Seven Years Ago – Kreek Mountain
The Kreek Mountain was bustling with life. Banners of silver and gold fluttered in the soft wind, and or-nate lanterns floated above the peaks, casting a gen-tle glow across the area. It was the Wakami Festival, an ancient event held only once every five years, cel-ebrated with reverence by the Kreek Union Sect. People had traveled from faraway regions to witness the festivities and the legendary Wakami Formation Test.
The sect grounds were adorned with spiritual callig-raphy, the air filled with the hum of formations acti-vated for celebration and protection alike. A steady stream of guests arrived, greeted warmly by the dis-ciples and elders.
Among them, Karnmas, the sect master of the Kreek Union Sect, stood near the ceremonial gates, person-ally welcoming the more honored guests.
His eyes widened slightly as a new arrival ap-proached—an elegant woman in dark robes, calm and composed.
"Welcome, Miss Shuna," Karnmas said with genuine respect, bowing lightly.
Behind her stood a small boy. His eyes were large, filled with unhidden curiosity and ambition, absorb-ing every flicker of spiritual energy around him. His robes were plain, but the aura he gave off was not.
Karnmas chuckled. "And what's your name, kid?"
The boy stepped forward without hesitation. "My name is Sheo."
Karnmas nodded in approval, then personally escort-ed Shuna and Sheo to the great hall.
"Miss Shuna, my father would like to meet you," he said kindly as they walked. Just then, a tall elderly man with a long silver beard approached. His pres-ence was commanding, but his smile was soft.
"Shuna, you've grown so much," he said with a chuckle.
Raising her eyes to meet him, Shuna replied with a faint smile, "Yes, and I could say the same to you."
Both laughed softly, their bond clear. This old man was Keal, the former sect master and a figure who had been like a father to Shuna during her youth.
After a moment of joyful reunion, Keal's gaze shift-ed to the boy standing beside her.
"And who's this?"
Shuna looked down at Sheo and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Meet Sheo. He is my stu-dent."
Keal blinked, genuinely surprised. "So... you finally took another student?"
Shuna only nodded.
Sheo, curious about this old man who clearly held Shuna in high regard, returned his gaze steadily. Keal smiled warmly and then pointed toward a group of children nearby.
"Go on, kid. Why don't you go play with my grand-daughter?"
His finger stopped at a young girl standing confi-dently near a tree. She looked about Sheo's age, but her aura was sharp and piercing.
She walked toward Sheo, stopped before him, and with a smirk said, "So, you're Sheo. Wanna fight?"
Before he could answer, Keal gently led Shuna away. They strolled toward a private corner of the garden, leaving the children alone.
There, Keal's tone turned more serious. "It's... unlike you to take a student so suddenly."
Shuna exhaled. "I took him to the Doctors' Group—they couldn't identify the source of his internal issue. But during an energy detection formation, he showed strange signs... signs I've never seen before."
Keal's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So... you're planning to let him enter the Wakami Formation?"
Shuna only smiled and nodded. Keal didn't question further.
As the sun began to set, all guests had arrived. The courtyard brimmed with anticipation.
Then, standing on the ceremonial platform, Keal raised his hand and declared, "The Wakami For-mation will soon open. Prepare yourselves."
Young cultivators—about to take their first step into true cultivation—stood with nervous excitement. The Wakami Formation was not merely a test. It was an ancient spiritual array said to judge and reveal a cultivator's true nature, including their energy affini-ty, internal flaws, and mental strength. Those who entered were transported into unique terrains based on their own essence, forming a kind of personal tri-al—a maze designed by fate itself.
As Keal waved his hand, one by one the children en-tered the formation—their bodies gently pulled into the array by shimmering rings of energy.
At the very end, Sheo stepped forward.
Just as he was about to enter—
A violent burst of energy exploded, crashing into the ceremonial lounge.
Keal's eyes sharpened instantly. With a flick of his wrist, a shield of energy formed, nullifying most of the force. But the shockwave had already fractured parts of the formation, shaking the surrounding buildings.
The energy would have reduced the entire city to rubble if Keal hadn't intervened.
