eventually, he was destined to die.
Struck by an impeccable blow, he had no choice but to kneel. It was only natural.
But as death approached, memories surged back.
He saw the radiant divinity of the Ancient Gods.
He felt the impotence of gods who did nothing to resist, leaving their children to suffer.
He felt the cuts on his skin—not as punishment, but as indignation for doing his best to survive, sacrificing everything to save his people.
How could this be the reward?
The Emperor was enraged and detested the ensuing scene.
A girl holding a massive ballista, firing arrows that pierced through his body.
That ballista, once crafted during the empire’s prime, was designed to combat dragons whose metallic bodies were notoriously resilient.
Called the Dragon Slayer, it was used to fell dragons.
It was a testament to the empire’s former glory.
The girl possessed bright golden eyes and crimson hair, traits exclusive to the imperial lineage.
Of course, the imperial bloodline must have been severed. This coloration was likely coincidental. After all, the last emperor was dead, and only the Sword of Supreme Divinity remained.
Nevertheless, when the Sword saw the new emperor wielding the power of the Ancient Gods, it felt intense hatred and fury toward those ancient deities.
They seemed like entities who abandoned their children, leaving them to die.
Regardless of the truth, the Emperor thought this way.
Thus, driven by these thoughts, the Emperor acted.
He abandoned his body. The fifty commoners were left behind, mere husks devoid of consciousness.
He abandoned his divinity. Even if only a minuscule amount was burned, it provided sufficient fuel to forge a new body.
He abandoned his size. Being overly large offered no advantage in battle, only making him an easy target.
He abandoned his pride. It had long been discarded.
He abandoned his humanity. Worn and tattered, it was easy to let go.
What he needed now was only one thing: the destruction of the Ancient Gods.
Even if he survived for less than half a day, it would be enough to annihilate their minions.
Using the remaining divinity to craft a new body, the Emperor finally became the true Sword of Supreme Divinity.
Grasping the sword with techniques ingrained in his mind, he recalled something.
Something he had once heard from War and Knowledge: that every technique used to achieve greatness required divinity.
Amused by this long-forgotten memory, the Sword of Supreme Divinity laughed.
When the divinity granted by Supreme Divinity was consumed, the blade turned black, revealing boundless malevolence.
“Knight Killer.”
This voice resonated in the minds of Aslan and the Sword of Supreme Divinity.
Aslan instinctively summoned Purity as a defense, but it proved ineffective against Knight Killer. Realizing his mistake too late, Aslan’s body was struck before he could react.
The blade pierced deep into Aslan’s left hand.
With a loud crack, the hand exploded under the immense force.
Thrown backward, Aslan’s body ascended into the air, easily carried away like a feather by the blow.
“ASLAN!”
The body flew over fifty meters, trailing blood that splattered onto the ground. The Sword of Supreme Divinity absorbed the recoil into his waist as he swung his blade wide.
!
The burst of displaced air followed the trail of the sword cut, targeting Ereta, who screamed upon witnessing Aslan’s flight.
Baring her teeth, the woman charged forward, catching the gaze of the Myth Slayer.
Observing the battlefield, the regenerative abilities of this woman were evident—she could recover from fatal injuries repeatedly, thanks to some form of divine power.
She couldn’t be killed outright, so the goal was to inflict grievous wounds to slow her regeneration.
As muscles twitched, a red streak elongated.
The Sword of Supreme Divinity was not typically a warrior who relied heavily on divinity. Like most warriors, any divinity used was primarily to maintain their physically unnatural bodies.
But now, things were different. Having discarded his massive form, he invested all his divinity into his new body.
The result was monstrous strength comparable to his previous giant form.
As the arm and sword momentarily disappeared in a flash, a long red streak carved a scar through space.
KUUUUUUUUNG!
Facing Ereta’s axe, the streak effortlessly changed direction.
“What—?!”
CRACK! With a sharp sound, Ereta’s head was severed. Her body flew backward, her detached head rolling away. Her wide, shocked eyes added to the horror.
Regeneration would take several minutes at least—ample time. Swinging his body and sword simultaneously, the Sword of Supreme Divinity prepared for the next strike.
“You little—!”
A girl with features resembling the Emperor’s frowned and charged forward. Her raised fist and intent were clear. Analyzing her coldly, the Sword of Supreme Divinity noted that her regeneration ceased upon death, powered by the divinity of the Ancient Gods—a divinity he recognized well.
So he aimed to kill her instantly. Twirling his body, the slash seemed to cleave through space itself, creating a storm in its wake.
KAAAAAAAAAANG!
Unexpectedly tough. Though her arm shattered and scattered into pieces, she didn’t die.
But she was sent flying. That was enough. Glancing at the small girl flying in another direction, the Sword of Supreme Divinity blocked the follow-up attack with his sword.
KAGAANG!
