Chapter 272: This Scene, Just Like That Moment
Inner City District, the palace complex—isolated within a subsidiary dimension detached from the main world.
Beneath the boundless shroud of night, Shiltina, covered in blood, slowly closed her eyes.
Her entire body was already battered and bruised; even her breathing had grown weak to the extreme…
Yet beneath that faintest trace of life force, something dense and substantial was quietly accumulating—brewing within her.
Like a barren volcano on the verge of eruption—heavy, crimson, yet dazzlingly radiant.
When the power that was being suppressed and amassed within that volcano finally erupted, it would mark the very moment Shiltina truly ascended as an angel.
It was not an ascension achieved through the external forces of the Holy Sword, nor the blessing of the Sovereign Domain—
But the birth of an angel who had carved out a path that belonged solely to herself.
Watching Shiltina from above, Tucker’s voice quickened as he chanted his prayer.
Three minutes.
That was the final deadline Shiltina had set for herself to ascend as an angel.
And at this very moment, that short three-minute countdown sounded to Tucker like a death knell tolling beside his ear.
After three minutes, the power of the “Sword of the Night Sky” that had been released under its True Name would completely dissipate…
The Gravekeeper Angels sealed within the Eternal Night would also be unbound. Even if Shiltina managed to break through and become an angel, Tucker’s side would still hold an overwhelming advantage in numbers.
Yet for some reason, an inexplicable premonition welled up within Tucker’s heart.
Three minutes later—
Even if the sealed Gravekeeper Angels were released, he would still die. Without exception.
It was an intuition with no basis in reason or logic, yet as a legendary powerhouse, Tucker unconditionally trusted his instincts.
Following that foreboding omen, he swiftly uttered the final syllable of the Descent Prayer.
Boom—
In that instant, a presence far mightier than the Gravekeeper Angels before him tore through the rift between dimensions—descending upon the endless night.
——
In a certain subspace, the Patriarch of the Iron Cross Cult slowly lifted his head.
Beside him lay mountains of lean meat fillings, fatty meat fillings, cartilage fillings… and a bustling crowd of chefs, tirelessly chopping and slicing them.
This time, the Descent Ritual of the Lord of Twilight surpassed every prior scale—whether in magnitude, divine rank, or the intricate complexity of its preparations. It was far beyond the descent that the Lord of Twilight had once enacted in Deep Blue Port during the last era.
To prepare for this grand ritual, the Patriarch of the Iron Cross Cult and his followers had gathered in a subspace provided by the Gravekeepers, supervising countless cooks summoned from across the Western Continent—
All working together to chop every kind of filling imaginable.
All of it—only to fulfill the Lord of Twilight’s complicated, almost absurd requirements for divine descent.
Days of slicing lean meat, fatty meat, and golden soft cartilage had left both the butchers and the cooks utterly exhausted.
Even the cultists supervising them were drained to their limits—yet none dared to slack off in the slightest.
They feared that the smallest negligence might cause the offerings to fall short of the ritual’s standard—and lead to its failure.
But now, after endless labor and waiting—
Their efforts had finally borne fruit.
“At last… I have waited for this day.”
The Iron Cross Patriarch gazed upon the bronze Evil God Sculpture not far away, its surface now radiating with blinding light. Tears welled up uncontrollably in his eyes.
How many years had it been…
How many years…!
Ever since the Lord of Twilight ceased to answer their prayers, the Iron Cross Cult had been forced to scurry like rats in the sewers—
Hiding from the Empire’s relentless persecution and the suppression of rival cults.
Countless once-devout believers had lost faith due to the Lord’s silence, abandoning the cult one after another…
Leaving behind only him—a lonely old man and a handful of steadfast followers.
But all of that—ended today.
His unwavering devotion through the years had at last been rewarded.
Not only had his Lord answered his prayers again—He had chosen to descend in person.
The Lord would once more reveal the majesty that had shaken the world during the Sixth Era.
Once the Descent was complete upon the Western Continent, He would sweep across the Imperial Capital with thunderous might—
Announcing to the world the return of the Iron Cross Cult’s reign.
When the new Empress Shiltina and the royal family’s core perished in battle, Tucker—who had long prepared for this moment—would seize control of the Empire in an instant.