Despite the damage, the formation—barely intact—still pulled Sheo into its dimension.
—
Inside, Sheo was overwhelmed.
His body was hurled into a shadowy valley, pitch black and silent. The ground beneath him was cracked and unstable, and in the distance, a pit of in-finite depth yawned wide. One wrong step, and he would fall forever.
Terrified, Sheo pressed himself against the cliffside and began to crawl along the wall, his breath shallow and rapid.
Eventually, he found a narrow cave entrance. With-out other options, he entered.
The deeper he went, the more suffocating the pres-sure became. It was a monstrous force, so immense that it pinned him to the ground. His skin stung. His veins throbbed. His body felt ready to burst.
Just as he was about to pass out, a hidden force in-side him responded—it pulsed once, and suddenly the pressure lightened.
Confused but relieved, Sheo forced himself up, picked up a stick, and continued walking deeper into the cave.
Then he saw it—a dim, sinister black light flickering ahead.
He reached a vast chamber, and in its center was a man pinned to a stone seal. His body flickered like a fading flame.
The man opened his eyes slowly. "What... what are you doing here, kid?" he asked, his voice weak.
But his gaze suddenly sharpened. "Wait... That ener-gy inside you… Is that…?"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Sheo stepped closer and whispered, "I got lost."
Before the man could say anything more, a new presence filled the cave—a terrifying shadow with glowing red eyes appeared behind the pinned man.
A voice like grinding stone echoed, "So… the sect has sent Titled Monarchs to rescue me."
He laughed cruelly. "Just wait. The moment I break free, I'll burn this land to ashes."
Sheo stared in horror as a massive black hand pushed against the seal.
The pinned man turned to Sheo. "Kid, there are powerful enemies attacking outside. Everyone out there in danger."
Panic filled Sheo's eyes. "I… I have to protect her."
The man observed him carefully. Despite Sheo's fear, there was resolve in his eyes. But Sheo lowered his gaze and said quietly, "I want to help... but I can't even use my energy."
The man's expression shifted. "Can't use your ener-gy, huh?"
He looked into Sheo's body and saw the damaged energy pathways. A slow smile spread across his lips.
"Well then," he said, "I'll handle this for now. Just drop your defenses."
Before Sheo could react, a white light surged into his body. He felt it seize control—not painfully, but with the overwhelming might of a force he couldn't even comprehend.
A strange mark of light flew from the man's chest in-to Sheo's body.
"Watch closely, kid. This is how a cultivator fights."
—
Outside, near Kreek Mountain, chaos ruled the land.
Three shadows surrounded a levitating black throne, atop which sat a cruel figure—a King of Hell. Around him, cultivators lay defeated. Shuna had tried to intervene but was overwhelmed. Even Keal struggled to match one of the three shadows. The others rampaged freely.
Then, the King stood and mocked, "Why are you wasting time on these ants?"
He raised his hand. A massive wave of destruction surged toward the city, enough to kill everyone.
Just before it struck—
A beam of light shot down, stopping it completely.
A small figure stood in the air.
Keal, barely conscious, opened his eyes and whis-pered in disbelief, "Is that... Sheo?"
But the voice that followed wasn't Sheo's.
"Seventh King of Hell, Belver, do you really think this is your realm to rule?"
The King turned, eyes narrowing at the boy. "A war-rior possessing a child's body? Pathetic."
Sheo, or rather the spirit within him, smiled coldly. "To defeat trash like you... this body is more than enough."
A glowing emblem of death formed behind Sheo.
The King gasped. "T-That's the Death Emblem… You can manifest it in a mortal child's body?!"
But he had no time to react.
Sheo vanished.
In a flash, two of the three shadows were annihilat-ed. A single sword swipe had crushed them.
The third—the King—backed away in fear. "Even dead, you... you can still destroy me!"
"When I was alive, I could wipe you out with a flick of my hand. Now... I'll settle for this."
The King roared. "If I die, I'll take this place down with me!"
He began to self-destruct, building up energy.
Sheo raised his hand, froze the space, and then the Death Emblem pierced the King's soul, erasing him from existence.
The space fell deathly silent.
