Chapter 149: For the Shattered World, the Final Movement Resounds
“So, even like this…”
“You still yearn to become a Shoreguard?”
Those final words, accompanied by the girl’s unfinished consciousness, plunged toward the abyss of nothingness.
Grey’s soft body fell through the air.
Then, Rast caught her with a gentle movement.
He gazed at the grey‑haired girl in his arms, her eyes tightly closed as she slept in a deep coma brought on by the extraction of her soul’s potential… two wet tear‑streaks still lingered on her pale cheeks.
The cold, indifferent expression he had always worn in front of Grey melted like ice before snow.
“Was it… a bit too much?”
“Although most of it was the truth, sometimes the truth… can hurt more than lies.”
Rast spoke in a silent soliloquy.
Quite the opposite of the cool, mysterious figure who wrapped their form in a cloak and hid their face with a hood when awake.
Now, in slumber, Grey’s sleeping face was unusually serene.
Her delicate features still held a trace of youthful innocence, and the lines of her brows and eyes were faintly green.
“I almost forgot… even now, you’re still not yet twenty years old.”
“In some modern world countries with robust youth protection systems—”
“My actions would count as abusing a minor… maybe I’d even be locked up.”
A wry, self‑deprecating smile curved Rast’s mouth.
He gently extended a hand to stroke the girl’s smooth forehead, smoothing the strands of hair tousled by the heat and wind of the burning battlefield.
Then he wiped away the two tear‑marks that had not yet dried on her pale, exquisite face.
“A ‘Shoreguard’, an entire era of civilization, the fate of humanity…”
“That weight… is an unbearable burden for a girl not yet twenty.”
“And whether it was me or Lord Cisel… choosing in this manner to forcibly entrust such a heavy mission to your tender shoulders—”
“Such an act alone could rightly be called irresponsible.”
Rast looked at the girl in his arms.
His mutterings blended into the fiery wind, unheard by anyone.
“But—”
“We had no choice.”
“That was not an option.”
This was the plan reached by both Rast and Cisel.
For three years, to avoid being detected by the Gravekeeper legend, Noah, Rast and the Shoreguard headquarters never exchanged a single word or piece of intelligence.
Yet, by some inexplicable tacit understanding.
The moment Grey reappeared at Royal City in Paradise, Rast knew immediately what Cisel meant.
And whether it was the betrayal on the cliff three years ago, or what Rast had just done to Grey, it was all part of this plan.
A plan—to cultivate a qualified successor for Cisel, for the Shoreguard organization.
Over the past three years, because of that rainy night’s betrayal, Grey indeed changed and grew.
In just a few years, she had gone from being an obscure rookie trailing behind the organization to becoming one of the strongest forces under the legendary threshold.
But, compared with a truly qualified leader.
Three years of training were still insufficient.
Powerful combat abilities, excellent talent, potential to become a legend… certainly necessary conditions to become the new Shoreguard leader.
But that was far from everything.
Far more important than talent, potential, long‑tier sequence, and supernatural abilities… was a Shoreguard’s heart.
One must understand that compared to the lifespans—or rather, the terms—of past Shoreguards, three years is but the blink of an eye.
In long spans of time, many things change—
Rocks weather into dust…
Even the most upright youth can have their edges worn down, becoming cynical, slick, and sycophantic…
Forgetting the once sincere and passionate ideals, twisting former comrades of justice into ugly, detestable figures who chased immortality and scrambled for petty gain.
And when the momentary impulse faded, and the hot-blooded spirit of youth was worn away by time…
After enduring centuries of lonely years, gazing upon that dim and lightless path, realizing the tragic ending that could not be reversed, knowing that all one had done was likely in vain—after understanding it all…
Yet still able to hold fast to one's original resolve, to never forget the creed—
Only then is one a “Shoreguard.”
“So—”
“If, when you awaken again… you can still give a firm and unwavering answer to that question.”
“Then, Little Grey…”
“You would be worthy of carrying the mission of the Spark Inheritance, and the weight of civilization’s fate.”
“Unfortunately—”
Rast’s words paused slightly:
“Whether it’s me, or Leader Cisel…”
“I’m afraid… neither of us will live to see you truly mature, become a qualified leader—”
“To witness your unparalleled splendor upon ascending to the Legendary tier.”
His murmuring was swept into the roaring firestorm, unknown to all, unheard by anyone.
At the same time.
The seemingly endless black flame that had obscured the sky suddenly withdrew.
Centered around the flesh-twisted, polluted moon in the night sky, the black tide of flame swept across the entire Frostwater Town, raising a monstrous storm.
In the pitch-black tide of flames—
The town’s buildings, the clock tower, the black sky, and even the boundless mist… everything began to distort.
The entire world, be it buildings, towns, or the night sky, was breaking apart.
This was only natural.
