At three o'clock in the morning, amidst the ruins of a destroyed city tens of kilometers from Luxembourg, three individuals stood atop three opposing pillars: Gother MacTire, Rikudo Navi, and Yuta Caseral. They exchanged glances for a few brief seconds before descending.
As soon as they reached the ground, Yuta snapped his fingers, conjuring a small dome.
Initially no larger than an adult's palm, the dome began to expand, gradually growing until it encompassed an area of three full kilometers.
Inside the dome, the ruined city had been transformed into a beautiful garden. Gother, Yuta, and Rikudo sat within a greenhouse adorned with striking, vibrant gold decorations.
"How are you all doing? It seems you handled your rapid-fire engagements quite well."
Yuta's tone was indifferent as he sipped his tea—as if the slaughter of over 500 seasoned combatants were nothing more than child's play. Neither Gother nor Rikudo took offense; they were well aware that what they had just faced was trivial compared to the monsters that had yet to reveal their true fangs.
"Naturally. I always perform my duties to the best of my ability."
Rikudo's voice carried a hint of mockery as he turned his gaze toward the garden—a place of indescribable beauty. There were trees bearing various fruits—each kind dozens of times more delicious than the ordinary—and rivers flowing with water, milk, honey, and wine that did not intoxicate (even the water was sweeter and more delightful than honey, perfectly quenching one's thirst). Yet, after only a few seconds, he lost interest, turning his gaze back toward his companions—friends he had not seen for many years.
"What is your plan? Or, to put it more accurately: what is your goal in all of this?"
Gowther's tone was direct, devoid of any circumlocution. His expression was as cold as frost, revealing no emotion as he stared at Yuta like a merciless wolf. Yuta, however, responded with an indifferent smile. He leaned back in his chair and closed his violet eyes for a few moments before opening them again:
"Every person has a set path they follow from the day they are born until the day they die—whether in prosperity or misery, wealth or poverty, happiness or sorrow, strength or weakness, as a hero, a villain, or perhaps both. Everyone is the protagonist of their own life story, while simultaneously serving as a supporting character in the stories of others. My goal is simple: I wish to live exactly as I please, drifting across every possible path—sometimes as a force for good, sometimes as a villain, sometimes as both, and at other times, as neither." Rikudo replied to Yuta in a tone laced with both respect and a hint of her characteristic mockery:
"Strange. As you were speaking, it felt as though I were looking at one person, yet the voice belonged to another—and yet, that voice carried the very same presence as the person I was looking at. It was as if two distinct individuals existed simultaneously within a single being... Isn't that odd, Yuta?"
A faint smile graced Yuta's face as he gazed up at the ceiling of the greenhouse, which was adorned with intricate, aristocratic-style decorations:
"You're right. Some things are simply too strange for the mind to fathom. As the saying goes: beginnings are not always what they seem, and endings do not necessarily signify the final conclusion. An ending might actually be a beginning—or perhaps a beginning woven inextricably into an end—or maybe it is neither, or perhaps..."
Gowther sighed, listening to their exchange—a blend of philosophy, logic, and illogic all at once. The events that had unfolded within that other realm still weighed heavily on his mind. He let out a deep, weary breath, trying to gather his thoughts regarding that incident. He could not recall exactly what the mysterious entity—whose voice alone he had heard—had said; yet, even without seeing anything, he had sensed its sheer ferocity. That realm had been a void—a place so utterly devoid of existence that it lacked even the concept of "nothingness."
Yuta pulled him from his reverie, his voice calm, yet sharp and brimming with absolute confidence:
Yuta was the type of person who would neither speak nor involve himself in any matter unless he was certain that his words—or his intended actions—had a 100% chance of success or accuracy. His mindset was one that avoided taking risks for the sake of short-term gains. Instead, he consistently devised long-term strategies—layer upon layer of planning. He mapped out everything that would unfold over the coming years, while simultaneously preparing contingency plans for scenarios that might fail, or for those whose probability of success approached zero as the moment for their potential execution drew near.
"You are thinking about that entity you encountered during your awakening... Do not worry; you shall know everything soon enough. As for the 'Path of the Ruler'—that is something you are not yet prepared for. Once you begin to intervene in other paths, you will find yourselves in a world whose very existence you could never have imagined."
"How do you know all this?"
Gowther's tone was direct, tinged with a hint of surprise and bewilderment. Rikudo, by contrast, seemed to be either trying to fathom the situation or simply waiting for time to reveal the truth on its own; his expression was so complex that it was nearly impossible to decipher.
Upon hearing Gowther's skeptical remark, Yuta split reality in two, drawing forth a book bound in a deep, light-absorbing black. It was adorned with golden, vein-like patterns—as if blood were coursing through them—and its title was inscribed in three distinct colors: a blackened violet, a pale gold, and a deep crimson: *Between Construction and Destruction*.
