Chapter 417
Chapter 417
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 417
Chapter Title: Tribal War (56)
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In the fathomless darkness.
A world slumbered in the deepest void of the Abyss, where galaxies flowed like rivers and nebulae rose like mist.
It was not a planet.
It neither emitted its own light nor orbited anything.
It simply... existed.
The continent was its skin, the massive mountain ranges its sturdy bones, and the unfathomable oceans the blood coursing through its veins.
The progenitor of the Giant Tribe.
A living world and primordial titan.
The transcendent being, Hecate.
What roused him from his slumber of tens of thousands of years was the faintest tremor.
Tok, tok.
A feeble signal from an ant crawling across his skin.
Hecate knew it was the "pulse of the earth," something he hadn't felt in ages.
A colossal echo, like tectonic plates shifting, rose from his depths in the form of thought.
It was a signal from the warriors of his creation, the Giant Tribe.
To him, the "Tribal War" was no more than watching petty power struggles among the insects in his garden—a trivial amusement.
Sometimes intriguing tales unfolded, but most ended within predictable bounds.
This time would be no different.
What dull affair dared disturb his eternal slumber now?
Hecate slowly directed a tiny fragment of his consciousness toward the source.
As it touched, a massive wave of the warriors' experiences and emotions crashed in.
A peculiar specimen among the human tribe's warriors, newly joined in the Tribal War.
Hecate saw it merely as sport.
The underdog toppling the strong was always captivating.
A clever bug among the rabble? He dismissed it lightly.
The other progenitors likely viewed this minor uproar as mere entertainment, too.
But one name from the warrior's memory froze Hecate's every thought.
That name ignited a volcanic eruption in Hecate's abyss.
His heart, still for tens of thousands of years, thundered like quaking earth.
Dragon God Sepiro.
The Abyss's oldest "anomaly," an unpredictable embodiment of chaos.
The sole being who could shatter the balance and order built by the other progenitors over millennia in a single night's whim.
If Sepiro lurked behind this.
If he intervened directly in the Tribal War, breaking the rules.
This was no longer a game.
It could herald the "Great War" that once drove the entire Abyss to the brink of annihilation.
A declaration of war against all other progenitors, a violation of the ancient pact.
And it would give the others cause to act.
Hecate sank into deep contemplation.
Regardless, he—a transcendent being—could not join the Tribal War directly.
That would break the pact for him too.
But ways to wield his influence abounded.
If he wished, he could crush that tiny planet "Earth" in his palm from here.
The surest, simplest way to erase the root of all trouble.
Yet it wouldn't harm Sepiro.
Evidently, the sly dragon was using that odd human to achieve something.
Then.
A way to circumvent the rules.
A method to upheave the board without revealing himself, like that cunning dragon!
Hecate's massive eye turned toward the great mountain range flowing across his skin.
At its deepest core slumbered the "Heart of the Earth," condensed essence of his power.
Hecate slowly moved one finger.
As his world-sized finger stirred, an entire continent on his skin upheaved, shoving aside a massive mountain range.
Kwa-duh-duh-duk!
From the range's edge, a tiny fragment of the hardest bedrock broke off.
A mote of dust smaller than his fingernail, yet packed with primordial earth energy enough to forge a planet.
Hecate imbued it with his will and flicked it lightly toward the Abyss's depths, where the eternal train lay.
The fragment tore through space-time, streaking like a meteor.
Dragons could no longer wield magic.
Giants had shrunk and lost their ability to read the earth's pulse.
The Dusk Tribe could no longer manipulate shadows.
Star Realm folk could no longer borrow the stars' power or glimpse prophecies.
Celestials had lost their orichalcum shells—like armor—and their myriad eyes piercing essences vanished, leaving them exposed.
Qilins could no longer merge into gods.
Demons lost their wings, symbols of ruling the Abyss, and the power of "contracts."
Not just that.
Bloodline powers, racial histories—all evaporated as if never there.
No "great wills" linked to them could intervene.
Not even the Twelve Progenitors or the Nine Demon Lords.
They were truly stripped bare.
All proofs of their identity vanished with one human's decree.
A trial never before experienced, incomprehensible even.
A heavy silence descended over the hundreds of warriors filling the platform.
"M-my body!"
The Giant Tribe warrior who had roared at Park Chan-woo moments ago stared blankly at his now-frail arm.
He clenched his fist, but the confidence to shatter boulders was gone.
Just a slightly larger human fist.
For the first time, he felt primal fear that his body could shatter.
"……."