The time rewind that spanned over ten years was inherently an unrepeatable process.
It was a miracle beyond reason, achieved by Grey extracting power from the depths of her soul that did not belong to her.
And now.
With Grey, the initiator of the time rewind, falling into a coma, the vast flood of fate also lost its constraints and control.
The force that had allowed the two to exist in this timeline that did not belong to them vanished.
In its place came the corrective force of the River of Time.
The tangible River of Time manifested around the two, surging and roaring, washing their forms until they became hollow and illusory.
With unstoppable, irreversible might.
It would wash away these two specks of foreign dust that did not belong to this era, to this history…
Cleansing them along the River of Time, forcibly returning Rast and Grey to the proper history that belonged to them.
Sensing the shattered Frostwater Town around him, the surging, roaring River of Time, and the corrective force of history.
Rast did not choose to flee.
He merely turned silently.
Then, carrying Grey in a princess-hold, he protected her in his arms.
In the next instant.
Boom—
The tidal wave of time and the torrent of correction swept over them both.
However, Rast bore it all with his own strength, not letting a single harm touch the girl in his arms.
Immediately after.
Their figures were wrapped in the flowing afterglow of time.
Under the wash of the corrective force, they were carried downstream through the River of Time—
Toward ten years later, the current point in time.
…
When the flowing afterglow around them finally faded—
What entered their eyes was no longer the fog and black flames of Frostwater Town.
He returned once more to the Sacrificial High Platform of Royal City in Paradise, overlooking the devout masses below performing the Holy Rite.
This is the correct worldline—
The timeline in which Grey never appeared, allowing the Holy Rite to proceed smoothly to completion.
And in the void before Rast’s eyes.
A radiant, shimmering sacred object, as if it had gathered all the world’s light into itself, silently manifested.
The crystallization of the people’s faith, the symbol of the Divine Kingdom—the Holy Grail.
Rast maintained his princess-carry posture, extending his free hand gently to grasp the illusory Holy Grail.
In the next instant, the chalice filled with divine dusk blood, the mythic wishing machine said to grant any desire… was contained by Rast.
Without the slightest resistance.
Thus, effortlessly merging into Rast’s body.
Of course, this did not take Rast by surprise.
Over these three years, he had diligently cultivated and secured the throne of the Underworld—
All for the purpose of gathering the power of faith.
And as the source of faith, the Wise King revered by all the people… it was only natural that he should become the master of the Holy Grail.
With that thought, Rast gently tapped the void with his finger.
In the next instant.
A dusky-yellow rift silently opened beside Grey.
Without making a sound, it quietly swallowed the grey-haired girl.
This was a spatial rift, a rift between dimensions… also called a “Sub-Dimension.”
Simply put, a Sub-Dimension can be understood as a pocket world, a subspace plane whose coordinates are known only to the owner, and which can be carried at will.
Some Sub-Dimensions are no larger than a pocket, while others are as vast as a city.
When he first joined Starfall University, Dean Silver once demonstrated this ability—akin to Doraemon’s four-dimensional pocket—before Rast… and it was also the reason Rast always insisted Dean Silver was a cat, not a ferret.
It was a miracle that took a long time to nurture and grow, flowing with both human and divine blood, yet perfectly compatible.
It was the perfect vessel chosen by that Ancient God for resurrection, and the key to opening the final Bronze Gate to obtain the “Divine Flesh and Blood.”
With that thought, Rast took a step forward.
With that step, the dusky halo suddenly flared, enveloping the youth’s form until it was no longer visible.
And when the light faded, the youth’s figure had already become a faint, hazy remnant of yellowish light.
Using his authority as King of the Underworld, Rast completed a near-instantaneous spatial leap.
Heading toward—
The Death God’s corpse beneath Paradise, the place called “Nether Abyss.”
That was the final place of ascent to godhood, where either an Ancient God from several eras past would resurrect and reclaim the divine throne, or a new-generation human would seize the god’s crown and become a new Death God… everything would be decided here.
This was also the stage Rast was to head to.
The epochal echo called the “Battle of the Shattered Coast,” the final act of Nightworld.
The curtain of burning flames had already risen.
The Iron Cross clan, the forbidden creatures of the Endless Sea, Shoreguards, Gravekeepers… even the gods and Celestial Order silently observing from the Threshold of Seraphim.
With the Nether Abyss and the Shattered Coast as the starting point.
Beings from different planes, different dimensions—
Carrying different stances, different motives, different intentions, gathered around the coastline, brewing a storm to engulf everything—
Awaiting the final outcome of this epoch, the moment when destiny would arrive.
Once you finish your act.
I make my entrance.
“So then—”
“Let me play… the final movement for this shattered Nightworld.”
The glory of dusk faded in the daylight, leaving only the youth’s proclamation echoing for a long time.