The underground prayer hall fell silent as every corrupted priest turned toward the doorway.
And standing beneath the shattered remains of the entrance, Zynar looked at them without emotion.
Dust drifted slowly through the broken stone behind him.
Fragments of the heavy wooden doors still lay scattered across the floor, split apart by the force of a single strike. The dim crimson light of the ritual chamber stretched toward the entrance in uneven lines, illuminating the figure standing there with unsettling clarity.
No one moved immediately.
The prayer hall itself was enormous, far larger than the narrow underground corridors leading toward it suggested. Massive stone pillars lined the sides of the chamber, carved with twisted patterns that resembled veins more than decoration. Black candles burned atop iron stands around the circular room, their flames bending unnaturally despite the still air.
At the center stood the sacrificial altar.
The magic circle beneath it pulsed slowly with dark red light.
Blood.
Fresh enough that the metallic scent still lingered thickly in the air.
Several figures in priest robes stood around the circle, frozen between surprise and hostility. Some still held ceremonial daggers. Others had their hands raised mid-prayer. One of them dropped the bowl he had been carrying, the metal clattering sharply against the stone floor.
The sound echoed through the hall.
Then voices exploded all at once.
"Who is that?!"
"An intruder!"
"Kill him!"
"How did he get inside?!"
One priest stepped forward aggressively, dark mana already gathering around his hand.
"You human filth—"
Zynar ignored him completely.
That, more than anything, disturbed the room.
He did not answer the shouting.
Did not react to the threats.
Did not even look at the priests speaking to him.
Instead, he walked calmly toward the center altar.
The heavy atmosphere inside the chamber shifted slightly as he moved.
Several priests instinctively stepped aside without realizing it.
Others tightened their grip on weapons.
One younger cultist stared directly into Zynar's demonic eyes for half a second before his face paled visibly and he looked away.
The pressure in the hall deepened.
Not explosive.
Not loud.
Just present.
Like something vast had quietly entered the room.
Zynar continued walking until he reached the edge of the sacrificial circle.
Only then did he stop.
His gaze lowered toward the markings spread across the stone floor.
The circle was massive and carefully constructed. Crimson inscriptions spiraled outward from the center in layered rings. Symbols of sacrifice. Invocation markings. Rotational seals designed to convert death into corrupted offering energy.
At the center of the formation rested a blackened emblem shaped like an eye surrounded by broken halos.
The moment Zynar saw it, he understood.
His expression did not change.
But something colder settled behind his eyes.
Around him, the priests slowly regained enough composure to react properly.
A tall figure standing near the altar finally stepped forward.
Unlike the others, his robes were darker and more elaborate, lined with crimson thread that resembled dried blood under the candlelight. His face looked old but not weak. Sharp eyes studied Zynar carefully beneath the hood.
The high priest.
Unlike the others, he was not shouting.
He was watching.
"Child," the high priest asked quietly, "how did you come here?"
His voice carried through the hall with unsettling calm.
Several priests looked toward him immediately, waiting.
Zynar still stared at the sacrificial formation.
"After seeing all this," the high priest continued, "why didn't you go back?"
Silence spread briefly through the chamber.
Then Zynar finally spoke.
"I came here following the stench of corrupted power…"
His voice was flat.
Unhurried.
"...but after seeing this, I understood you were worshipping that idiot, Vaelthor."
The hall froze.
Every priest stared at him in shock.
One cultist's face twisted immediately with fury.
"Blasphemy!"
Another shouted, "Kill him!"
A third priest pointed at Zynar with visible rage. "How dare a human speak the Divine Name so casually—"
The high priest raised one hand.
Instant silence returned.
His eyes remained fixed on Zynar now with far more attention than before.
Not because of the insult.
Because of the certainty behind it.
Most people who encountered corrupted worship either panicked or reacted with horror. Even trained hunters rarely spoke the names of Outer Gods directly unless necessary.
But this boy had.
Calmly.
Dismissively.
As though the existence they worshipped was beneath his concern.
That disturbed him more than any insult could.
The high priest studied Zynar carefully.
Black hair.
Academy uniform.
Visible demonic eyes.
And absolutely no fear.
The air around the boy felt wrong in a way the high priest could not immediately define.
Not holy.
Not corrupted in the ordinary sense either.
Something heavier.
Something older.
The surrounding priests began spreading slowly outward, forming a loose circle around Zynar while pretending not to.
Zynar noticed.
He simply did not care.
His gaze moved once more across the sacrificial altar.
There were restraints attached to the stone.
Blood channels carved into the sides.
Fresh residue.
This ritual had not been theoretical.
It had already been used.
That alone was enough.
One priest near the rear of the hall suddenly snarled and raised his hand.
Dark crimson mana burst outward.
"Die!"
A spear of corrupted energy shot toward Zynar's back.
