The stone guardian sat motionless on the newly reconstructed obsidian throne, amber eyes gleaming with suspicion. He stared intently at the figure who had just appeared—the divine-looking young man standing with arms crossed, as if judging the entire world.
Silence blanketed the room. The magical formations still roared, the stone walls still trembled, but all of it seemed smothered by an overwhelming presence.
The stone guardian furrowed his brow.
"Who... are you?"
No response.
The stone figure raised his hand. The chamber immediately reacted: spikes erupted from the floor, and massive arms crashed down from the ceiling like divine hammers. He no longer held back. Ancient runes flared in brilliant blue, compressing the space around them with suffocating power.
But everything stopped the moment it neared the young man—as if it collided with an invisible, immovable wall.
BOOM!
A massive stone hand touched the space surrounding him—and shattered.
"What...?" The guardian leapt up from his throne.
"Why...? WHO ARE YOU!?"
Still no answer.
Only a single step.
Thud.
The moment his bare foot touched the ground, the entire chamber trembled as if it were being crushed from within. Ancient magic inscriptions etched into the ceiling and floor began to crack. The glowing formations along the walls splintered.
"You call this law?"
"Your laws... only mattered before I awakened."
Both the magical framework and the material structure of the room began to collapse—like the stones themselves feared what they had attempted to destroy.
Then...
The boy lowered a single finger, as if punctuating reality itself.
CRACK CRACK CRACK—!
A fracturing sound rang out from every direction. Layers of power accumulated over thousands of years shattered like glass.
The entire magical system collapsed.
Blue energy faded. Barriers, suppressive enchantments—all dissolved.
No explosion.
No debris.
They simply vanished.
As if they had never existed in the flow of time.
"What…? No… impossible…! This is my space! My dominion!"
The young man said nothing.
He simply looked at him—a vacant, absolute gaze.
This was the unique skill that manifested in his second form. He named it: [Void Coronation].
A realm where all spatial laws could be reversed—or erased—at will.
Existence itself could be nullified through a glance or a gesture.
"You call yourself a god… just because you control one little room in this world?"
"What you sit upon… is a throne. What I left behind… was the world."
"...No..." the guardian whispered—not in denial of the figure before him, but in denial of the fear rising within.
He collapsed to his knees. The atmosphere wavered—not from any strike, but because his very sense of power was being crushed.
"...You are not that boy..."
"Why can't I command this space anymore!?"
He didn’t understand.
He couldn’t understand.
The being before him wasn’t human.
Not a mage.
Not of this world.
Each of the boy’s steps warped space. The floor cracked underfoot without needing force.
The young man raised his head.
From his back, an off-white glow ignited—then split in two.
Whoosh—
Wings.
From his bare shoulders, radiant wings of divine light unfurled in silence. No thunder, no flare, yet they sent a chill through the entire room.
Not angelic wings.
Not physical constructs.
But light given shape—condensed from the purest concept of Divine Authority.
[Eclipse Wing] – Wings of Light.
Not just a symbol of illumination. When they appeared, the area entered a state of Absolute Judgment, where the boy held power akin to that of the Creator.
The entire room trembled.
Laws exploded.
Enchantments burned.
Time slowed.
And the stone guardian realized—
"No…!"
He whispered like one cursed, hands trembling, eyes wide. He touched his forehead—not from pressure, but from pure despair.
Then… he remembered.
"No… it can’t be…!"
"I’ve seen… those wings!"
"It can’t be you…"
"You… can’t be… Tori…!"
Memories burst forth like a shattered gate.
A throne of light.
A silver sky.
A deity with those very wings…
He had seen it.
Even if only through a blurred memory stone.
Even if only as a forbidden image recorded by the previous Stone King.
He had seen it.
And now...
He was standing before it.
Tori said nothing. Showed no reaction. As if even he didn’t understand why this was happening.
But to the stone guardian, everything was now clear.
"How... How are you still in this world? Weren’t you… erased?"
"You’re a legend… the border between divinity and the incomprehensible."
"A being… even the Divine Realm dares not name…"
Tori remained silent.
And that silence—was more terrifying than any curse.
Tori was the name he had given himself.
Yet he said nothing—not because he withheld the truth.
But because he truly… had no idea what the guardian was talking about.
"What the hell are you saying?"
A simple question. No defiance. No facade.
Just… confusion.