No wind stirred. No breath was drawn. Not even the crackle of lingering energy dared to echo through the air.
It was as if the world itself had stopped to witness what came next.
Sheo's body slowly turned—his movements deliber-ate, calm, and unshaken by the devastation that had just occurred. His gaze landed on Keal, whose legs trembled from the aftermath, and whose breathing was shallow from exhaustion and awe.
Then, in a voice deeper and far older than the child's body it resonated from, he spoke.
"Tell no one of this."
The words, though spoken gently, hit like a decree etched into stone.
"I will erase all memories of what transpired here… every last trace. Even this child's."
Keal stiffened. His hands lowered respectfully, eyes cast down.
"Seven years from now," the voice continued, "the Void Haul will open. Make sure this child enters it. Do whatever must be done."
The presence paused. The air seemed to hold its breath once again.
"Until then, his memories will remain sealed. This power must sleep. His path must unfold naturally."
Keal bowed with utmost reverence, his voice barely a whisper. "As you command... Master."
There was a faint tremor in Keal's voice—not from fear, but from the crushing weight of realization.
He had finally understood.
This wasn't just any spirit or remnant. This pres-ence—the one that had effortlessly destroyed three monstrous beings and suppressed space itself—was one of the ancient emblems of the higher planes.
A name buried in the records of legend. A force feared even by kings of hell.
The Death Monarch.
Zephrous.
The very moment the name surfaced in Keal's thoughts, his body involuntarily trembled. Not from pain. Not from weakness. But from the overwhelm-ing honor… and the dread that came with knowing such a being had touched their world.
Zephrous remained silent for a breath. Then, slow-ly—without lips moving, without sound needing to travel—his voice echoed inside Sheo's mind.
Directly.
"Listen, kid… I doubt you'll remember this com-pletely. I've sealed most of your thoughts, your senses, your understanding. But a fragment… a sliv-er of what happened tonight... will remain buried deep inside you."
Sheo's consciousness floated somewhere in that timeless void—half-aware, half-lost.
"The very fact that you made it to me—entered that cave, endured its pressure, saw what others cannot—means you're not ordinary. You're worth watching."
There was a brief silence. Then Zephrous's voice grew softer… almost solemn.
"Seven years from now… find me. Return to this power. To this truth. Inside the Void Haul."
And as those final words echoed through Sheo's mind, a shimmering shape—no larger than a coin—materialized within his inner world.
A map.
Its details were blurred, as if painted in stardust and veiled fog. But it pulsed, gently and rhythmically, as if it was alive—waiting for the day it would awaken.
Then, without warning—
Everything vanished.
The light.
The presence.
The pressure.
The voice.
Even the wind, which had frozen in place, finally re-turned with a low sigh as if exhaling after holding its breath.
Sheo's small body slowly descended from the air, lowered gently as if cradled by invisible hands.
His feet touched the ground.
And then, like a leaf surrendering to sleep, he col-lapsed. Unconscious. Silent. Still.
Keal stood there for a long time, unmoving. Not dar-ing to breathe. Not daring to speak.
Then finally, as if released from a spell, he took one deep, trembling breath… and let it out slowly.
His lips parted.
"…Zephrous…" he whispered. His voice cracked from emotion and fatigue.
A moment later, he knelt beside Sheo, eyes heavy with thoughts he could not share—not with anyone. Not even with Shuna.
He knew what he had witnessed… and he knew the responsibility that now lay upon him.
And so, with solemn respect, Keal bowed his head to the unconscious boy, now harboring the seal of a being no one was supposed to remember.
"…Until the Void Haul opens again," he murmured, voice soft but firm, "I will protect this truth."
—
Present Day
Sheo stood silently before the cracking seal of the Void Haul. Around him, the chosen candidates waited.
He sighed softly, touched the black token pinned to his robe, and took a single step forward.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold—a deep seal within him broke.
His body froze. His eyes widened. And then, with-out warning, a smile formed on his face.
The next instant, he vanished inside the void.
As he entered, memories surged back.
With a calm smirk, Sheo whispered, "Let's see what this Void Haul has to offer."