Several priests expected him to turn.
He did not.
Wind exploded silently behind him.
The spear shattered apart before reaching his body.
At the same instant—
Zynar moved.
A burst of compressed wind erupted beneath his feet.
The stone floor cracked.
One moment he stood near the altar.
The next—
He appeared directly in front of the attacking priest.
The cultist's eyes widened.
Too late.
Black-red aura spread across Zynar's sword in a thin unstable layer.
The blade moved once.
The priest's upper body slid from the lower half before blood even sprayed.
Silence hit the hall again.
The corpse collapsed heavily against the floor.
Zynar stood motionless beside it.
His sword remained lowered.
The demonic aura around the blade flickered briefly before disappearing.
Several priests unconsciously stepped backward.
Fast.
Too fast.
Most of them had not even seen the swing clearly.
One of the younger cultists began breathing harder.
"Monster..."
Another snapped immediately, "Shut up!"
But the word had already spread through the room.
Monster.
Zynar looked toward them slowly.
The pressure from his eyes deepened.
Not magical.
Not visible.
Yet the atmosphere itself seemed to tighten.
A priest at the edge of the formation suddenly shouted to force courage back into himself.
"He's alone!"
That broke the paralysis.
Five cultists rushed forward simultaneously.
Dark mana surged through the chamber as corrupted spells ignited from multiple directions.
Chains of blood-red energy shot across the floor.
A jagged spear of black flame erupted from the left.
Another priest began chanting rapidly near the rear.
Zynar walked forward.
That was all.
No panic.
No defensive stance.
Just one calm step.
Wind burst violently around him.
The incoming chains shattered apart.
His sword rose slightly—
Then disappeared.
The first priest rushing him lost an arm before understanding what happened.
The second cultist lunged with a curved dagger coated in corruption.
Zynar tilted sideways barely enough to avoid it.
His free hand lifted.
Dark crimson fire ignited instantly.
Not bright.
Not natural.
The flames exploded directly into the priest's chest at point-blank range.
The man did not even finish screaming before the fire consumed him.
Heat blasted through the hall.
The remaining attackers hesitated instinctively.
That hesitation killed them.
Wind compressed sharply around Zynar's blade.
He swung once.
An invisible pressure wave tore through the chamber.
Stone cracked.
Blood sprayed across the floor.
Two priests collapsed almost simultaneously.
The last attacker stumbled backward in terror.
"W-what are you—"
Zynar crossed the distance instantly.
One thrust through the throat ended the question forever.
Silence returned again.
Bodies burned.
Black candles flickered violently.
The surviving cultists stared in horror.
This was wrong.
Completely wrong.
The academy students they had observed were not supposed to be capable of this.
Even talented students were still students.
Yet the thing standing before them moved through combat with terrifying certainty.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
No visible effort.
Worse—
He still looked calm.
That frightened them far more than rage would have.
The high priest's eyes narrowed.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The demonic eyes were real.
Not artificial.
Not cosmetic.
And the pressure surrounding the boy was becoming heavier with every kill.
Several priests near the back were already struggling to meet his gaze directly.
The high priest finally spoke again.
"You are not an ordinary academy student."
Zynar looked toward him.
"No."
The answer came without arrogance.
Just fact.
One cultist near the wall suddenly screamed and launched a massive corrupted flame wave toward him.
The spell roared across the hall.
Zynar raised one hand slightly.
Wind spiraled outward.
The incoming flames twisted violently sideways before crashing harmlessly into a pillar.
The cultist's face turned pale.
Zynar's fire erupted immediately afterward.
Dark crimson flames crossed the chamber like an explosion compressed into a narrow line.
The priest vanished inside it.
When the fire disappeared, only charred remains were left standing.
The smell of burning flesh spread through the prayer hall.
Panic finally began spreading among the weaker cultists.
"This isn't normal—"
"Fall back!"
"Protect the high priest!"
Several priests retreated toward the altar instinctively.
Others began chanting together, trying to stabilize themselves through ritual prayer.
The sound echoed through the chamber.
"O Great Vaelthor..."
"Watcher Beyond Veils..."
"He Who Sees Through Flesh..."
"Accept our offering—"
Zynar moved again.
The floor beneath him shattered from compressed wind pressure.
He appeared inside the chanting formation instantly.
His sword flashed once.
A priest's head hit the floor.
Another swing.
A second body collapsed.
Dark crimson fire exploded outward from his free hand.
The chanting dissolved into screams.
The remaining cultists scattered desperately as flames consumed ritual cloth and corrupted scripture alike.
The pressure in the hall became chaotic.
Smoke rose upward through the chamber.
Firelight distorted across broken stone.
The high priest finally moved.
Corrupted mana surged outward from his body in massive waves.
Unlike the others, his power carried density.