And that—was what terrified the stone guardian the most.
For nothing is more dangerous… than a god who does not know he is a god.
The stone guardian trembled, collapsing to the fractured floor. Beneath the light of divine wings, the stone skin on his body began to melt like wax under sunlight—even though Tori had done nothing.
"I... can’t win…" he murmured. "I can’t comprehend… I can’t resist..."
Despite having existed for millennia… despite seeing kings and dragons kneel before him… he had never felt so insignificant.
Like a shadow beneath an ancient sun.
He knelt, fists clenched, amber eyes flickering wildly—as if battling the pride of an immortal and the terror of witnessing something that should not exist.
After a long pause, he rose.
"...I can’t explain it." His voice had lost all arrogance.
"But… if you’ve truly forgotten… then let me show you."
Without waiting for a response, he turned, touched the floor.
BOOM!
The stone floor split open—layer after layer receding like a gate to the abyss. He jumped in without hesitation.
Tori did not stop him.
Nor did he follow.
Because he… genuinely didn’t know what to do.
Moments later, the stone guardian returned, carrying an old chest. He rummaged through it, retrieving a black cylindrical object, about the size of two fists, glowing with a faint green hue.
"This contains the memory of the previous Stone King," he said solemnly.
"He once—accidentally—crossed the world’s boundary and entered a dimension called the Divine Realm. He brought nothing back… except an image he dared not look at directly."
"…And he named that being: Tori."
He placed the object on the ground and pressed a groove.
Click.
Light burst forth like a beam from the past.
The air shimmered.
A stream of images appeared in mid-air—a silver sky, countless palaces floating among the clouds, and at the center, a transparent throne forged from light.
Seated upon it—calm, emotionless, as if the universe revolved around him—was a being with white hair, vacant eyes, and those same divine wings woven from silver mist.
He… was Tori.
Tori from an age long lost—Sovereign of the Divine Realm.
Even the former Stone King… had not dared to breathe while witnessing it from afar.
The light faded.
Darkness returned.
Tori remained silent.
He stared at the place where the image vanished, uncertain whether to believe—or to deny.
A question arose from deep within him: "That… was me?"
The Stone King knelt again—this time, out of reverence.
"Even if you’ve forgotten… the world has not."
"You are Tori—the Supreme King of the Divine Realm. A being we could only preserve in stone."
Gen… no. Tori, stood speechless.
"…When was this?" His voice dropped to a whisper.
"A-about three thousand years ago… I-I’m not sure…"
No response.
Tori’s body leaned back, floating gently down without gravity—untouched by the ground, as if space itself supported him.
Then—light enveloped him.
In less than a blink, he was consumed by a million strands of blinding, primal, forbidden light.
When it faded—Gen had returned.
He had left his second form—the one even he feared to touch, unless there was no other choice.
He hated it. Hated the cold emptiness that came with becoming that form.
No pain, no anger, no fear.
Only a boundless void—as if his soul had been sealed within a tower of ice, watching the world in silence, unable to feel.
If the Undead form was the immortality of flesh—then the other was the inviolability of will. A being beyond life and death, beyond all laws and morality.
Tori resembled a god—but a god without will. One who neither loved nor hated. A figure of silent light.
Gen shuddered—not from cold, but from the lingering echo of that divine emptiness.
He sat up, spine cracking as [Regeneration] rebuilt him.
Pain surged from his waist to his shoulders.
But he smiled.
The pain reminded him… he was still alive.
"…Tell me everything you know about me."
"Y-yes, of course!"
The Stone King trembled like one waking from a nightmare. He stammered through his tale: of a radiant being who appeared once, defeated the Dark King, became the Lord of the Divine Realm, and vanished.
No one knew where he came from.
No one knew his name.
All that remained… was an image.
A figure seated on a throne, colossal wings of light unfurled behind him like twin suns.
But the Tori from earlier… had no wings.
So he hadn’t recognized him.
Gen looked up—not as if seeking escape, but as though gazing beyond all dimensions, searching for the mystery the Stone King described.
"…Do the Divine still exist?"
"Y-yes, my lord! But they dwell in another dimension… only the lucky can ever reach it…"
"Is that so?" Gen murmured. "Maybe I should visit."
He stood, stretched with a lazy groan. His joints cracked like an old man’s. He winced—then chuckled.
"Bring me that chest."