He opened the book. On the first page, a few brief lines were written—identifying the book's owners, or perhaps revealing something else entirely, unknown to the entities or the various paths that define this world. Yuta read it aloud, his voice calm and measured, allowing the words to quickly take root in their minds:
[ A Sacred Scribe, a Supreme Observer, and a Cosmic Judge—each complements the others. The Scribe writes existence, crafting its laws, concepts, and narrative. The Observer watches the stories penned by the Scribe, while the Sacred Scribe compiles a detailed account of the events unfolding within each story, presenting it to the Cosmic Judge. The Judge then examines these accounts and delivers a verdict with absolute transparency. Such is existence: a Scribe who writes, an Observer who watches, and a Judge who decides—who shall remain, and who shall be erased. ]
Yuta closed the book unhurriedly, then returned it to its secure resting place—a dimension set apart from both existence and non-existence itself.
"Where did you find this book?" Rikudo asked, his tone tinged with interrogation, as he sipped his tea and helped himself to the sweets laid out on the table. Yuta replied in a casual, indifferent tone, as if the matter were of no consequence.Casually
"The one who gave me the book was Duralia—the 'Wing of Truth'."
Gowther's expression shifted to one of bewilderment upon hearing the term "Wing of Truth." First, a "Ruler's Path," and now a "Wing of Truth." His mind struggled to grasp the unfolding events; he was, after all, an entity with limited cognitive capacity—far from the omniscient being required to fully comprehend everything happening around him, especially when conversing with entities who *were* omniscient.
"I can see you're puzzled. Don't worry—you, too, shall soon become a 'Wing.' Once you've mastered that power and ascended to the rank of an [Omni-Transcendent Singularity], your designation will be the 'Wing of Assassination.' You'll reach that point when you can wield this power to its full, 100% potential. So, there's no need to rush; everything will become clear when the time is right."
Gowther let out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead. He turned his gaze toward the garden, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. He realized that if this continued, he would appear as nothing more than an ignorant fool—someone who couldn't even write a single letter—surrounded by scholars who had reached the pinnacle of their respective fields. Deciding to shift the topic, he asked:
"Who else has been reincarnated? And have they, too, attained the power of these 'Wings'?" A faint smile appeared on the faces of both Rikudo and Yuta as they looked toward Gowther, leaving him somewhat puzzled. After several minutes of this silent exchange, Yuta spoke:
"There are nine of us reincarnated from our world—myself included. One has yet to be born; it will be centuries before he arrives—his name is Nour El-Din. The others are Muhammad (Fouad), Osama, Yassin, Muhammad, and Issa. Each of them has already obtained their own 'wing'."
Among the reincarnated, only Gowther and Nour El-Din had yet to attain theirs. For Gowther, the requirement was to reach the [Boundless] rank—a milestone he was now nearing. Once he successfully refined his soul, his mysterious power, and the blessing of the enigmatic entity—fusing them into a single, unified force—he would instantly ascend to the [Boundless] tier.
After some time, Yuta snapped his fingers. The domain vanished, and the wondrous realm dissolved, revealing the ruins of a dilapidated city—a place long ravaged by time, where nothing remained but the rubble of collapsed buildings.
Gowther and Rikudo departed, leaving Yuta seated atop a pillar, his gaze fixed upon the sky with a calm, expressionless face. His features were like the surface of a lake, clearly reflecting the light of the full moon—a reflection mirrored in his own eyes. In a calm, steady voice, he murmured:
"Those who remain on a single, predetermined path—excusing themselves by claiming the world is 'cruel,' or 'this way,' or 'that way'—will never attain true power. One must forge one's own path and traverse it, regardless of the hardships that may arise. That is my path to power."
With that, Yuta vanished, leaving behind a profound silence amidst the crumbling ruins of the city—as if the world itself were contemplating his words, trying to grasp the intent behind them. It was an eerie, heavy silence, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves in the wind—a sound that lent a strange, haunting beauty to the stillness.
Several kilometers outside the city of Luxembourg, at the "Waterfall of the Angel's Tears" dungeon, stood a gateway covered in intricate carvings. The engravings depicted dragons and an ancient war—a conflict from centuries past, waged between creation and annihilation, between construction and destruction. Before the gate stood a man with long, white hair, accompanied by four others: two with white hair—one possessing violet eyes like his own, the other with blue eyes—and two with black hair and black eyes. Among the group were a colossal, six-winged orc, as well as dragons, rulers, demons, and beings from a multitude of other races. A young man with black hair—streaked here and there with white—stood alongside his team and a host of others, all arrayed against a figure clad in black. A potent aura of destruction radiated from this adversary, who was accompanied by twelve creatures of various species, each enveloped in that same dark energy. At the center of the fray, a blade of destruction clashed against a blade of creation.
The gateway began to crack, slowly at first, before coming to a complete halt after several minutes.
Far away, in an underground chamber, a woman sat upon a throne. Her features remained hidden, obscured entirely by the surrounding darkness. She smiled, then spoke in a calm, measured tone—a voice imbued with the strength and wisdom forged through countless battles:
"It seems that, for once, history will not repeat itself as it usually does. It appears he has truly done it."