Chapter 385
Chapter 385
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 385
Chapter Title: Racial War (24)
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He kept questioning himself incessantly.
What would it be completed as? What kind of existence did he want to become?
In this hollow place, time was fleeting.
A mere instant in reality could feel like an eternity here, or the reverse.
Park Chan-woo, oblivious to the flow of time, devoted himself solely to the sacred task of forging himself.
First day.
"The beginning starts from the purest will."
He began sketching the most fundamental blueprint for his new existence.
It wasn't mere mimicry of form; it was a process of embedding his will, his convictions, and the reason for everything he would do from here on—the reason that would infuse it all.
Revenge, salvation, and something beyond.
Everything had to be reflected in this blueprint.
30 days passed.
The blueprint grew ever more intricate.
From Park Chan-woo's soul—the core of his existence—delicate threads of light began to extend.
"This is my memory, my emotions, everything that is me."
Like spiderwebs, or cosmic nebulae, they intertwined with delicate complexity, beginning to form the foundation of a new divine body.
He wove his most intense memories and will into the structure.
All emotions and thoughts were becoming part of this new body.
1 year passed.
A silhouette of light, faintly resembling a human form, began to take shape in the darkness.
Still translucent and unstable, yet writhing within it was a will and mana incomparable to before.
"Strength alone isn't enough. I need a vessel to contain that strength... and the wisdom to wield it rightly."
Park Chan-woo inscribed all his magical knowledge and principles into this form of light.
His experience handling countless Wishes, fragments of absolute magic, and the cosmic truths gained through Nirvana.
His body was becoming a living tome of magic in itself—a crystallization of authority that transcended all laws.
He questioned himself endlessly.
"What will I do with this power? How will I set the world right? What do I truly desire?"
And this entire process was also the design toward his true goal: to reach the ultimate Archmage beyond mere strength, integrating the origin of existence with the pinnacle of magic.
"Wasn't an Archmage ultimately becoming the world itself?"
Enlightenment continued.
2 years, 3 years... Time drifted by without anchor.
Even after entering Nirvana and extinguishing all defilements, self-creation in this endless void was no simple task.
Sometimes, eons of solitude brushed the edges of his consciousness.
"This solitude, too... is part of me."
Cut off from all real-world sensations, facing only his inner self to shape his existence—it stirred invisible ripples even in his ironclad mentality.
He regarded it impassively.
The wisdom of Nirvana taught him to embrace even that solitude as fuel for creation, a whetstone to temper himself further.
At times, the most wretched memories of past defeats would revive vividly, seeking to erode his mind.
Sepiro's sneering laughter, the deaths of comrades, endless despair.
"No. Things are different now."
But he was no longer swayed by those memories.
Instead, he refined even those wretched emotional fragments, integrating them into the unbreakable skeleton of his will—or as the deeper wellspring of compassion—within his divinity.
The despair of the past now shone quietly within him as the fertile soil for new hope.
"Microcosm. My own world. A stage to test my will and unfold my possibilities."
Around 10 years had passed, perhaps.
Of course, this was the subjective flow he felt within the void, not real time.
His divinity had taken on a far clearer form than before, its will grown solid.
Now, beyond mere completion of the body, he needed a space to test and hone his new mode of existence.
Park Chan-woo's will reached out into the void.
It was the will of creation.
"Let there be light."
Light and darkness separated in the empty space; order was imposed upon chaos.
His every thought became reality; his imagination birthed new laws.
What began as a single tiny point of light gradually expanded, forming a world.
The heavens parted, the earth rose, rivers flowed, and seas surged.
Lush blue forests grew thick, phantoms of bizarre lifeforms wandering within.
It wasn't a perfect replica of any real-world realm.
Rather, it was a bizarre yet beautiful landscape woven from his memories, his will, and fragments of the ideal world he envisioned.
A false world.
But to Park Chan-woo, everything within felt utterly real.
He felt the wind of the world he had created, recalled the touch of soil, breathed life into it.
Within this microcosm, he tested his new powers.
He rewound or accelerated time, twisted or expanded space, created from nothing, and annihilated what had been.