The Iron Cross Cult would finally emerge from its centuries of oppression and suppression—
To take root once again.
And when Tucker and his inner circle rose to power, they might even elevate the Iron Cross Cult to the status of the State Religion.
Then, the Iron Cross would step onto the grand stage of history—
No longer skulking in the shadows like vermin, but reigning proudly as one of the pinnacles of the world.
Within the Patriarch’s fervent delusion and blazing devotion—
Inside the subsidiary dimension, beneath the endless night—
That boundless power finally pierced through the veil of space and manifested as a hazy, illusory figure.
Feeling the immense and overwhelming aura emanating from the divine projection behind him, Tucker’s unease finally vanished.
Confidence returned to him once more.
As expected of a semi-incarnation of an ancient god—
A descent projection from beyond the Threshold of Seraphim, bearing the power of the Lord of Twilight Himself.
Though Tucker could not discern the true extent of an angel’s power, the sheer pressure radiating from this divine projection far surpassed that of the Gravekeeper Angel from before.
It was clear that the Lord of Twilight understood the threat Shiltina posed as a Holy Sword Wielder—
This was no mere projection, but a true half-incarnation carrying divine might.
“Shiltina—can you feel it? The power radiating from the Lord of Twilight’s Descent?”
“You are indeed remarkable—resolute, unwavering… even among the countless stars of human history across seven entire epochs, you shine among the brightest.”
“Given time, you might have truly transcended the angelic boundary and achieved a feat no mortal has ever reached.”
“But precisely because of that talent and pride… you are far too arrogant, too self-assured, too obsessed with your own strength.”
“Whenever danger appears—one that can be foreseen or avoided—you never retreat. You always choose to confront it head-on.”
“Perhaps in the past, it was that same recklessness that allowed you to overcome trial after trial, to reach the height you stand at today.”
Tucker looked down at Shiltina, who still had her eyes closed, her aura surging like a volcano ready to erupt. His tone grew calm once more, brimming with the confidence of one who believed all was under his control.
Now that he had a descended god at his back, all fear had left him.
“But before the descended Lord of Twilight— You will not have even a sliver of life left.”
The next moment, the projection behind Tucker fully descended.
It pierced through the boundary between the mortal realm and the Threshold of Seraphim, through the veil of Eternal Night—completing the true Descent.
The once-hazy and indistinct colossal silhouette solidified into a clear and tangible form.
However—
As Tucker felt that magnificent, boundless aura from the projection of the Lord of Twilight,
beneath the night sky, Shiltina—her body drenched in blood—merely opened her eyes slightly.
Gazing toward the distant heavens at the divine projection behind Tucker, there was not a trace of panic upon her fair and delicate face.
On the contrary—
The corners of her lips curved faintly into a subtle smile.
Why was Shiltina smiling?
The Evil God had already descended—
Once she was killed, the entire Imperial Capital would be reduced to a living hell of blood and fire…
So how could she still smile?
Tucker’s heart froze.
Following her gaze, he instinctively turned around.
Under the pitch-black sky, the figure of the descended being stood there—clear and distinct.
Black hair. Black eyes.
A handsome face, with sharply defined features.
Tucker recognized the name of this black-haired youth— In fact, every cultist and Gravekeeper who had attended that meeting would know him at a glance.
The final Shoreguard.
The last heir to the Fool’s Library.
And the very person Shiltina had once publicly announced to the entire Western Continent as— her fiancé.
Rast.
——
This subsidiary dimension, vast enough to contain an entire palace complex comparable to a small city,
had now fallen into utter silence.
The wind howled through the lifeless palaces; even the sound of a pin dropping could be heard clearly.
Tucker stared blankly at the figure behind him— that youth who stood in the distant sky, stretching lazily as if bored beyond measure— and his mind went completely blank.
Rast.
The last Shoreguard after the Sixth Era.
Holder of the Fool’s Library, fiancé of Shiltina.
Tucker knew every detail about him—from his origins and background, to the entirety of his short years on the Western Continent, to his relationships with other students and professors at Starfall University.
He had mastered every bit of information to the point of reciting it backwards.
And yet— none of it could explain why Rast would appear here and now.
