"Are they not?"
Recalling how his grandfather handled the Desolate Evil God, Muria almost blurted out the question but managed to hold back. He already had a good understanding of whether epic Titans were battle maniacs. There was no need to argue.
"By the way, one more thing!" Muria suddenly remembered. "Am I supposed to wander the void all by myself?"
"What's the matter? Are you planning to bring that little Mikaela with you? Even if you wanted to, Arudiba wouldn't agree. If you tried, that old geezer might come after you with everything he's got," Demes replied with a sly grin.
"Of course not," Muria said, quashing the thought before it fully formed. His strength had already reached the threshold where the use of the Heavenly Demonic Rebirth technique was banned for Titans.
Mikaela, however, was still far behind him in strength. She needed to reincarnate multiple times to accumulate the foundation of a true epic. There was no way she could accompany him on his journey through the void.
"Can't I find someone else to go with me?"
"No," Demes replied flatly. "Your parents, Ansol and Atris, were among the first to use the epic technique as legends. Even now, they haven't reached the world-modeling stage. They're far from ready to roam the void. So, it's just you."
"So… I'm the strongest of all the legends in Erathia who've used the Heavenly Demonic Rebirth technique?" Muria asked, incredulous, pointing at himself.
He had confidence in his strength but wasn't so arrogant as to believe he surpassed everyone else. After all, many of his peers were elites from the other three races, and even his parents weren't far behind him.
"Heh, looks like you haven't fully embraced being the strongest," Demes chuckled.
"Only the strongest among this group of reborn legends. It's nothing special," Muria replied calmly. "If one day I become the strongest in all of Erathia, then I won't need you to remind me."
"The strongest in Erathia?" Demes burst into laughter. It was unclear whether he found Muria's ambition absurd or admirable. "You sure know how to dream."
"Why not? Having the goal of becoming the strongest isn't strange, is it?" Muria retorted, his expression resolute. He saw nothing unusual about his ambition.
"No, it's not strange. But don't let it remain just a dream. Make it a goal and pursue it," Demes said, his tone approving. Regardless of whether Muria achieved it, such aspirations would lead to substantial progress.
"I understand."
"By the way, while none of your kin from the three races can accompany you, there are others who can," Demes said, his gaze shifting to the glowing barrier of the Erathia world below. "For instance, that Phoenix King you sealed in Synapsis. Let it accompany you in your void travels. It's a good choice."
"Huh?" Muria stared at his grandfather, puzzled. He didn't recall ever telling anyone about his agreement with the Phoenix King.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Do you find it strange that I know?"
"This was something only the Phoenix King and I were aware of. I don't recall mentioning it to anyone. And as far as I know, the Phoenix King should still be asleep. Even if it woke, I doubt it would share such details with others," Muria said, suspicion evident in his voice.
"That depends on who it is. I was bored recently and decided to visit Synapsis to see my great-grandson. That little white bird sensed my presence, woke up, and initiated a conversation," Demes explained with a smirk.
"…What did you tell it?" Muria asked, his expression tense.
"Not much. It sensed my connection to you and asked me to remind you not to forget your promise."
"I haven't forgotten!" Muria replied firmly, his gaze also turning to the glowing barrier of Erathia. Beyond it, he could see nothing—its luminescence obscured all attempts to peer into the world from the void.
"I've always remembered our agreement," he said.
"Then go fulfill it. That little bird seems quite impatient."
"I've ascended to the epic level, but I don't have a single drop of source power yet. How am I supposed to fulfill the agreement?" Muria said with a hint of frustration.
At Erathia's creation, six primordial beasts were born to stabilize its chaotic world. These beasts, known as World Guardians, were immovable pillars of the world's existence. Unless Erathia itself faced destruction, they would never leave.
Even if the world were to be destroyed, the Guardians would perish before it fell. Their fates were inseparably tied to the world.
However, like all creatures, the Guardians had the instinct to reproduce. Over millions of years, they had produced offspring, but their numbers remained pitifully low. Across six distinct Guardian species, their combined population didn't exceed three digits.
Most of these descendants, like their ancestors, remained in slumber, only awakening during times of great upheaval.
Among them was the Phoenix King, a creature born with unrivaled speed. At some point, it began gazing at the sky, wondering what lay beyond and yearning to see it for itself. But its innate strength bound it to the world; no matter how fast it flew, it couldn't escape. Erathia was a prison it couldn't break free from.
"As my grandson, worrying about source power makes you sound like a joke," a voice interrupted Muria's thoughts. He looked up to see a radiant figure forming from the world's light—a majestic dragon-woman whose appearance exuded wealth and power.
"Grandmother Arista," Muria greeted warmly. He knew her as the wealthiest being in Erathia, her title earned by the vast source power she had accumulated through the Heavenly Demonic Rebirth technique.
"Good boy. Tell me, how much source power do you need? Name your price," Arista said, her generous demeanor radiating an aura of magnificence Muria couldn't help but admire.
"Cough, there's no need for that. I might've accidentally mentioned this to some younger Titans," Demes interjected, coughing lightly.
"…" Muria's expression froze.
"So just wait. It won't be long before that little white bird comes looking for you. Out here in the void, you're the one it trusts most. If it seeks refuge, you'll be its first choice."
...
"Still as desolate as ever," a man—or rather, a giant—muttered as he gazed at the barren wasteland before him. The winds sweeping across the faraway sky blurred the horizon, creating a dreary, oppressive atmosphere.
"Father, why are you watching the wastelands again? What's so interesting about them?" a clear, youthful voice called from behind.
"That wasteland was once my home, a place where my memories lie buried," the giant replied wistfully.
"But now it's just wasteland. And besides, you're looking in the wrong direction," said the speaker, a dragonkin who walked up to his father. Though their forms bore no resemblance, their mannerisms suggested a close familial bond.
"Mind your own business," the giant snapped, glaring at his dragonkin son.
"I'm here to call you home."
"I'll head back after a while."
"Sigh…" The dragonkin sighed, glancing over his shoulder. Behind him lay a land teeming with life—towering divine trees, rolling mountains, and clear rivers. The scene was the polar opposite of the wasteland: paradise on one side, hell on the other.
"Giants and dragons keep saying the great Sovereign will make the outside world just like this. How soon is 'soon'? How much longer do we have to wait?"
Before the dragonkin could finish his thought, a frenzied voice echoed in his ears.
"Hahaha! The heavens have changed! The world is being restored!"
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