He conjured countless phantoms of his past foe, Sepiro.
Sepiro roared before him.
"Your pathetic struggles end here, Park Chan-woo!"
Park Chan-woo replied calmly.
"I haven't even truly begun yet."
With his new power and enlightenment, he produced results utterly unlike before.
In the process, he grasped the essence and weaknesses of Sepiro's corrupted power more clearly than ever.
He also shaped phantoms of comrades he longed for, embarking on countless adventures alongside them.
Phantom Adora asked,
"What... are we fighting for?"
Park Chan-woo smiled faintly.
"All the moments we shared together, and the values we fought to protect. That is reason enough."
There was no lingering attachment or regret for the past.
Through those bonds, he reaffirmed the values he must safeguard.
It was the process of solidifying the path to the Archmage he sought to become—and his sense of responsibility as a new god.
Time in this false world flowed faster than reality... or however he desired.
Dozens, hundreds of seasons turned; civilizations he created rose and crumbled, and he watched in silence.
He was the creator and observer of this microcosm—and at the same time, one of the beings living within it.
"Birth and extinction, creation and destruction—all things must cycle."
Through this process, Park Chan-woo's divinity deepened and hardened further.
He was at last completing his answer to the question: What existence do I wish to become?
Not an absolute sovereign reigning alone above all things.
Rather, a being connected to everything, understanding everything—and yet forging a new path with his own will.
That was the form of the new god Park Chan-woo had shaped.
Park Chan-woo accepted the message with calm composure.
This "level" represented the bare minimum constraint he must overcome to descend into reality—or the weight of the shackles born from his contract with the God of Offerings.
And the Zero Point.
The perfect beginning, where all negativity and constraints vanished entirely—the absolute benchmark allowing his divinity to fully plant itself in reality.
The problem was, even so, there was no way to reach Level 0.
Level -31.
To surpass that would be impossible through his will alone.
"One step. Just one step forward."
His consciousness keenly felt that limit, yearning for a breakthrough.
All his wisdom and enlightenment converged on a single point.
There was a way.
"Racial Relic."
The sacrifice needed for his complete manifestation—and to shatter the final shackle of this curse-like minus level.
It was the powerful medium containing the essence of each race: the Racial Relic.
The one offering even Sepiro and the great nine lords could not touch directly.
A sanctuary where rightful ownership could only shift upon the grand stage of the "Racial War," dictated by the Abyss's foundational laws—or something even higher.
"The sole variable to achieve every goal and claim victory over Sepiro."
This was the safest, most certain path to resurrection that Park Chan-woo had discovered after countless regressions—the decisive reason he had chosen the stage of the "Racial War."
Because he had realized no other path led to victory.
Without becoming fully complete, defeat was inevitable.
"Achieving Level -30 allows reaching 0 via the blessing of first-time Racial War participation."
That would bring temporary zero, and completion.
The remaining -1 level could then be bridged by offering a Racial Relic as sacrifice.
However, acquiring a Racial Relic was beyond his power alone.
Lee Hyuk-soo, Adora, all his comrades—they would have to unite their strength to claim it.
At the same time, his will grew ever clearer and more intense.
The work of forging himself in the void was finished.
All that remained was to fully inscribe his new divinity into reality.
And for that, he needed the final fuel: the "Racial Relic" that Lee Hyuk-soo would bring.
"Lee Hyuk-soo. You are more than a mere vessel—you are the partner standing with me against this colossal fate. Your struggle is my struggle; everything you claim becomes the cornerstone of my completion."
Park Chan-woo no longer waited in solitary isolation within the void.
His will, transcending space and time, gripped ever more tightly the link to the deepest recess of Lee Hyuk-soo's soul.
A deeper, more persistent resonance, worlds apart from his prior intermittent influence.
He began to faintly share Lee Hyuk-soo's senses, feeling together the threats and opportunities he faced.
Direct control or intervention was impossible, but his very existence would serve as an invisible blessing to Lee Hyuk-soo—a lighthouse illuminating the path ahead.
Park Chan-woo's time at last began to flow in tandem with reality.