Had he not already perished two years ago, body and soul both burnt out in his battle against the Quasi-Angel… his consciousness now lying dormant within a hospital ward of the United Hospital, a living corpse between life and death?
Could it be—Rast had already awakened?
But even if he had, had he not self-detonated his Sequence Higher Tier and his Nightblade “Fool’s Library” in that same battle two years ago?
Without the Sequence Higher Tier or the Fool’s Library, even if he had somehow recovered, Rast would be nothing but a powerless cripple.
Besides— the being Tucker had summoned was none other than the Half-Incarnation of the Lord of Twilight’s Descent!
The real Rast, still comatose in the mortal world, should have long been eliminated by the Gravekeeper agents, his body stripped of any lingering fragments of the Fool’s Library.
Such tangled thoughts flooded Tucker’s mind, making it seize up entirely— his mental “CPU” all but burned out.
But a legend was, after all, a legend— his spiritual power vast as the sea.
After that brief moment of mental paralysis, Tucker swiftly regained composure, combing through his perfect memory and the storm of colliding thoughts until he reached an answer.
Once every impossible possibility was eliminated, no matter how absurd or unbelievable the remainder seemed— it could only be the truth.
“I see… I see now.”
“So that’s it. The so-called final Shoreguard, Rast, has been an incarnation of the Lord of Twilight all along.”
“No wonder! I had always found it strange— the previous generation of Shoreguards had existed in the Sixth Era, and yet this Rast appeared thousands, even tens of thousands of years later. How could a mere human survive that long?”
“So it was all the Lord of Twilight’s handiwork!”
Tucker felt a thrill of revelation surge through him.
“The true Shoreguards were completely annihilated at the end of the Sixth Era… and the Fool’s Library had fallen into the hands of the Lord of Twilight during that final war.”
“Thus, the Lord could forge a false ‘Rast,’ a fabricated Shoreguard of His own making.”
“After all, tens of thousands of years have passed since the Sixth Era— no one knows what truly transpired. Whoever holds the Fool’s Library would be acknowledged as the Shoreguard. None would question it.”
“A perfect deception, a masterstroke of substitution— not only fooling other cults…”
“But even deceiving the Gravekeepers themselves!”
Tucker’s mind ran at full throttle, like an overclocked engine.
Stray bits of information he had once ignored began rearranging themselves, linking and verifying one another— forming an ever-clearer chain of deduction.
The deeper he thought, the greater his shock became. It felt as though he had inadvertently brushed against a conspiracy that stretched across tens of thousands of years— from the divine era of the First Epoch all the way to the present.
“The remaining question,” he murmured, “is why the Lord of Twilight would personally create a false Shoreguard like ‘Rast,’ willingly provoking hostility from the vast and secretive Gravekeeper organization— and even forming close ties with Shiltina herself…”
“The only explanation is that the Lord of Twilight is playing a far grander game.”
“What He seeks is not merely the faith of His believers… but the Gravekeepers— perhaps even the entire world itself.”
As that conclusion dawned, Tucker drew in a sharp breath.
At this moment, though the cults of the Western Continent and the Gravekeepers had temporarily joined forces to hunt the Holy Sword Wielder Shiltina, that did not mean the gods beyond the Threshold of Seraphim and the Gravekeepers were truly united. They were merely using one another.
There had never been eternal allies in this world— only eternal interests.
For countless eras, the Gravekeepers had been seeking knowledge about the Threshold of Seraphim, dreaming of hunting the gods who dwelled there.
The Evil Gods, too, had always been deeply wary of the Gravekeepers.
From the very beginning, the Gravekeeper Organization had been founded during the First Era of the Age of Gods, by the one who led humanity to rise above the countless mythic races—the Nameless Fool.
Meanwhile, the Evil Gods dwelling upon the Threshold of Seraphim were merely remnants of deities who had fled there after the decline of the divine age, lingering on the brink of oblivion.
Between the Gravekeepers and the gods, there had never been friendship—only mortal enmity.
Yet with the passing of tens of thousands of years, even sworn enemies could cooperate when faced with shared interests.
And against this backdrop, the grand design that the Lord of Twilight had woven for millennia was now completely revealed.