The Stone King obeyed instantly. When the chest was placed before him, Gen rummaged through it—and was surprised to find a Skill Box. Similar to the one dropped by the Hydra.
He picked it up. A familiar prompt appeared:
[Notice: Skill Found!] [Activate Skill?] [Accept] / [Decline]
Gen didn’t choose immediately.
"What kind of skill is this?"
"It’s the forging skill of the First Stone King… a legacy passed down through generations!"
Gen lifted the box, pondering briefly. Then he nodded.
"Alright. I’ll take this one."
He turned toward the door without looking back.
"I’ll be taking a few people. You’d best stay out of the way for a while."
His steps were silent. Not out of arrogance. Not out of disdain.
To him, all beings—human or monster, noble or common—were merely variables in the vast equation of the world. Races, ideologies, titles… all drifted like dust. Unworthy of judgment. Unworthy of distinction.
He chose a human form only because it was convenient for wandering.
He wasn’t a war-hungry tyrant.
He didn’t come to conquer, nor to found a religion.
All he wanted… was to walk unknown lands, witness a changing world, bask in sunlight across hundreds of regions, and listen to the song of countless lives.
The Stone King bowed deeply, took the chest, and vanished underground—leaving behind a worldly god, walking a path none could comprehend.
Outside the door inscribed with ancient runes—
The air thickened into something almost solid. The longer they waited, the more suffocating it became.
The silence wasn’t natural.
Some instinct screamed that the world itself was holding its breath.
Several knights gripped their weapons unconsciously, eyes flickering toward the still-shut door.
"H-Hey… do you think… he’s alright?"
One of the seven knights whispered—barely louder than the wind.
"How would I know?"
Another snapped, clearly anxious himself.
"This silence… isn’t normal."
"Should we… go in?" a third suggested hesitantly.
Whispers rippled like waves.
Each small voice only tightened the invisible tension—then let it snap again.
Charlotte looked at Fay. Her face pale, lips tightly sealed. Her teary eyes silently begged him to confirm something—anything.
"Sir Fay… is he… going to be okay…?"
She dared not say the name. Afraid that speaking it would make her fear real.
Fay didn’t respond immediately. He smiled gently, placed a firm hand on her shoulder. His voice like a boulder in a storm:
"He’s fine, Princess. This silence… doesn’t smell like death. I believe… he’s still there."
He stared at the door—not as if looking at a man.
But at something beyond comprehension.
Amar, the deputy commander, could not stay calm. His hand was already on his sword hilt.
"If anything happens, I’m going in!"
Just as he finished, Mo Gang scoffed.
A laugh filled with mockery—and fear.
"You? What, you think that man is just some run-of-the-mill officer like you?"
Amar clenched his sword, eyes flaring with anger—but before he could retort…
CREEEAK—
A faint scraping sound echoed—as if time itself made way.
The door opened from within.
Everyone flinched—stepping back almost in unison.
And then… he appeared.
A shadow stretched beneath the faint glow of the magic crystals overhead.
"L-Leader!!!" Mo Gang shouted, nearly running over—only to stop mid-step.
Gen emerged—iron armor still heavy on his frame, eyes shadowed in darkness. But they could all see the damage—his chest and arms were cracked.
He retrieved his warhammer.
A figure stepping out of legend.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
"Dolly. Let’s go," he said—soft as a breeze. Yet the words cut through every worry, compelling the crowd to part.
Dolly followed without hesitation.
But then…
"L-Leader… th-that…!!!"
Mo Gang nearly choked.
His eyes widened in terror, hand trembling as he pointed at the jet-black box in Gen’s hand.
Even unopened—it needed only a glance to be known.
A legendary item.
The black box, gold-trimmed at four corners—a Primordial Skill Box.
The glow wasn’t bright.
But everyone felt it.
It was not of this world.
Silence fell.
No explanation was needed.
No one was foolish enough to speak.
Some knights instinctively stepped back, palms sweating around their hilts.
A Skill Box.
Common folk might never see a bronze one in their lifetime.
Silver ones were noble heirlooms.
Gold… mythical.
But black...
It didn’t belong to the world.
It was a remnant of lost civilizations. A power capable of defying an entire age.
No one said a word.
No one dared.
Only Gen’s footsteps echoed—quiet but heavy as judgment—as he led them silently back into the cold stone halls.
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