Annihilation
I felt good.
For the first time, a sense of liberation washed over me. It was release in the name of freedom itself.
The Starlight of the Eternal Monarch.
The moment I stepped out of the prison, a Night Spirit was waiting as if it had expected me, and it guided me onward. Following it, the Starlight of the Eternal Monarch finally revealed itself.
…I knew the instant I saw it.
This starlight was no mere tool for raising attack power and stamina. It was memory. It was soul.
That made everything clear—why the Skin Hybrid of God had arranged this board the way it had.
It yearns for a complete existence.
It longed for a more perfect being to become the master of the island. To absorb every starlight and every memory until it became one absolute whole.
Because memory itself was talent.
Memory as talent—it might sound strange, yet the principle was the same as when I had swung a sword with Wilhelm’s memories. Physical toughness, purity of mind, depth of soul… the talent that stood above all of them was ultimately memory.
The memories of those who had succeeded, the memories of absolute beings who had stood at the peak, the memories of those who had fulfilled their dreams… simply knowing them would let one achieve whatever one desired in the shortest possible time.
Thus memory was an all-purpose weapon.
Just like now.
The Evil God of the Cheonmado. The memories of the First Heavenly Demon.
I had clearly read the Cheonmado’s memories. I had witnessed the life of the Evil God, the First Heavenly Demon—the absolute supreme who had abandoned humanity yet never met an equal throughout all of history. His movements, his thoughts, everything that he was. I saw them, experienced them, felt them.
Yet it was a sensation no ordinary human could ever accept. The First Heavenly Demon’s emotional landscape was perfectly suited to drive a person mad.
This… is good.
Of course, that applied only to ordinary humans. If one was not ordinary—if there existed a blank slate capable of accepting everything—then both process and result would naturally change.
You said you desired a perfect, flawless existence?
The Eternal Ascetic had told me to discard it—the name that would not surface. And he had told me to complete myself. Forget every lingering attachment and pursue only completion.
What did that mean?
A monarch is not swayed by mere emotion.
Do not waver. Discard every feeling. To cling to such things is to place limits upon oneself.
Wilhelm’s swordsmanship carries emotion. The First Heavenly Demon’s swordsmanship carries none.
Therefore the more complete art was the First Heavenly Demon’s. It was Cheonma Shingong itself. The First Heavenly Demon surpassed Wilhelm.
So I changed everything—posture, attitude, even the rhythm of every breath. I accepted the First Heavenly Demon as he was. I dominated the memories and became a flawless existence.
Oh-ho.
When I discarded and excluded every unnecessary thing, my body grew strangely light. So this was the feeling of becoming complete.
I nodded and smiled faintly.
“……I feel good. Very.”
The Cheonmado trembled once. Or perhaps it was his own body that shook.
What?
He had sworn to tear the bastard apart, yet that momentary change only deepened the Heavenly Demon’s scowl. Dreadful Omen. The creature’s presence had transformed in an instant, as if it had become an entirely different being—and the aura it now poured out was more dreadful than the name itself.
Somehow painfully familiar… an utterly tyrannical internal energy.
“Are you… imitating me?”
It was absurd. This was unmistakably his own aura—the supreme energy possessed by every Heavenly Demon in succession, the power that only a Heavenly Demon could manifest. How could a mere Omen dare to imitate it?
The Heavenly Demon ground his teeth and raised his internal energy. At once the ground for dozens of meters around him caved in. Merely circulating his power reshaped the terrain. The internal energy was overwhelming, incomparable to anything before.
There was no need to drag this out. He would crush the bastard in a single stroke.
The instant he thought his foot had touched the earth, his form was already before the Omen. A sword shot forward like lightning, intending to sever the neck in a moment too brief for perception.
Yet it was deflected.
He blocked my sword?
He had been certain it could not be stopped. Worse, a rough rebound surged back through the tip of the blade—something that should have been impossible.
…He’s receiving my internal energy head-on?
A pure clash of internal energies. How was this possible? One might imitate a form, but internal energy was a realm that could never be copied. Even if the creature had learned Cheonma Shingong, it could never match his own achievement.
And yet—
The Heavenly Demon looked into the eyes of the Omen that had received his blade. Eyes utterly still, without the slightest tremor. From their depths rose a thick, unmistakable interest.
Fine. Let’s see how far you can take it.
He drew his internal energy higher still. Even if the bastard truly was Ruin, he could never match this. The Cheonmado, which had remained silent as if cowed, now began amplifying his power as well. In a pure contest of internal energy he would never lose.
Vast forces collided, carving an ever-widening circle into the earth. The entire island shook; everything nearby shattered into dust and vanished in the blink of an eye. A sound like a scream tore through the air. The circle of clashing energies expanded without end—beyond dozens of meters, beyond hundreds, into realms still greater.
An utterly tyrannical spectacle. Who would call this a mere clash of internal energies?
The Heavenly Demon began to feel a quiet panic. Every time he raised the level of his power, the Omen raised it with him. Yet that was impossible. The internal energy radiating from the creature was of the same nature as his own—continuously circulating energy amplified by Cheonma Shingong. Cheonma Shingong was the art of endlessly expanding and inflating power itself.