Behind him, the other candidates entered one by one.
As Sheo stepped into the Void Haul, a quiet shift overtook his senses.
The atmosphere changed entirely.
Before him stretched a vast, otherworldly terrain—bathed under a starry night sky so deep it felt like it could swallow thoughts whole. Floating stones drift-ed silently in the air, suspended without effort or ex-planation. Some were as small as pebbles, others as massive as hills. Their surfaces shimmered faintly in the moonlight, casting long, eerie shadows below.
Far out on the horizon, distant structures hovered—crumbling temples, fractured towers, and broken pa-vilions, all silently adrift in the emptiness. Some were illuminated by flickering ghostly lights, while others were lost in the endless twilight. The whole scene carried the solemn weight of a battlefield long aban-doned by time, yet haunted still by its consequences.
This was the Void Haul—a realm known only to those who dared to walk the line between ancient memory and deadly trial.
It was here, long ago, that the most powerful sects of the old world clashed in brutal, apocalyptic war. Those once-proud sects, etched in legend, were re-duced to ruins. Their bloodlines shattered. Their foundations crumbled. Yet not everything was lost.
Within the wreckage, their heritage still remained—left behind, whether by intent or force, to be discov-ered by those who could prove themselves worthy.
Sheo understood the rules clearly.
To even enter these remnants, one required tokens of a particular type:
A silver token granted passage into the ruins of mi-nor sects—factions that once had local influence, but lacked the breadth of legacy.
A golden token was a rarer prize. It allowed entrance into the domain of a Prime Sect—groups that once held authority over entire regions, possibly even con-tinents.
And then there was the black token, a treasure so ra-re and coveted that its mere possession stirred envy. With it, one could attempt to enter two Prime Sect and one of the Three Great Sects—towering behe-moths of history that had once rivaled heaven itself.
But even with the correct token, entry wasn't guar-anteed.
No gate simply opened for those with entitlement alone. Every trial had to be faced directly. The culti-vator needed to pass the test laid out by the fallen sect's lingering spirit, formation, or will. Failure of-ten meant death.
As Sheo stood, absorbing the sight before him, a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
He remembered something—a gift given long ago, a map
Under Sheo's spiritual sense, the map unveiled more than just a layout of locations. It contained layered inscriptions, many written in code that only someone attuned to space and time laws could decipher.
It displayed all the Prime Sects, and three Great Sect—three paths of immense opportunity.
But that wasn't all.
There was something else… something most people never realized.
Grand Spirits—Heritages that had once reigned be-fore sects were ever formed.
Their legacies were said to be unclaimable, hidden away in this realms . But Sheo, guided by Zephous Map, believed otherwise.
The Death Sword Art, Which he saw while fighting Wani was not just strong. It was terrifyingly abso-lute.
And now, he had found the path leading directly to its source.
He began to plan.
There was still time—nearly a full month remained before the Pulkinas Dungeon would open. That gave him a window. A chance to train, to grow, to claim what was needed. Because he knew—
If he entered that dungeon as he was now… he'd die.
There were Shadows out there.
People like Havnim, who dared to stand toe-to-toe with powerhouses like Jinnia and Helmen—beings who could crush armies with a glance. And Havnim was only one of the many unknowns. There could be dozens like him, hidden and waiting.
If Sheo didn't rise quickly…
He would be swept away like dust.
With his mind made up, Sheo stepped forward—and then jumped from the floating rock he was standing on.
A powerful surge rippled behind him as a majestic pair of purple wings materialized on his back, formed entirely from tightly woven energy. The Destroyer Wings, his learned ability, flared into motion.
Then, without delay, Sheo combined them with his 9 Path Movement Technique, and in the blink of an eye, he drifted through the Void Haul, streaking past ancient ruins and swirling debris, heading straight toward a structure that pulsed with deep, foreboding energy.
It was a temple.
A tomb.
The resting place of a figure once called the Death Queen.
Elsewhere, the others had begun to move too.
Niharika, had found a separate path. Her sharp eyes narrowed with curiosity as she stepped toward what she believed was a Prime Sect ruin.
But unseen to her, someone was watching.