The Dusk Tribe assassin desperately tried to melt into the shadows, but they rejected him.
Darkness was merely absence of light—no sanctuary, no weapon.
On the exposed platform, he trembled at his utter vulnerability, fully revealed for the first time.
"…I see nothing."
The Star Realm warrior painfully opened his sealed eyes.
The whispers of stars and shards of futures that always filled his mind were gone, leaving horrifying silence.
Wisdom remained, but severed from its stellar source.
Star Realm folk cut off from stars were no longer Star Realm folk.
This was merely the beginning.
Chaos spread like plague through every tribe.
"Mana… shuns me."
The Dragon Tribe warrior reached into empty air in disbelief.
The mana flow as natural as breathing was utterly gone.
Mana had completely abandoned him.
The magic lord forsaken by magic.
His sturdy scales dulled and crumbled; the destructive breath from his throat cooled to nothing.
"My… my eyes!"
The platinum glow cloaking the Celestial cracked and crumbled from his orichalcum flesh.
Revealed: fragile skin.
Worse: countless truth-seeing eyes piercing essences, fates, and auras—all dimmed and closed at once.
Everything looked hazy, mundane.
"Why… why does our god not answer?!"
Qilin Tribe warriors pressed together in ritual, but nothing happened.
They tried to resonate souls into a great god, but the ancient bond snapped.
Now, merely horned beasts.
Demons fared no better.
"…We've lost our 'wings' and 'contracts,' haven't we."
Gremory muttered.
The massive wings symbolizing a demon lord's authority crumbled to dust from his back.
Worse: the severing of all soul-bound contracts.
A demon unable to dominate was no lord.
Powers from Abyss territory and contracts reset to zero.
All felt the same.
They didn't know how to fight.
No—even before fighting, they couldn't grasp what to do.
Their millennia-honed combat styles were built on racial traits.
With all premises collapsed.
Nothing remained.
More horrifying: this unprecedented power applied equally, without exception, to all tribes and warriors, including the Twelve Tribes.
No one escaped this law.
Perfect, absolute equality.
Thus, a crueler trial.
'This… this might not be all.'
That human, that "progenitor," didn't create such equality just for this.
This was surely the prelude to something grander, more horrific.
Their gazes converged as one, by unspoken pact.
The source of the trial. The lone being who summoned this catastrophe.
The crowned human who stepped off the train last: Park Chan-woo.
Hundreds of warriors, their momentum shattered, stared at him.
The arrogance, contempt, and murderous intent from moments ago: gone.
In their place, inescapable emotions swirled.
Horror at witnessing their worlds crumble.
Despair from millennia of history negated in an instant.
And primal fear of the unknown entity beyond all known laws.
Park Chan-woo did nothing.
He merely set foot on the platform.
Yet his mere existence was the platform's heaven and earth, law and god.
Centered on where he stood, the world reordered itself.
Park Chan-woo silently met every gaze.
He scrutinized each bewildered warrior.
Before his law, they were utterly powerless; he clearly saw and heard their souls' screams.
Where millennia of arrogance stripped away, only primordial chaos and primal fear remained.
Forgetting who they were, what to do, how to fight, they simply stood.
"……."
The silence broke with the Giant Tribe warrior who first raged.
Staring at his weakened arm, he roared again in fury.
"This damn trick…! Without power, I'll smash with what I've got!"
Even powerless, his flesh remained sturdier than others', he believed.
He resolved to brute-force through primitively.
"Wha…?"
Devoid of innate balance, the giant couldn't overcome his own weight; his massive frame toppled futilely.
Thud!
He couldn't rise.
A mere bruise, but his first "pain" ever—and worse, humiliation.
The others couldn't mock him.
They were no different.
Then.
Shuuuuu!
Piercing the station's foggy ceiling, something plummeted like a meteor.
A sacred rock fragment blazing with flames and primordial earth energy.
A beam of light plunged toward the fallen Giant Tribe warrior.
'Lord Hecate!'
All Giant Tribe warriors watched in shock and hope.
The progenitor's intervention!
Their god had finally moved to shatter this unjust law!
Seeming to resound across dimensions, the titan god's solemn voice echoed in every soul.
The fragment flew straight for the Giant Tribe warrior's heart.
Absorbing it, he'd reclaim primordial might and overturn this absurdity!
But the instant the fragment entered the station's domain.
Pasa-sak…
The sacred meteor bearing primordial power crumbled like a sandcastle.
All its force and will evaporated; only worthless, crumbly pebbles remained.
Tok. Plop.
The pebbles fell harmlessly atop the fallen giant's head.