He was the Heavenly Demon who had crushed countless enemies with sheer force alone.
Similar to my achievement?
Impossible. Even if the bastard had learned Cheonma Shingong, it could only have been for a few days at most. Even if the Cheonmado itself had taught him, the time was measured in days. Was it truly possible to catch up, in mere days, to the achievement he had built over a lifetime?
He was the once-in-a-millennium talent, praised for martial genius that appeared only once every thousand years. A body optimized for martial arts, and he had never spared effort. Under heaven he had no equal.
Then was this creature claiming to be a once-in-ten-thousand-years talent?
Even a once-in-ten-thousand-years talent could not do this…!
Even with the greatest unprecedented talent of all time, catching his achievement in a handful of days was unthinkable. An impossible thing was unfolding right before his eyes.
His teeth clenched of their own accord. He was driving his internal energy to the absolute limit. His near-great achievement, even the realm of Natural State, meant nothing before this monster.
His original internal energy must have been vast enough to surpass me from the start. Nothing else makes sense!
Still denying it, the Heavenly Demon finally took a step back. Instinct told him that if the clash of internal energies continued, he would be consumed as he stood. An owner of internal energy that surpassed his own. An enemy of a type he had never met.
…Swordsmanship will be different.
He discarded the thought of crushing the creature outright. He would slowly torment it to death. The depth and grade of swordsmanship—this monster could never match him there.
He steadied his breath, settled into stance, and once more extended his foot. The sword swung slowly, yet within that single motion lay thousands upon tens of thousands of principles. A sword that had reached Demon Transcendence might look ordinary at a glance, yet it could not be blocked.
……What?
What was happening?
The more he swung, the worse it became. When he thought he had cut, he was cut. When he thought he had blocked, he was pierced. Even though both used the same Cheonma Shingong, he simply could not stop the Omen’s blade. Far from stopping it—he was being thoroughly toyed with.
-I must kill him! That bastard is taking me away!
The Cheonmado raged. For the first time he felt as though he could hear the saber’s voice, yet he could not properly register it. Every one of his movements was being read by the opponent.
“What… are you…?”
Blood dripped steadily. Tendons exposed between sliced flesh had been shredded to ribbons. The Heavenly Demon stared at his foe—at the Omen’s eyes. Utterly sunken eyes of an abyss where not a single emotion could be felt.
He knew the moment he saw them. Those were the eyes of one who had abandoned humanity. A monster completed by discarding and excluding every unnecessary thing.
He could not admit it, yet if such a being existed—one who subjugated all demons and made the heavens tremble—then this was a true Demon of the Heavens.
“Heavenly Demon…”
…That must be the Heavenly Demon. The direction he himself should have aimed for. The one standing at that ultimate peak.
All this time, it was he who had been imitating the Heavenly Demon. Before he realized it, he had become the fake, and the bastard the real. Everything had been stolen—perfectly. Existence, the meaning of existence, every memory.
And this was only the beginning.
A monster that devours everything…!
Starting with him, the creature would devour everything on the island. And thus it would surpass all things and complete itself.
Only then did the Heavenly Demon become certain. It had been vague at first, but now he knew without doubt.
Dreadful Omen.
That bastard was Ruin.
A soft whistle of air. A dull thud.
The Heavenly Demon’s head flew through empty space. His body, every signal severed, collapsed to the ground.
Isabella, who had watched the entire scene from beginning to end, understood.
Different.
It was different. Randolph, who had lost the most precious thing, had become a completely different person. Then this must be Randolph’s true identity—the real Randolph free of Park Hyunmyung’s control.
A pitiful human who had been controlled just as she had. The king and star she must follow completely. With the binding that had constrained him gone, Randolph was surpassing every limit. Randolph himself could truly be called a being of the absolute peak.
What I must do. The reason I was called here.
Isabella looked down at the unstable orb nestled in her arms.
Park Hyunmyung.
This was his soul. The shameless human from another world who had controlled both her and Randolph. She had known the name upon transcending, yet this was the first time she held the substance itself.
And this was what she had to do—erase this soul. Completely release Randolph’s blemish, the binding that still held him. That was her task. Park Hyunmyung was her enemy as well.
Was this not a perfect opportunity? This was something only a Night Spirit could accomplish.
But why…
Why could she not erase this soul?
Perhaps because she had glimpsed the memories entangled within Park Hyunmyung’s soul. The memories of a human who had loved Pangenia more than anyone—who had sincerely, passionately, run solely for the salvation of this world. Though he had tasted countless failures and caused numerous deaths along the way… could one truly dismiss all of that as mere “play”?
To call him a monster who induced Divine Illness, arbitrarily controlled people, and shattered their lives—Park Hyunmyung’s memories were far too pure. He had purely, with all his heart, only tried to save Pangenia.
What I… must do.
Isabella once more recalled the duty that was hers.
“Lord Randolph.”
A Night Spirit must never open its mouth. Naturally, speaking to a participant was forbidden. If her identity were exposed she would be annihilated on the spot.
Yet she did not care.
Isabella looked straight at Randolph. Slowly she extended her hand and caressed his face. Then, in a clear, precise tone, she spoke.
“I am Isabella.”
……Because this would be the end anyway.