As Roman stepped through the portal of the third gate, the world around him instantly shifted. Unlike the oppressive darkness of the first trial or the illusions of the second, this place was suffocatingly empty—blinding whiteness stretched endlessly in every direction. There was no ground, no sky, no walls—just a void of pale brilliance that felt both eternal and inescapable.
Roman narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists as unease grew in his chest.
Then, like an ancient projector flickering to life, images rippled across the whiteness before him.
He saw them—twelve winged beings descending from the heavens. Their wings were torn and corrupted, feathers intertwined with demonic scales. Their halos cracked and bled black fire, while their bodies shone with both angelic radiance and infernal malice. They were neither angels nor demons—they were something far more terrifying: beings cast out of heaven yet too divine to belong in hell.
Their voices echoed with distorted hymns as they unleashed storms of fire and shadow, tearing entire kingdoms apart. Roman watched in horror as human cities were erased from existence, as if humanity itself was nothing more than dust in their path.
Their power was absolute—capable of bending nature itself to their will. The skies bled red, oceans turned into poison, and mountains crumbled with but a single gesture of their hands. And worst of all—they smiled. They laughed as they annihilated every trace of humanity.
The vision ended. The whiteness returned, leaving Roman's breathing shallow.
And then—a voice. Soft, yet echoing through his very soul.
"My war herald… I have longed to meet you."
From the endless void, a figure emerged.
She was breathtaking—a being of divine radiance and solemn beauty. Goddess Aria, sovereign of this world. Her long silver hair cascaded like a waterfall of moonlight, eyes glowing with the shifting colors of dawn and dusk. Her presence was both warm and suffocating, her aura so vast that Roman felt as though his soul was kneeling even while he stood. Her white gown shimmered with golden embroidery, and behind her spread six magnificent wings—feathers so luminous they seemed woven from the stars themselves.
For the first time in this dungeon, Roman instinctively bowed his head.
The goddess's gaze softened.
"I am the one who summoned your soul into this world, King Ronald. Your body may have perished in your old world, but your purpose did not. I brought you here because without you, this world will fall to what you just witnessed."
Her words struck like thunder. Roman's hands trembled as he asked, "Why me? Why… someone like me? I was blinded by greed in my past life. My ambitions cost me everything—my love, my people… I don't deserve anything but damnation."
Goddess Aria stepped closer, her voice carrying both gentleness and command.
"Roman, listen well. A human heart is like a blade. If left unsharpened, it rusts. If wielded recklessly, it wounds those closest to it. But in the right hands, forged through fire and pain, it can cut through even fate itself. You are not chosen because you were flawless—you are chosen because you can learn, endure, and change. That is something even angels envy."
Her words lingered in the void, echoing in his chest.
"The twelve beings you saw," she continued, "were once angels. But pride and jealousy corrupted them. They could not endure humanity's freedom to choose their own paths, while they were bound by divine law to serve. Their hatred led to rebellion. Cast out, they were sealed deep within the earth. But over centuries, they absorbed the infinite mana of this world. They have grown stronger. And now, their seal is breaking. Some… are already free."
Roman's breath caught.
Aria's eyes, shimmering with both sorrow and fury, locked onto his.
"I cannot intervene directly. Even as the sovereign, I am bound by the divine laws set by gods above me. But you, Roman Crowell—once Ronald, the most powerful mortal of your world—are unbound. My war herald. My sword. My answer to this world's cry for salvation."
Her words ignited conflict inside him. Images of Ruth's lifeless face, of his failures as Ronald, burned into his mind. His fists tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"I don't deserve this…" he whispered.
But then, like a distant dream, he remembered Ruth's voice. "I want a peaceful world, Ronald… where everyone can live without fear."
And his own reply. "Yes… we will achieve it. No matter what."
Tears welled in his eyes, but he raised his head. "If this is the chance to fix my mistakes… then I'll accept. I'll fight. Not as Ronald, the failure—but as Roman Crowell."
For the first time, the goddess smiled. A smile filled with pride.
"Then rise, my warrior. Rise, my war herald. The shadow system that guides you… it once belonged to a fallen god, slain by the twelve you must now face. It too seeks vengeance—and it has chosen you to wield its power."
Her voice deepened, resonating across the endless void.
"Your true training begins now. Here, time flows differently. What feels like five years to you will only pass as a single day in the outside world. You will train, endure, and become the blade sharp enough to cut down the twelve."
And with that proclamation, the whiteness shattered like glass.
Roman found himself standing at the edge of a vast, otherworldly battlefield. The ground itself pulsed with energy, countless weapons scattered across it. At the horizon, titanic silhouettes of enemies loomed, waiting for him.
Roman clenched his fists.
"So be it."
As the goddess faded into light, her final whisper lingered in his ears.
"Fight, Roman. Not for me… but for the dream you once shared with Ruth."
And beyond the dungeon, far from Roman's eyes, the Duke of Presia entered a council meeting—where unseen storms of politics and betrayal were about to unravel.