Lamar.
His eyes, laced with a lustful, possessive gleam, fol-lowed her every move. Around him, four shadows emerged—his lackeys, each one shrouded in dull black cloaks.
"Boss," one of them hissed, "should we finish her here? No one will suspect a thing."
Lamar gave a slow, arrogant smirk.
"Let her fly for now. I brought the space sealing formation with me. If I'm right, her sect gave her a dimensional ring for defense. We'll move smart. Don't worry…"
His voice lowered.
"This time, she'll be mine."
With that, the five of them diverged, heading to-ward a different ruin with ill intentions cloaked be-neath false calm.
Meanwhile, back near the temple—
Sheo slowed as the towering structure came into full view.
Massive stone pillars, carved with faded inscriptions, rose from a floating platform. He approached slowly, wings folding behind him. As he touched the first step, a voice echoed in his mind—
"Master… I sense a powerful dragon sect nearby…"
It was his Arctic Dragon, speaking through telepa-thy.
The voice hesitated, then respectfully added, "If you permit… may I visit it?"
Sheo blinked, then smiled.
"You want to claim a Dragon Sect's treasure, huh?"
He unfolded the map once again. There, on the lower corner, he saw a mark matching the sensation. It was a Prime Sect called Ice Calamity.
He nodded.
"Go. But take this."
With a wave of his hand, Sheo released a portion of energy from his black token and infused it into the Arctic Dragon. This energy would help the dragon bypass the entrance seal, which forbade any being above Saint Level 2 unless considered property of the bearer.
To the formation's logic, the Arctic Dragon was his.
He handed over the exact coordinates.
The dragon bowed low.
His master had given him a treasure he could have used himself.
A deep resolve formed in his heart.
"I will not fail you."
With that, the Arctic Dragon took to the sky and vanished beyond the horizon.
Sheo turned back to the temple.
He wouldn't enter the two Prime Sects immediately. The Grand Spirit's inheritance was just as valuable—perhaps even more so. Strengthening his trump cards was a wiser path.
He landed at the entrance, folded away his Destroy-er Wings, and stepped inside.
The temple was simple. Cold stone, ancient markings etched into the walls. But surprisingly, he faced no resistance.
At the center of the room, a faint spirit hovered—her form half-formed, cloaked in silent grief.
Wani.
Sheo gave a respectful nod.
"So… this is the trial."
Her voice echoed softly. "I dislike complex for-mations. You've already proven your worth by reso-nating with my Death Sword. Your challenge is sim-ple—reach that tablet."
She pointed.
"But," she added, her tone darkening, "you may not use your energy. Nor any treasure."
Sheo gave a slow nod.
Then took a single step forward.
The moment he did, a monstrous pressure crashed down on him.
It wasn't physical. It wasn't even spiritual energy.
It was Sword Mind—and not just any level.
Sheo's eyes widened.
He muttered: "A Trizenic-level Sword Mind…"
It pressed down like a mountain, but he didn't panic.
Instead, he breathed slowly, summoned his own Sword Mind, and began moving forward.
Every step was a battle.
The pressure doubled.
He had to pause multiple times.
His limbs trembled.
His mind ached.
But something within him kept pushing forward.
It was refining his Sword Mind—shaping it, sharp-ening it.
Wani, watching from afar, murmured to herself—
"So… it wasn't my mistake. That's a Sword God Mind… how interesting…"
Sheo took an entire day to reach within two steps of the tablet.
His Sword Mind was now at the peak of High Acy-ral Level, just on the verge of breaking through.
Still, the pressure wasn't quite enough.
Hours passed.
And finally, his hand touched the tablet.
Wani stared, eyes hollow but stunned.
"You… truly are talented," she said. "Take my tech-nique. Use it wisely. Pass it to one who is worthy."
Sheo bowed deeply as the technique streamed into his mind, embedding every detail.
His eyes widened as he read it mentally—the tech-nique was beyond what he had imagined.
And then… he began training.
Wani observed silently.
"When I was alive," she whispered to herself, "the most talented person I knew took three months just to cross my Sword Mind. This boy did it in one day. Let's see how fast he understands my technique…"
She didn't expect much. Even the best had taken ten months to reach minor mastery.
