Chapter 415
Chapter 415
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 415
Chapter Title: Racial War (54)
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“……”
“……”
Silence fell.
Every being watching all the train cars, every aspect of the Racial War, suddenly doubted their own eyes.
The overwhelming existence that had just been boasting a level possibly exceeding 200, who had summoned the evil god Baal, saved the forgotten gods, and even forged new deities.
The mark of the "weakest" had descended above his head.
Was it an illusion? A system glitch?
The moment everyone denied reality, a system message appeared before all their eyes.
It drove the nail in.
The weakest.
Park Chan-woo, that human warrior, was the lowest level.
In that instant, everyone shared the same thought.
...Lies. The system must have gone mad.
That guy is the weakest?
The monster that obliterated an entire station?
The existence that forged divinity and brought forgotten gods to their knees?
If the system wasn't deceiving them, it couldn't be wrong.
After all, the immutable law of "levels" couldn't be altered at will.
As if mocking their confusion, the system messages continued.
“……!”
In that instant, all noise in the cars ceased.
The authority's effect and range were determined by the level gap.
But they had no idea how great that "level gap" would be.
More than that.
“What does it mean to create an authority with authority points?”
“With 1 authority point, you can alter terrain within a 10-meter radius.”
“Just that much? Utterly inadequate against the warriors of superior races.”
Urgent conversations flew between the racial warriors.
The key issue was what power 1 authority point could wield and what miracles more points could unleash.
Especially.
“……As the number of points increases, the authority's effects amplify ‘exponentially’.”
“Exponentially? By how much?”
“If 1 point alters a 10-meter radius terrain, 10 points could reshape the entire station's terrain as desired. 20 points can even twist ‘physical laws,’ they say.”
“Beyond that?”
“No records exist. Warriors in higher seeds usually have minimal level gaps.”
A power with no records.
An authority beyond imagination.
That power might now rest in the hands of that human, Park Chan-woo.
But doubts lingered.
How could Park Chan-woo wear the "Crown of the Weakest"?
It was incomprehensible, utterly unconvincing.
All races aboard the Eternal Train were from "higher seeds."
Numbering a whopping 30 races.
Hundreds of warriors rode the train, their levels not drastically varied.
Having ruled the Abyss for eons, they'd balanced at similar tiers.
The strongest warriors typically hovered around level 150.
Of course, exceptions existed.
“We even brought in freshly matured warriors fearing a station like this.”
“Nonsense! ‘Kirin’ just underwent her coming-of-age rite at level 120. She's our race's ‘weakest,’ strategically included to prepare for this station! And yet that human has an even lower level than Kirin?”
The giant race warrior bellowed in disbelief.
His words voiced the sentiments of other races.
They too had brought their tribe's weakest warriors as "insurance" for such contingencies.
Warriors barely stepping into level 120 did exist.
Such station formats weren't common but appeared occasionally.
To counter them, relatively weak warriors were sometimes fielded in the Racial War.
Yet Park Chan-woo's level was even lower.
The most insidious, cunning card they'd prepared to dominate the board was neutralized before the game began—by that one human.
“How? How is this even possible?”
“Did a powerful curse cause a temporary level plunge?”
“No curse can fool the system!”
Their minds tangled as dozens of hypotheses rose and fell.
Neither curses nor negations could deceive the system.
The system always pierced to the essence of levels.
This held true even for the mightiest beings.
Not even the Nine Great Lords or the Twelve Species Lords could evade the system's judgment.
All logical inferences lost their way before Park Chan-woo.
Then, one warrior cautiously proposed a new hypothesis.
“……Maybe his level really is that low.”
“What do you mean?”
“Has he ever directly shown his own power? Think carefully. He's always exerted strength through ‘something’ else.”
His words shook the other warriors' eyes.
“He ‘summoned’ the evil god Baal, ‘purified’ the station borrowing forgotten gods' power, and merely ‘forged’ a new god with their divinity. We've never seen him swing a sword or unleash spells himself. Perhaps... his personal combat ability truly is negligible.”
It was a plausible argument. What he possessed might be overwhelming "authority," not "martial might."
But that claim immediately hit another contradiction.
“Isn't that the contradiction itself?”
The warrior's words met instant rebuttal.
“How could a low-level being perform all those miracles? To subjugate evil god Baal requires a soul's ‘rank’ that crushes its divinity. To receive hundreds of gods' divinity and forge a new one demands a vast vessel to contain that mana—meaning a high level! In the Abyss's laws, weak personal might with high authority simply cannot exist!”
In the end, all reasoning circled back to square one.
If he was strong, he couldn't be the lowest level. If he was the lowest level, he couldn't be strong.
Park Chan-woo was a living mass of contradictions, mocking every law and common sense they knew.
“...A veritable ‘glitch’ incarnate.”
This bizarre phenomenon where a mere human upended the Abyss's laws. At last, they all arrived at the same question.
Where did that existence come from?
“Human or not……”
The Heavenly Race sage spoke up.
His gaze turned toward the Dragon Race's car.
“From the moment he dominated the Despair Ancient Dragon Ataraxia, he must have deep ties to the Dragon Race. Ataraxia was a proud ancient dragon loyal only to Dragon God Sepiro.”
His words reminded other warriors of the Dragon Race's odd demeanor.
Since Park Chan-woo appeared, the Dragons had been furious yet somehow bewildered.
They hadn't rashly charged him, seeming locked in fierce internal debate.
Especially Drakan, leader of the Sloth Clan, who appeared to observe from one step back amid the chaos.
“Their anger doesn't seem mere enmity.”
“Wait. Could he be... connected to Sepiro?”
“The Twelve Species Lords can't participate in the Racial War, even indirectly.”
“Rules? To Dragon God Sepiro?”
Indeed, nothing could be funnier.
Dragon God Sepiro was the most unpredictable existence in the Abyss.
A fact none could deny.
One certainty: Sepiro knew of this unprecedented situation.
Since his mightiest warrior, Ataraxia, had knelt to a human.
“If... if Sepiro has begun to move……”
Anxiety flickered in the Heavenly Race sage's eyes for the first time.
“This is no longer just the Dragon Race's problem. It's an act shaking the Abyss's balance—a declaration of war on all other races.”
Then we must move too.
The warriors' eyes met silently, reaching the same conclusion.
As if by pact, they quietly rose and dispersed to their cars or secret spots.
The Heavenly Race sage closed his eyes, connecting to the world of myriad phenomena.
The Giant Race warrior etched an earth rune into his palm, sending signals through the land's pulse.
All used their most secretive methods—never before employed, reachable only to their Species Lords—to report the events unfolding here.
‘Lord of our race.’
‘Our king.’
‘Grant wisdom to your humble warriors.’
‘Sepiro is exerting influence in the Racial War. A clear rules violation—we cannot stand idle.’
‘Please.’
‘Species Lord! Aid us!’
The rules forbade Species Lords from "participating," not from receiving "reports."
They were informing their gods of this monumental event shaking the Abyss's balance.
And to their desperate calls.
In the Abyss's deepest depths, seated on their thrones, the Twelve Species Lords opened their eyes simultaneously after a long, long time.
No matter how formidable Park Chan-woo was, or how Sepiro intervened in unknowable ways.
If their transcendent lords—the Species Lords—stepped in, they could overturn the entire board.
At the same time, they shared similar thoughts.
‘The authority points obtainable are limited anyway.’
‘At most 20 to 30 points.’
‘We must kill that inscrutable human decisively this time.’