An impossibly brief opening. A precise ambush timed perfectly—but it was useless against the Sword of Supreme Divinity. Blocking the dual blades of Victory with ease, he kicked upward.
KUUUUUNG!
With a sonic boom, the elf’s body was thrown back, spitting out a mouthful of blood before crashing into the ground.
KWARRRRRLL! The small legs landing amidst rising dust, the body buried in the earth. She wasn’t dead, but she could be finished anytime.
Pushing the blade aside after blocking the Elven Girl’s sword, the Sword of Supreme Divinity swung Victory again.
“Ugh?!”
The one receiving the blow was a human. His magical tattoos were crude, inferior even to those from the ancient empire.
So they were twisted and broken. By twisting the grip and pushing, Richard realized the gravity of the situation.
This attack, this seemingly simple thrust, carried far more power than the punches of the two martial artists he had previously defeated.
It couldn’t be evaded.
It was far superior to his own combat skills. Before fully comprehending this, Richard’s body was hurled upward.
KAAAAAAAAANG!
The horrified cry of the human as he crashed into the ground. Blood and pain spilled from his mouth. As the Sword of Supreme Divinity moved to finish him off, a Sowbrain hurtled toward him.
TUTUTUTUTUTU!
Though fired silently, every projectile was visible to the Sword of Supreme Divinity. Trading all his divinity for half a day’s lifespan had heightened his senses. He swiftly dodged and swung his blade.
KAGAGAGAGAANG!
The Sowbrains were simultaneously deflected.
As the blue-tinted projectiles heated up, Anton grimaced as the assassin’s figure blurred, splitting the ground beneath him.
An ambush was futile. He had become such an existence.
Prioritizing revenge, Anton reached behind him and placed his hand on Lumel’s stomach, preparing a counterattack.
“INCENDENT!”
The incantation emphasized twice. As Lumel was propelled backward by the backlash, red light coursed through Anton’s skin.
Just as the assassin’s figure reappeared before him, about to bisect Anton—
—KUUWAaaaaaaaaa!
A concentrated gust enveloped the area, and a colossal fiery demon erupted around Anton and the Sword of Supreme Divinity.
The deafening roar. The violent storm.
Soldiers who had cheered moments ago stared in shock at the source of the explosion. Flying backward due to the backlash, Lumel lost consciousness as the explosion engulfed him.
There had been no time to ensure he escaped the blast radius.
Against an opponent who might withstand even a suicide attack, showing concern for Lumel was a luxury Anton couldn’t afford.
Indeed, Anton’s judgment was correct. Standing in the epicenter, the Sword of Supreme Divinity remained unscathed.
His scorched insect-like exoskeleton still gleamed a vivid crimson. The victorious sword hanging in his hand emitted a chilling glow, marking the devastating results.
A fleeting moment of carelessness.
Born from the illusion of victory, it lasted perhaps less than an instant.
Even a high-ranking priest would struggle to seize such a minuscule gap, but the Sword of Supreme Divinity could.
With only half a day left to live, having poured all his divinity and strength into this moment, the Veteran of Combat could easily capture such fleeting opportunities.
As soldiers searched for healers or mages amidst the sudden appearance of the combat veteran on various parts of the battlefield, Frida, who commanded the forces, stared in horror at the epicenter.
Holding Victory aloft, encased in a seamless exoskeleton resembling a beetle’s carapace, his figure bore a resemblance to the God of War and Knowledge.
The image of the King of Gods inscribed in the ruins of the throne of gods, Kehil, stood vivid even in the faint memories of her childhood. Frida clenched her teeth tightly, suppressing and recalling every curse that came to mind.
Her stomach churned, her head spun, and nausea rose.
The fact that such an event occurred in a battle they thought they had won was unbelievable, yet Frida had no choice.
She immediately drew her axe and dagger, recently reinserted into their sheaths, and activated her mana tattoos.
As the mana tattoos flowed across her face and body, glowing blue, the beast crouching at her feet swelled and stood upright on two legs.
She unleashed all the mana tattoos etched across her body. In a typical battlefield scenario, she could leap over fortress walls or slaughter all archers atop them. However, Frida remained tense.
Standing before her was a harbinger of destruction surpassing even miracles.
Frida shouted.
“It’s him!”
The soldiers’ attention briefly shifted to her, and she lowered her stance.
“The Sword of Supreme Divinity is still alive!”
The soldiers’ gazes wavered, alternating between the crimson figure, Frida, and the fallen centipede monster’s corpse.
“Don’t lower your weapons! Protect the veterans!”
A sensible command. But before the soldiers could process it, Frida made a painful decision.
“Sacrifice yourselves to buy time!”
Surprisingly, there was no hesitation. It might not be enough.
As the soldiers moved in unison at her cry, the martial artist resembling the King of Gods lowered his stance.
“Damn it…!”
His figure vanished in an instant, rushing straight toward her. Confronted by the Myth Slayer, Frida gritted her teeth and stood her ground.