But after two days, an explosion of energy surged from Sheo's body.
The Sword Mind around him roared, and the atmos-phere twisted.
His energy converged.
His mind calmed.
And then—
BOOM.
He broke through to Low Santara Level.
Dark energy, laced with purple lightning, surged through his sword. The air around him shivered. Even the faint traces of life essence nearby were drawn in, as if the sword could destroy life itself.
Wani, watching… was shocked beyond words.
"He… he mastered the minor level of the Death Sword in two days…?"
Her breath grew heavy, but she quickly composed herself.
Sheo, unaware of her stunned thoughts, bowed once more.
And silently… exited the temple.
Sheo exhaled slowly and called back his wings, let-ting the purple glow that had carried him fade into the still air. His eyes lifted toward the horizon, fo-cused. His next destination was clear: one of the grand sects marked on the map . But before ventur-ing to claim such a treasure, Sheo had something else in mind.
He had to meet Zephrous again.
Without hesitation, he took to the skies once more. His figure blurred as he fused his Destroyer Wings and 9 Path Movement, vanishing into a streak of light that split the floating stones of the Void Haul as he darted toward the marked location. This place wasn't just a ruin. It was memory—one burned into him seven years ago.
Far away, across the vast and fragmented landscape of the Void Haul, a girl moved alone. Her face was flushed with frustration as she trudged forward, cursing the name of a boy. Her pace quickened, driv-en by stubborn determination. She was hunting—searching desperately for the entrance to a prime sect.
Suddenly, in the distance, something caught her eye. A large structure—half-hidden in the floating mist—loomed on the horizon. Though it was still far away, hope flickered in her gaze. Her body surged with strength as she darted toward it, the curse on her lips fading into the air behind her.
Meanwhile, deep inside a temple carved into floating stone, Lamar sat cross-legged in silence. A low hum filled the air around him. His closed eyes suddenly snapped open, revealing a devilish gleam—dark red light glinting within them like a predator who had found its prey.
He licked his lips and whispered to himself, "Let's see who stops me now from taking Niharika…"
A wave of distorted energy pulsed from his palm, crackling like embers around his fingers. A smirk curled on his lips as he began manipulating the flow of space itself around him, sealing off the directions with ancient, malicious intent.
Elsewhere—finally—Sheo reached his destination.
Before him stretched an ordinary terrain of frag-mented stones and silent winds. Yet at the very cen-ter of this seemingly empty space, a large rift hov-ered—a shimmering tear in the fabric of space itself.
Sheo hovered before it, staring in silence.
Then, he inhaled deeply and shot forward.
The spatial membrane rippled as he entered, dis-torting around his figure. Unlike the last time, the transition didn't injure him. The space accepted him now, as if acknowledging the growth he had under-gone. Moments later, he emerged again, standing in the familiar valley of twisted mountains and steep cliffs.
As his eyes took in the view, a smile spread across his face. It was the same place—the exact spot he had been teleported to seven years ago.
Sheo lowered himself and began walking.
His pace was steady, deliberate. He located the en-trance to the cave with ease, as if guided by muscle memory. The weight that once crushed him here now felt like nothing. He stepped inside, deactivating his wings, and let the natural pressure of the place wash over him.
He activated his 9 Path Movement, slipping through the spatial distortions and pushing deeper inside. Soon, he arrived at the main hall.
It hadn't changed.
The familiar chamber, the shattered remnants of an-cient formations, and at the center—the cracked seal… and the weakly floating spirit of Zephrous.
Sheo's footsteps echoed softly in the hollow cham-ber. The pinned spirit stirred, as if sensing him, and for the first time in years, Zephrous' faded eyes slowly fluttered open. His weakened lips curled into a faint smile.
"I've returned," Sheo said, his voice quiet yet reso-lute. "Just like I promised."
His eyes then shifted to the cracked seal imprisoning the shadow.
Zephrous' voice was hoarse but carried weight. "Kid… my calculations were off. This shadow… it's trying to break free sooner than I expected."
