Chapter 139: Grey, the Opportunity You've Been Waiting For
The faint, ethereal night gradually faded from before his eyes.
Along with it, his self-awareness slowly awakened, bit by bit.
When Rast opened his eyes once more, the first thing he felt was the cold touch beneath him.
He was seated upright upon a throne of metal, surrounded by a palace bathed in a dim amber glow.
Through the palace's curtain walls, he could see the majestic scenery of the distant royal city, where buildings were arranged in perfect order, stretching all the way to the edge of the skyline, beyond the firmament.
Rast was quite familiar with the style of this palace—it was identical to the bedchamber Akxia had resided in during the execution of the Lost Paradise Plan.
However, this palace should have been destroyed by Noah during that very battle, erased into dust beneath the pressure of legend…
“So, this place was rebuilt afterward?”
Gazing at the slowly flowing twilight glow within the palace, Rast murmured softly.
He reached out and gently touched the left side of his chest.
Rast could clearly feel that the Death God's Holy Grail, which had begun to fade ever since he left the Nightworld for the present world, had now condensed back into something real.
That chess piece-shaped Holy Grail had rooted itself deep in his heart, linking his authority to the Death God's remains and the entire territory of the Paradise…
Yet at the same time, the Death God's Holy Grail was continuously corroding his flesh, transforming his soul, assimilating the man known as Rast—both body and mind—into the form of that olden god, striving to mold him into a suitable vessel.
“When I first came here, it was as a servant to Her Majesty the Queen.”
“Yet in the blink of an eye—”
“I’ve already become the new king of Paradise?”
Rast looked down at the iron throne beneath him and let out a quiet chuckle.
To take control of the entire Paradise, to become the new king of the Underworld nation, and to deepen his compatibility with the Death God's Holy Grail by using the faith of the dead as a foundation.
That had been Noah’s directive to him before he exited the Remnant of the Age.
Yet unexpectedly, by the time he entered again, all those goals had already been accomplished.
So, in the Nightworld, just how much time had passed?
He had assumed that the interval between leaving the Remnant of the Age and entering again should match his sense of time in the real world.
But from the look of things now—his month of rest in the real world had translated to even more time passing in the Nightworld.
With that thought, Rast stirred a bit of willpower.
As the master of the Death God's Holy Grail, and the new king of Paradise—
Rast now stood in the same position as Akxia once did, and the entire royal city of Paradise could be considered his own domain, a part of his territory.
Before long, a servant stepped out from the side and bowed respectfully toward Rast seated on the throne.
“Your Majesty.”
“When was this palace rebuilt?”
Rast asked calmly.
For someone who had worn countless masks and mimicked countless personas, playing the role of a ruler came as naturally to Rast as eating or drinking.
His expression was not stern but rather gentle; even so, his calm voice carried the composure and dignity of a sovereign.
This made it so the servant didn’t even wonder why his king would ask such a question, but only replied in fearful reverence, “Your Majesty.”
“This palace was rebuilt two years and three months ago.”
A look of reverence that couldn’t be hidden appeared in the servant’s eyes: “Back then, Her Majesty Helen, the former queen of Paradise, vanished mysteriously. Even the central palace of the royal city disappeared without a trace, erased overnight into nothingness.”
“At the time, the entire royal city—and even all the inhabitants of Paradise—fell into a state of extreme panic… headless and lost, with no idea what had happened.”
“Had it not been for Your Majesty stepping forward, subduing the entire royal city in less than half a year through your own power, ascending the throne, and rebuilding this palace…”
“Then perhaps the chaos in Paradise would have lasted much longer… the entire nation might even have collapsed and splintered—that wouldn’t have been impossible at all.”
Two years and three months…
Adding in the time it took to ascend the throne of Paradise and rebuild the palace…
That meant, within the Sixth Era’s Nightworld, nearly three years had passed?
Rast waved his hand to dismiss the servant by his side.
He gazed into the distance at that dusky amber sky, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
The length of this time was even longer than Rast had estimated.
However, it wasn’t entirely incomprehensible.
After all, to the Gravekeepers who spanned across several eras of history, three years was but the blink of an eye.
The lifespan of a Legendary being could easily last several centuries, so to those who had already transcended the limits of humanity and evolved their very essence of life to a higher level… their sense of time was naturally different from ordinary people.
Three years might be an incredibly long time for regular humans—especially in the chaotic world after the Great Calamity, where mortal lifespans had already greatly diminished… three years might represent one-tenth of a person’s entire life, a complete arc of existence.
But to a Legendary expert, three years might be no more than the time it took to enter a single seclusion, to conduct a single study or experiment.
“Three years… I wonder what Akxia’s condition is like now in the undersea Abyss of the Dead.”
“Still, since there’s been no disturbance at all in Paradise, that must mean her state is still relatively stable, and the Gravekeepers’ plan has not yet been initiated…”
“And Akxia herself should still be resting peacefully at the very depths of the Abyss.”
Rast gazed out at the serene and peaceful cityscape beyond the amber sky.
“And now, three whole years have passed—”
“Little Grey.”
“What kind of strength have you grown into by now?”
“Have you become strong and resilient enough… to face all hardship and danger head-on, even without me or Leader Sisel by your side, without relying on anyone?”
“Because…”
His murmured words were scattered into the amber sky by the rushing wind, heard by no one.
“The time of our parting is drawing near.”
“Very soon—”
“You will have to carry the weight of the Shoreguards, and the fate of all human civilization, upon your own fragile shoulders.”
…
The center of the broken coastline, the Watchtower.