Weight.
The surrounding candles extinguished simultaneously.
Darkness spread through half the chamber.
Several surviving cultists immediately regained confidence.
"The high priest is moving!"
"Kill him!"
"Offer him to Vaelthor!"
The old priest raised one hand slowly.
A giant crimson formation ignited beneath Zynar's feet.
The stone floor cracked apart as enormous spikes of corrupted energy erupted upward.
Zynar vanished before they reached him.
Wind exploded across the chamber.
The high priest tracked him immediately.
Good speed.
Very good.
Their collision came a second later.
Sword met corrupted barrier.
Shockwaves burst outward.
Nearby priests were thrown backward violently.
The high priest's eyes sharpened.
Strong.
Far stronger than expected.
But something else disturbed him more.
The demonic energy coating Zynar's blade felt fundamentally different from ordinary corruption.
It did not feel devoted.
It did not feel borrowed.
It felt owned.
As if the energy itself obeyed him naturally.
The realization unsettled him deeply.
Zynar pressed forward again.
Wind compressed around his movements.
The high priest retaliated with dozens of dark crimson spikes erupting through the floor.
Zynar weaved through them effortlessly.
One spike grazed his sleeve.
The surrounding fabric disintegrated instantly.
Corrupted erosion.
Lethal to ordinary students.
Zynar did not even glance at it.
His sword crashed downward again.
This time the high priest stepped aside instead of blocking directly.
The altar behind him split apart from the impact.
Stone exploded through the chamber.
The surrounding priests stared in disbelief.
That altar had been reinforced with ritual protection.
Yet one strike had nearly destroyed it.
The high priest finally spoke again.
"...what exactly are you?"
Zynar looked at him through his demonic eyes.
The pressure intensified sharply.
Some nearby cultists dropped to one knee instinctively.
"You worship Vaelthor," Zynar said calmly.
"So?"
"Then you should already understand."
The high priest's expression changed slightly.
For the first time—
Unease.
Real unease.
Because the boy standing before him did not sound like someone confronting forbidden corruption for the first time.
He sounded familiar with it.
Far too familiar.
A surviving priest suddenly screamed and charged from behind.
Zynar didn't turn.
Wind erupted backward violently.
The cultist's body slammed into a pillar hard enough to crack bone.
Dead before hitting the ground.
The hall fell quieter again.
Smoke drifted slowly upward.
Bodies covered the ritual floor.
Dark crimson flames continued burning across broken scripture and ceremonial cloth.
And still—
Zynar stood in the center calmly.
Like the violence around him was nothing unusual.
The surviving priests were beginning to understand something horrifying.
This was not a frightened academy student who had stumbled onto a cult gathering.
This was something that had walked willingly into the center of danger without the slightest hesitation.
The high priest finally abandoned caution.
Corrupted mana exploded outward from his body in enormous waves.
The chamber shook.
The remaining ritual symbols ignited simultaneously.
Blood spread through the grooves beneath the floor.
Several surviving cultists began praying frantically again.
The temperature in the hall dropped sharply.
Vaelthor's presence.
Faint.
Distant.
But enough to twist the atmosphere.
The shadows around the chamber deepened unnaturally.
Several priests smiled in relief.
"The Great One hears us!"
"He answers!"
"Kill the intruder!"
The high priest raised both hands.
The entire prayer hall trembled violently.
Dozens of crimson eyes opened across the walls.
Watching.
Blinking slowly.
Reality itself seemed unstable around them.
Ordinary people would panic.
Ordinary people would hesitate.
Zynar simply looked mildly annoyed.
"...pathetic."
The word echoed through the chamber.
Then his demonic energy surged.
The pressure changed instantly.
Violently.
The cultists froze.
The newly formed eyes across the walls trembled unnaturally.
Several even burst apart.
The high priest's face changed completely.
Impossible.
The oppressive atmosphere spreading from Zynar was suppressing the ritual itself.
No—
Not suppressing.
Overwhelming.
The old priest suddenly understood why the boy had called Vaelthor an idiot.
Not arrogance.
Recognition.
And that realization filled him with genuine fear for the first time.
Wind exploded across the chamber.
Zynar moved.
The next phase of slaughter began.
The sky had no stars.
It was split apart by crimson fractures that stretched endlessly across the heavens like wounds carved into reality itself. Black storms churned beyond those cracks, swallowing light instead of reflecting it, while distant thunder rolled through the ruined battlefield beneath.
The world looked broken.
Burning mountains stood in the distance. Collapsed realms floated between tears in space. Entire rivers of blood crossed the land like scars left behind by war.
And at the center of that shattered world—
One man stood alone.
Long white hair drifted behind him in the violent wind, reaching the middle of his back. His jade-green eyes looked forward without emotion, ancient and calm in a way that no mortal being should have been capable of.