Sheo's gaze sharpened.
He could see it now—the dark figure within the seal, thrashing and roaring silently, its form constantly shifting as it hurled attack after attack at the weak-ened barrier. A sudden surge of wild, hostile energy erupted within Sheo. His entire being tensed, and his gene tablet sparked violently.
"Fourth Heaven-Tier Gene Treasure: Death Emblem Detected."
Zephrous nodded slightly, his eyes glinting as he as-sessed Sheo. "You've grown… a lot. But you're not ready to fight that thing."
Then, his expression shifted.
He narrowed his eyes at Sheo's shoulder. A strange purple glow had begun to pulse faintly there.
And Zephrous… laughed.
"So I'm not the only one who found you," he said cryptically.
Confused, Sheo frowned. "What do you mean?"
Zephrous pointed toward Sheo's shoulder. "An old friend of mine… is already inside you."
The light on Sheo's shoulder pulsed brighter.
"You're not ordinary," Zephrous continued, his voice softer now. "You're a Heavenly Blood, aren't you? You likely possess a Gene Tablet… just as I suspected."
He paused, then said the words that would shake Sheo to his core:
"I am the Spirit of the Death Emblem—one of the Seven Heavenly Treasures. My former master… gave his life to seal that monster."
Sheo's breath caught.
"Monster…?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbe-lief.
Zephrous' voice grew grave.
"He was once the Tenth Monarch of Hel Belver."
A silence fell.
Realizing the gravity of what he faced, Sheo whis-pered, "What can we do now?"
Zephrous exhaled slowly. "If the one inside you—my old friend—was in peak condition, he could de-stroy this monarch with a single strike. But after that ancient war… he's nothing close to whole."
Then Zephrous' voice turned solemn.
"There's only one gamble left. But I'll leave the choice to you. I can divide my remaining energy into two parts—one part to launch an all-out attack at the monarch… and the other… to awaken the Second Heaven-Tier Gene Treasure lying dormant within you—The Holy Sword of Destruction: Kahido Zen-rox."
Sheo's eyes widened.
"That… was inside me… all this time…?"
A memory stirred in his mind—the strange spatial reaction he'd felt back in the Parth's dungeon. It made sense now.
He didn't hesitate.
"I'm ready," he said. "Whatever it takes… I'll do it."
He knew what was at stake. If this monarch awakes, Kreek Mountain, Qingming, and the entire northern continent could be annihilated.
Zephrous smiled faintly. "I knew you'd say that."
He began to chant, gathering the last of his energy. A glowing, ancient emblem formed inside the seal. His body shimmered, his aura flickering. From his palm, he formed a brilliant light sphere, condensed from his very essence, and sent it toward Sheo.
Sheo didn't resist. The sphere entered his arm—and at once, a notification appeared before him.
Gene Weapon Awakening: Initiated.
Weapon Identified: Holy Sword of Destruction – Kahido Zenrox.
Awakening Progress: 10%... 20%...
A monstrous pain tore through his body. His arm felt as if it were being reforged. He gritted his teeth. His vision blurred. He was slipping into unconscious-ness—but he held on.
Meanwhile, Zephrous gave his all.
The Seven Heavenly Treasures had one secret: the remnants of their previous master's consciousness lingered inside them, bound by the final wish of their wielder.
Zephrous, the former master of the Death Emblem, had already died years ago. What remained now… was the Death Emblem's own sentience.
And now, it was roaring with purpose.
At the same time, the weakened Monarch stirred. He sensed the danger, and his body tensed as he mut-tered, "Once this attack fades… I will destroy every-thing."
But the attack launched.
The seal shattered.
The space twisted violently as a blinding beam of energy surged forward—everything in its path disin-tegrated.
Sheo, still convulsing, heard a voice enter his mind.
A voice not his own.
"Listen, kid. Once the refinement is done, enter your Heaven's Battle Body. Let go of your body's de-fense—I will handle the rest."
His inner purple energy surged to life.
He didn't want to use it—but he had no choice.
Zephrous' form, now nearly faded, looked on. His light broke into shimmering fragments.
He saw a towering shadow stumble from the smoke—bleeding, with one arm blown off.