He intended to use Shiltina’s coronation as Holy Sword Wielder as bait—
to lure out every Gravekeeper hiding within the River of Time and capture them all in one fell swoop.
If Shiltina and the other core members of the royal family perished in battle,
then Prince Rast, upon awakening, would become the Empire’s sole Regent.
By then, both the Gravekeeper Organization and the largest human empire on the Western Continent would fall entirely under the control of the Lord of Twilight.
What a profound scheme—what a terrifying design.
In the Sixth Era, the Lord of Twilight had caused the Iron Cross Plague tragedy at Deep Blue Port, leading the world—and even the Gravekeepers—to believe He had gone mad and lost control, no longer worth fearing.
But in truth, the Lord of Twilight had long ago laid down His hidden pieces, a serpentine web stretching through the dust of ages— and only now, after ten thousand years, had He set them into motion.
“I know, O Great Lord of Twilight, You have already foreseen everything.”
“Whether it be Shiltina or the angels of the Gravekeepers, all are merely pawns in Your plan… Once You fully descend, You will command all.”
“However, even for one as mighty as You, to govern a vast realm like the Granwell Empire,
to transform every citizen into a believer who offers You the Power of Faith,
to make the Empire into Your Divine Kingdom—such a task will still require time.”
“Therefore, I believe that someone like me, who once served as the Empire’s guardian for a hundred years, still holds a trace of value to You.”
“I am willing to become Your believer, to have a binding Imprint placed upon my soul to prevent betrayal, and to govern this human nation in Your stead.”
“All I ask, is that after You have annihilated the Gravekeepers,
You allow me to leave behind a single, insignificant imprint upon the Eternal Night Stele.”
Tucker bowed slightly toward the black-haired, black-eyed youth, speaking with utmost reverence.
After all, his sole purpose was to prolong his lifespan—to seek immortality.
Compared to his former allegiance to the Gravekeepers, the Lord of Twilight, whom Rast now represented, was far stronger— his strategy and far-reaching designs vastly superior.
Thus, betraying the Gravekeepers outright to become a believer of the Lord of Twilight brought Tucker no hesitation, no burden of guilt whatsoever.
However— as Tucker spoke those reverent words,
the black-haired youth merely glanced at him lightly, then parted his lips.
The next instant, Tucker’s mind swayed in a daze.
Within an orange-red glow, he seemed to see a small, furry dog in the distance, barking joyfully and wagging its tail as it bounded toward him.
Tucker’s eyes froze.
He recognized that little dog—it was the pet he had raised in his youth, a hound with a faint trace of Demon Wolf blood.
In those days, Tucker had listened to bards sing tales of gallant knights, dreaming that one day he would travel the continent with his hound, righting wrongs and upholding justice as a wandering knight.
In time, Tucker truly became a Legend— the Imperial Watcher who silently upheld order and guarded the nation from the shadows.
But even with its faint demonic lineage, a hound was still a hound;
it lived scarcely a few decades before passing away.
Tucker had buried that faithful companion upon an unnamed hill in his homeland.
And from then on, he had walked the lonely road of guarding the Empire— drifting ever further from his original purpose as a protector.
In the end, across five centuries of life, he had lost the heart he once had, leaving only a five-hundred-year longing for eternal life and obsession with immortality.
Now that he thought of it… that had been nearly five hundred years ago.
Wait—
Five hundred years?
“Immortality… and eternity, is it?”
“You, and those Gravekeeper fools as well…”
“Are such things truly so important to you all? Worth betraying your past lives, your centuries of resolve… To deny all that you once were, just to chase something so hollow?”
From afar, the voice of the black-haired youth seemed to whisper softly.
And as Tucker gazed at the small dog wagging its tail before him, clarity suddenly dawned in his heart.
“So… this is what they call a life-flash.”
——
Beneath the black night sky, Tucker’s figure slowly dissolved into the darkness.
Like a sketch on white paper erased by a rubber, he vanished completely.
Not far away, Rast did not look at the erased Tucker again. Instead, his figure slowly descended from the heavens, falling toward the palace complex where Shiltina stood.
Swoosh—
A pale sword light soared once more into the sky. Pure and condensed mana transformed into radiant silver brilliance, standing out sharply against the black night.
