The thing before him still refused to acknowledge its existence.
That alone drove it mad.
The Stellaron's will had tried everything—
pressed, tempted, threatened—
And yet the figure standing in the depths of the mind didn't even spare it a glance.
Infuriating.
Absolutely infuriating.
"..."
"You…"
"You do not understand humans."
"You are not human."
"You have no right to make choices on humanity's behalf."
At last—
A voice responded.
No lips moved.
No sound waves formed.
The message flowed directly into the Stellaron's will itself.
And in that same instant—
Three hundred thousand thoughts converged.
What had once been scattered noise fused into a single, overwhelming consciousness, surging forward like a tidal wave.
"So you're not even human? No wonder you're so weak."
"Tch. And you think you're qualified to corrupt Joyce's successor?"
"Trash."
"Yeah! Who gave you the right to decide for us? You're not human!"
"Just looking at you is disgusting. Stellaron? What a joke."
"You don't belong here. Get out."
"Get out! Get out!"
The Stellaron attacked Evan's consciousness—
And was immediately attacked in return.
This kind of battle—one fought on the level of souls and wills—wasn't the Herrscher of Reason's specialty.
But—
Joyce's will, combined with three hundred thousand human minds?
Against that, a single Stellaron's will was nothing.
A joke.
Joyce had once sacrificed himself as both a Herrscher and a human—for the sake of three hundred thousand people.
His resolve was never something a corrupted Supreme Guardian could compare to.
The Stellaron excelled at tempting the weak-willed.
But faced with Joyce's will and the collective consciousness of countless humans—
It was completely outmatched.
A newborn creature that had taken seven hundred years just to awaken.
Pathetic.
Outside — Qlipoth Fort
With Joyce's will firmly guarding the deepest layer of Evan's consciousness—
The Stellaron was forced into a full retreat.
Before it fled, it was struck by a final blow—
A punch formed from three hundred thousand unified thoughts.
It slammed into the Stellaron's will like a divine hammer.
Like the forge-strike of the Preservation itself.
Cocolia staggered back several steps at once.
Her hand snapped away from Evan's shoulder.
She clutched her forehead, eyes locked tightly onto the two visitors before her.
"Mother!"
Bronya rushed forward in panic the moment she saw Cocolia retreat.
She reached her mother's side almost instantly.
"Mother, are you alright?"
No matter what—
Cocolia was still her mother.
The one who had raised her.
The one who had guided her from childhood to where she stood now.
"I'm… fine."
Cocolia straightened slowly, her voice cold.
"But these two rebels from the Underworld…"
"They're far more dangerous than I expected."
She stared at them intently.
At that moment—
Evan was still immersed deep within his sea of consciousness.
And Seele stood there, completely bewildered.
On one side was Bronya—someone who inexplicably made her feel safe. Familiar.
On the other—
Cocolia.
Who was clearly communicating with something else inside her mind.
Silent Exchange
[Stellaron]: This won't work. His sea of consciousness is guarded by an unbreakable will. I failed—and was injured.
[Cocolia]: Is it serious?
[Stellaron]: The plan may need to proceed ahead of schedule.
[Cocolia]: Ahead of schedule? Are you serious? Bronya still knows nothing about it!
[Stellaron]: Then take her. Show her the truth behind Belobog—the secret every Supreme Guardian has hidden.
[Cocolia]: …
[Stellaron]: What are you hesitating for? When the new world arrives, you and she will rule it together.
[Cocolia]: I understand…
[Stellaron]: Hurry. I have a bad feeling. If we don't act now, everything may collapse.
[Cocolia]: …
Inside the Sea of Consciousness
After Joyce repelled the Stellaron's will—
After three hundred thousand minds banded together and smashed it head-on—
Evan's expression turned… strange.
"Wait a second."
"This isn't the Finality version of the authority… so why is Joyce here?"
"And these three hundred thousand minds…"
"What's going on?"
He stared at the scene before him, face-to-face with Joyce himself.
Not only had the opening chest given him authority—
It had given him this too?
Three hundred thousand minds.
Joyce's will.
This was—
This was literally the name Welt.
"I'm just a chest hunter," Evan muttered.
"I don't want to inherit the name Welt."
"Joyce…"
"Three hundred thousand minds…"
"Bronya… Joachim… Welt Yang…"
His eyes widened.
"Did I seriously become the Herrscher of Reason?"
"A virtual one?"
"Someone save me."
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