In his hand rested a sword around which space and time distorted unnaturally.
The air bent around the blade.
Fragments of reality cracked apart near its edge before stitching themselves together again.
Ahead of him stood an army so vast that the battlefield itself disappeared beneath it.
Trillions.
Humans. Lesser demons. Corrupted races. Ancient creatures.
An endless sea of living beings stretching beyond the horizon.
And behind them—
The true monsters.
Forty-two gods stood above the battlefield like living disasters.
Their divine pressure distorted the heavens themselves.
Beside them floated the remaining seventy-two Seats of the Demon Realm, their demonic energy poisoning the atmosphere around them like black tides spreading through reality.
Billions of demons covered the skies behind them.
The entire world had gathered for one war.
Against a single being.
The God of Blood, Vaelthor, stepped forward slowly.
The battlefield trembled beneath his presence.
His crimson gaze settled upon the lone white-haired man standing against the armies of heaven and the demon realm alike.
Then he smiled.
"Now that all the demons you ruled for a millennium have betrayed you… now that the Demon Kings, the Seventy-Two Seats, our followers, and even we gods stand against you…"
The blood-red sky darkened further.
"What can you even do now, Demon God?"
Silence followed.
The white-haired man did not react immediately.
Then—
He spoke.
"I already knew the demons would betray me."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"So what if they did?"
The sword in his hand distorted the surrounding space again.
"I never cared about creatures like those."
Several gods frowned immediately.
Then the man looked toward Vaelthor.
"But I think you've forgotten what happened four hundred years ago."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Do you want me to remind you?"
The atmosphere exploded.
One of the gods stepped forward furiously.
"@#$&!"
The divine pressure around him cracked the earth apart.
"Don't become arrogant just because you won that war!"
Another god raised his weapon toward the lone figure.
"Look around you!"
"See how many stand against you!"
"You are alone!"
"Do you truly think you can win?"
The white-haired man—
@#$&
—lifted his eyes slowly toward them.
"Whether I'll win or not is something that you'll know in the future."
His jade-green eyes glowed faintly.
"But one thing is certain."
A terrifying silence spread across the battlefield.
"You won't survive."
Several gods froze instinctively.
@#$& continued calmly,
"I've already seen it with my own eyes."
The battlefield erupted into rage.
One of the gods snarled,
"Fucking bastard…"
"Even now he flaunts the Eyes of the Forgotten Spring."
Another god's expression twisted with fear beneath the anger.
"He acts like this because those cursed eyes can see the future."
Vaelthor finally raised one hand.
And the battlefield moved.
"Kill him."
The order echoed across the shattered world.
The trillions surged forward at once.
The heavens darkened beneath the movement of demons and divine armies.
The earth collapsed beneath their march.
Yet @#$& remained motionless.
Calm.
Unmoved.
As though the approaching apocalypse meant nothing to him.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Soul Army."
The world trembled.
"Crush your enemies."
Space behind him shattered apart.
An endless army began emerging from the darkness beyond reality itself.
Souls.
Ancient. Monstrous. Divine.
A legion of the dead.
"And devour their souls."
The battlefield pressure skyrocketed instantly.
"If even one lesser soul remains…"
His jade eyes narrowed slightly.
"…none of you will return to this army."
The Divine Soul Army moved.
And the war began.
Selene Velkros jolted awake inside the moving carriage.
Her breathing was uneven.
Sweat covered her skin despite the cold night air drifting through the slightly opened carriage window.
"Lady Selene?"
Her maid leaned forward immediately.
"Are you alright?"
Selene pressed one hand lightly against her chest while trying to steady her breathing.
"…I'm fine."
Her voice came out softer than expected.
"I just saw a bad dream."
The maid handed her a cloth silently.
Selene wiped the sweat from her forehead and leaned back slightly against the carriage seat.
Outside, the sound of wheels against stone roads continued steadily through the night.
But inside her mind—
The battlefield remained.
The crimson sky. The endless armies. The white-haired figure standing alone against gods and demons alike.
Slowly, Selene spoke inwardly.
"Hey, Whitie…"
A small spirit-like being floated quietly beside her in invisible form.
"What was that?"
The being called Whitie smiled lazily.
"Nothing."
"It was just a bad dream."
Selene frowned slightly.
"…Really?"
"Really."
But inside—
Whitie's expression changed completely.
The playful look vanished.
"So…"
Its gaze lowered silently.
"The time has finally started moving again."
A heavy silence followed.
Then the spirit looked outside toward the distant horizon beyond the carriage window.
"I just hope…"
Its voice became quieter.
"…that what the River of Time showed us back then doesn't truly come to pass."
The carriage continued through the night.
And somewhere far away—
A pair of demonic jade-green eyes opened slowly in the darkness.
[End of Chapter 38]