Raiking's words cut deep, like venomous daggers to the mind, leaving a gaping hole in the narrative—a question she yearned to have answered: who truly was the man standing before her?
In the grand arena of power, the mastermind rarely gets their hands dirty. A grandmaster of a supreme sect commands hidden elders, manipulates assassin guilds to bend to their will, and orchestrates unseen networks to quash any rebellion. The human realm was no exception. Authority was a fragmented tapestry; royal bloodlines were inherently greedy, loathing the church's shadow over their thrones. So how did the Paladixtus Order manage to seize such unchallenged, absolute power over the continent?
Arshara's strength was the stuff of legends, and her knights were a force to be reckoned with. Yet, it was against human nature for the proud lords and noble houses to submit without a fight.
Surely, rebellions would have flickered to life. But an unseen force always smothered the sparks before they could ignite into a raging inferno.
As Dia'Tia pondered this alongside the events leading to Arshara's fall—remembering how Raiking had first been hauled before the high court accused of slaughtering high-ranking officials and lords—the grand illusion finally disintegrated.
The mystery evolved. It was no longer a matter of why his blade took those lives. The burning question was now: "What was your true role in their cosmic game?"
Raiking's eyes moved to a shattered section of the chamber, where ancient hands had clawed violently at the stone, trying to erase its artistry. "There is a final truth the savages sought to obliterate."
Harnessing his Entropy Magic, he compelled the corrupted stone to reverse through time, mending the deep scars. As the ancient image reformed, Dia'Tia staggered back, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. "W-what does this arrangement mean?!"
"The barbarian ancestors passed down a legend—a myth of a fated land where their people would finally flourish," Raiking explained. "But they were desperate to erase from history the identity of the one destined to lead them there."
The restored mural depicted a man guiding the barbarian horde toward an unworldly horizon. Unlike those behind him, this man bore no barbarian lineage. His physique was unmistakably human.
And the man now leading the barbarians was Raiking.
"I wasn't originally born in this world," he continued, his voice unwavering. "In my original world, my people were persecuted, infiltrated, and shattered until all they knew was how to endure torment. That very passivity led to the death of my original sister—the Ezmelrel of my past world."
Dia'Tia's throat went dry. "Then who is the current Ezmelral?"
"She is her reincarnation. The Goddess granted me a chance to see her again, but with one condition: I had to become her sword in this world."
If his tale was true, it perfectly justified his brutal treatment of Elinea. Though the lieutenant had intended only to take the girl hostage and hadn't actually harmed her, the punishment had seemed excessively harsh at the time.
Now, she understood. He is just a fiercely protective brother determined not to let history repeat itself... Dia'Tia thought. Looking up at him, she said aloud, "So the Goddess exploited your sorrow to make you eliminate anyone who opposed her plan?"
"An alliance forged in the crucible of grief is a fleeting thing," Raiking's voice resonated through the ancient stones. "A man driven by loss is but a temporary ally. But a zealot—someone who has always believed yet lacked the means to empower their faith? Bestow them with the power to realize their fervor, and you gain a companion for eternity."
Dia'Tia's fists clenched, her knuckles pale. "If you are to be the executioner of her plans, what will become of the giant clans?"
"I intend to offer them the same sanctuary I afforded the northern tribes. A haven shielded from the Goddess's schemes, where they can shape their own future."
"Why?" Dia'Tia questioned, her voice rising. "Why did you spare my life when we first met? Why offer me this mercy now?"
She finally voiced the question that had haunted her for so long—a question that marked the beginning of her fascination. Today, she needed answers.
"Because when the world was struck dumb with fear, you alone dared to speak Arshara's name, utterly unconcerned by the consequences."
"That's it?"
"It may seem simple to you, for you giants can never truly grasp what it means to be weak. But on my homeworld, if they had even a fraction of the courage you possess, my people might not be in the dire condition they are today."
Dia'Tia saw the raw fury igniting in his eyes—a rare and unsettling glimpse into a pain not yet healed, despite the god-like power he now commanded. Even here, in this new world with his sister, whatever he had endured in that past life must have been a fate far worse than death.
"You're blinding yourself to a crucial truth, Raiking," Dia'Tia's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. "If the Goddess foresaw your rise to the barbarian throne, she also knew that Arshara's execution was essential to crush your spirit. Wasn't she the one who orchestrated your master's downfall?"
"When I am powerful enough to confront her, she will pay for that betrayal," Raiking declared, his words as cold and final as steel. "Yet, our personal vendetta does not change the fact that our paths converge toward the same end."
"And the innocents trapped in the crossfire?" Dia'Tia challenged. "The borders hold for now, but a full-scale invasion is imminent. What happens when the vanguard breaches the civilian defenses?"
"Those who haven't harmed the Goddess's chosen will reincarnate."
"But you acknowledged that your world was eroded from within," Dia'Tia countered, stepping closer. "Are your foes truly malevolent, or are they merely pawns in heretical plots?"
"The Goddess shows no mercy for the weak-minded," Raiking muttered, his gaze fixated on the shimmering symbols. "Even if their blood is human."
Dia'Tia felt the weight of revelation: the Demon King was beyond mortal understanding or influence. His path, soaked in blood, had been set long ago, and he had accepted the cost of his crusade. While her loyalty lay solely with her giant clan, and her involvement in the conflict was driven by a desire to test her might, she clung to a warrior's code of honor. She found no glory in slaughtering the ignorant.
Still, she was helpless to stop the relentless march of destiny.
The outcome of the war was already sealed, both in righteousness and strategy. The King's merciless act of killing Arshara prompted Dia'Tia to abandon her role as vanguard commander—her conscience could not defend such a cause.
A bitter truth gnawed at her. Her defection was a privilege afforded by forbidden knowledge. She understood the tragedy of Raiking's fury, but what of those who might have resisted the crown if they knew the depths of its corruption? And what of the countless souls satisfied with their mortal existence, unwilling to be unmade and forced into reincarnation? Was it truly just for fate to impose such a transformation upon them?
---
In the ancient past, as the towering giantess clashed with deities' schemes, a new confrontation was brewing in the present. Deep within the hallowed halls of Greenhollow, tension thickened as long-buried secrets surfaced, unveiling truths the guild members were ill-prepared to confront.
The revelation cut through the haze with brutal clarity. For those who had witnessed Libinea and her tribe's recent turmoil, a pattern emerged: the Goddess had a relentless obsession with forced evolution. The entire continent seemed crafted as a colossal crucible, designed to refine her chosen ones—the holy church. Ultimately, they rose to ascendancy in the Divine Realm, reigning over the world below. The grand scheme was complete.
Beside them, the Princess sat in shock. On any other day, she would have fiercely contested such blasphemy, but its eerie perfection was undeniable. The Divine Emperor was once a member of the Paladixtus Order. His meteoric rise was no longer shrouded in mystery; the church possessed the ancient tablet, hoarding cultivation secrets from the rest of the world.
Thus, the greatest mystery of their history unraveled: how the Divine Emperor had conquered the Tower of Ascension's summit. The truth lay bare. The scroll Raiking handed to Klarineht contained the missing key, granting the Divine Emperor the knowledge to create an entirely new realm.
Yet, this dawn of truth cast a chilling shadow over the room, leaving them with one breathless question:
"What are her next moves? Or are we already unwittingly carrying them out?"