The Monarch growled. "You… you bastard… for you I had to use Blood Sacrification... now I'll show you what pain truly means—!"
But before he could even complete his threat—
A chilling force swept through the air.
Suddenly, an overwhelming fear surged through the monarch's mind—a fear so ancient and oppressive that his body instinctively trembled. His eyes wid-ened. A streak of light, sharp and blinding, tore through space with unimaginable speed. It passed di-rectly over the fading remnants of the Death Em-blem's spirit like a ghost wind—and then bolted straight toward the wounded monarch.
The monarch's instincts screamed. In that instant, he poured out every last bit of energy, conjuring up lay-er after layer of defensive barriers.
But it was already far too late.
Across the battlefield, Sheo's body moved on its own, as if seized by an unseen will. His right arm lifted slowly, then fully extended toward the sky. And in that moment, a radiant weapon materialized above his open hand—its form divine, its presence sovereign.
A majestic sword, forged from a celestial purple light, slowly descended into his grip.
The mere existence of this sword distorted the air, its oppressive pressure cracking the very fabric of space. Thin lines of rupture spiderwebbed across the sky, and a deafening hum rolled through the valley like an omen.
Sheo's appearance changed almost instantly.
His once-dark hair had turned completely white, gleaming with an ethereal silver sheen. His eyes, no longer ordinary, now glowed with layered hues of blue and green—deep, divine, and ancient. It was as though the spirit of an old god had taken residence inside his body.
But Sheo was no longer in control.
Something else—someone else—was moving his limbs.
His expression was blank, empty of emotion. With a single motion, he gripped the sword with both hands, raised it high, and swung it downward to-ward the monarch with a smooth, unstoppable arc.
BOOM!
The world itself seemed to shatter.
The moment the sword descended, the mountain range beneath them was cleaved apart. Space trem-bled. The air collapsed inward. A thunderous explo-sion rang out like the roar of a collapsing star. The energy that erupted from that blade swallowed eve-rything in its path. Trees, stone, wind, and time—all obliterated.
And at the center of that devastation… the once-feared Monarch of Hell Belver, was struck.
His body didn't fall.
It was erased.
Reduced to nothing but glimmering dust—swept away in silence.
A moment later, a system notification appeared in his gene tablet:
Gene Weapon Awakening Successful.
Heaven's Battle Body has been exhausted.
But this time, the toll was devastating.
A crushing weakness overtook Sheo. The exhaustion was not of flesh alone—it reached his spirit, his blood, and even the awakened gene within him. His muscles failed, his bones gave out, and before he could even comprehend what had occurred, his con-sciousness slipped.
His body collapsed silently, falling limp on the scorched plain.
He lay still, surrounded by fractured space and float-ing debris.
Nearby, the shimmering remnants of Zephrous—now nothing more than light particles in a fading human-oid form—watched with wide, astonished eyes.
"…What was that?" he murmured weakly, awe-struck.
Then, from Sheo's unconscious body, a soft mist be-gan to leak.
It was faint at first—barely visible—but gradually thickened into a soft purple glow. That glow curled and spun, gathering above him, before slowly mate-rializing into a humanoid figure. The spirit stood tall, indistinct in form but radiating pure, ancient pres-sure.
The new spirit looked down at Zephrous's fading light with sharp, unamused eyes and spoke with a voice as calm as it was menacing:
"What are you staring at? If you don't choose some-one as your master soon, you'll perish here."
Zephrous flinched.
But then recognition bloomed in his gaze. He slowly smiled—a faint, tired smile born of realization. "So… it's you," he said quietly. "If you've chosen this boy… then I've no right to argue."
His flickering light floated forward, then gently pressed into Sheo's open palm.
There, it settled—glowing softly—before dissolving completely into his skin. The emblem of death now resided within Sheo, bonded to him for the rest of his life.The spirit murmured, "So that old bitch chose this kid to gamble her chances again… what a pain."
Then he vanished.
And in the silence that followed, the surrounding energy flowed gently toward Sheo, wrapping around him like a cocoon, beginning the slow process of healing… and restoration.