This was the headquarters of the Shoreguards.
For a long time, no matter how turbulent the outside world grew, no matter how the flame of human civilization flickered in the storm… it had never truly affected the territory under the protection of the Watchtower.
Most Shoreguards considered the Watchtower a harbor where they could rest freely, a haven for the soul.
No matter what injuries or hardships they had endured while carrying out missions in the outside world… as long as they returned to the Watchtower, they could completely relax and recuperate.
However—
In the past two or three years.
Even inside the Watchtower, the atmosphere had clearly grown more tense.
The Iron Cross tribes, who had been dormant for a long time, had recently begun causing plague outbreaks again and again in human settlements across the land…
Cult factions were stirring chaos everywhere, and the frequency of their blood rituals had increased significantly.
And—those forbidden creatures stirring restlessly in the depths beyond the coastline, which the Shoreguards had long guarded against…
These successive outbreaks of minor disasters across the continent had kept the Shoreguards in a prolonged state of high alert and tension.
Although things had not yet gone beyond their capacity, nor caused any disastrous, irreversible consequences…
Even the most low-ranking Shoreguards had already developed a faint sense of unease…
It was like how, before a storm arrives, nature gives off various subtle signs.
At this moment, all these small-scale disasters erupting across the land were actually omens and warnings—the prelude to a war that had long been brewing.
Could they truly survive that coming storm and carry forward the final spark of civilization?
And Leader Sisel—
Could he really lead everyone to victory in the war to come?
Objectively speaking, no one knew the answer.
Yet everyone harbored a vague sense of faith, an inexplicable trust.
They had no other choice, no retreat, nor did they wish for one.
…
A petite figure clad in the standard cloak of the Shoreguards moved swiftly through the bustling crowds of the Watchtower.
Though her frame was slender and her delicate face hidden under a hood—with only a few wisps of gray hair drifting out, showing none of her facial expression—
As she passed through the dense crowd of the Watchtower, these proud Shoreguards instinctively stepped aside to open a path for her.
“Is that… Grey?”
“She’s back from another mission?”
“Yeah, this time she took on the mission to suppress the Iron Cross Plague at the northwestern border, right?”
“They say the mastermind behind that Iron Cross Plague was a peak Fifth Tier mutated Iron Cross—one of the strongest in the entire Iron Cross tribe, second only to the Iron Cross King, and leader of a whole Iron Cross clan.”
“Yet unbelievably, that mutated Iron Cross leader… was actually assassinated right within his own Iron Cross tribe. The plague’s source and leader were eradicated, so naturally the plague vanished as well.”
“To go alone into the Iron Cross stronghold and assassinate a peak Fifth Tier mutant Iron Cross leader… even the Sixth Tier elites couldn’t pull that off, could they? No wonder she’s called the strongest newcomer.”
“No, the title ‘strongest newcomer’ is already in the past for Grey… Though she’s only been a Shoreguard for less than five years, many believe she already stands shoulder to shoulder with the high-ranking members.”
“There are even rumors that say Leader Sisel’s chosen successor—”
“The next leader of the Shoreguards, will be her.”
“Still, Grey’s style during missions really is too reckless… she never relies on her teammates, always acts alone.”
“And her plans always dance on the edge of the blade, never leaving herself a way out—like this time, going alone into a tribe of thousands to assassinate the Iron Cross leader. One misstep, and she’d be doomed forever.”
“If I had a say, I’d rather the next leader be someone steady like Leader Sisel… Grey is just too young, and her methods too risky. I can't help but worry that she might lead the organization into an irreparable abyss.”
“Shh, watch your mouth… matters of succession and leadership are for the upper ranks and Leader Sisel to decide—who are we to gossip about them?”
…
Fragments of idle chatter drifted through the air and echoed in Grey’s ears, but they never once caused her footsteps to falter.
“Little Grey!”
A girl with a ponytail suddenly rushed out from the crowd that had been murmuring on the outskirts, grabbing the hand beneath Grey's cloak.
In the girl's bright eyes, there flickered an undeniable look of worry: “How many high-risk missions have you taken on this year already? Every time it's like licking blood off the edge of a blade!”
“And each time you finish one, you immediately take on the next. You haven't given yourself a single moment to rest.”
“I know your Sequence is very special… but if you keep pushing yourself like this, one day you’ll collapse!”
Faced with her friend’s concern, a faint light flickered in Grey’s eyes.
However, in the end, she gently brushed the other’s hand aside. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“And—”
Grey’s words paused slightly.
“Sorry, Yanice—”
“I have my reasons for doing this.”
With that, Grey had already broken free from Yanice’s entanglement.
She walked straight through the wide buildings and plazas around the Watcher’s Spire, disappearing into that magnificent, pure-white tower.
Only Yanice was left staring blankly at Grey’s departing figure, somewhat dazed.
They had clearly been friends since the rookie trials—
Yet, for some reason.
Ever since returning from the Lost Paradise… Yanice felt that Grey had changed somehow.
…
Grey ascended the steps of the Watcher’s Spire, level by level.
Soon, the seemingly endless staircase reached its end, and before her eyes appeared a plain wooden door.
Grey gently knocked, then pushed it open and entered, bowing.
“Leader Sisel.”
Behind the door, the white-bearded old man seemed to have long known of Grey’s return, waiting behind a long table.
Upon noticing Grey push open the door and enter, the old man smiled faintly.
“I won’t bother with pleasantries.”
His voice paused for a moment.
“Grey, the opportunity you’ve waited for so long—”
“The chance for revenge… has come.”