Alongside that sword light surged Shiltina’s vast aura— an oceanic pressure capable of piercing through both time and space.
Before the three-minute countdown had even ended, Shiltina had already taken that final step.
Angel.
A true angel.
Not the vassal of the Holy Sword, nor a power derived from the Sovereign Domain granted by the Holy Sword’s sequence.
But an angel born purely from herself— of the War Chariot Sequence.
On the ground, Shiltina opened her eyes once more and walked step by step toward Rast.
Her chestnut hair, once tied into a princess braid, had come loose in battle— now cascading like a waterfall over her shoulders, fluttering softly in the evening wind.
Though her frame was slender, her aura was that of a divine chariot’s majesty—
Everything that stood before her—whether legend, angel, or god— had only one fate: to be crushed into dust.
Yet when she finally stood before Rast, their gazes meeting at a distance close enough to feel each other’s breath, Shiltina willingly withdrew that overwhelming divine aura.
In the blink of an eye, the Empress who had ruled over the world once again became the girl swordswoman he knew so well.
Shiltina blinked lightly, the corners of her lips curving into a faint smile:
“So, how does it feel… to make a perfectly timed entrance at the last moment and play the hero saving the damsel in distress? Pretty exhilarating, isn’t it?”
“I can only say—it feels rather good.”
Rast smiled.
“Congratulations, Shiltina.”
“To have achieved angelhood not through the aid of the Holy Sword nor by relying on the Sovereign Domain sequence—but purely through your own strength.”
“You should now be able to stand on equal footing with the true deities that dwell beyond the Threshold of Seraphim.”
“The same congratulations should be for you, too.”
Shiltina lifted a strand of hair that had fallen by her ear and idly twirled it between her fingers.
“Xiao Ai is already an angel of the Judgment Sequence, and if I’m not mistaken, now that you’ve rebuilt within your heart that tower called the Fool’s Library, you too have crossed that boundary.”
“So rather than congratulating me, it’s fairer to say I’ve finally caught up to you and Emis.”
Hearing her words, Rast couldn’t help but chuckle again.
He was just about to speak when—
In the distant sky, from within the veil of Eternal Night, a deep rumble echoed once more.
The night began to thin, as though something was straining to shatter the seal of the Eternal Night’s curtain—ready to break free.
The three minutes had passed. The Gravekeeper Angels, once sealed within Eternal Night by the Sword of the Night Sky, were about to tear through the shroud and return to the subsidiary dimension.
Watching the thinning darkness in the far heavens, Shiltina smiled faintly.
“So?”
“Will you go—or shall I?”
Even though among the unsealed Gravekeepers were angels of equal rank to the newly ascended Shiltina and Rast, there was not the slightest trace of tension in their voices.
Instead, their exchange carried the same light teasing tone they once shared while exploring the Nightworld together.
“I’ll go.”
“You’ve just had your fun fighting your way out of despair, and Xiao Ai went on a rampage in the mortal world earlier.”
Rast shook his head helplessly.
He had been worried that Xiao Ai’s lack of battle experience would make her struggle against angels… but unexpectedly, her combat style turned out to be far more brutal than he’d imagined.
She had literally torn apart a Gravekeeper Quasi-Angel who had infiltrated the hospital, intending to assassinate Rast’s sleeping body.
“So now, it’s my turn.”
“Though simply bullying a few non-angel weaklings… feels far too dull for a reunion after all these years.”
As his words fell, Rast’s body rose once more, ascending toward the heavens.
The black-haired, black-eyed youth fixed his gaze upon the night sky,
where several Gravekeeper Angels were slowly breaking free from the Sword of the Night Sky’s seal, his eyes gleaming with a thoughtful light.
“How did that line go in my past life…?”
“Ah, right…”
He extended his right hand and grasped at the empty air.
“Sword, come.”
Below, as though sensing something, Shiltina’s light-brown eyes flickered, and a smile touched her lips.
The next instant—
Brilliant starlight burst forth across the night.
A golden sword emerged amid roaring winds, thousands of rays converging upon its radiant blade, banishing the dimness of the surrounding night.
The Holy Sword.
Forged from the essence of a planet itself— the relic passed down through generations of the Granwell Empire’s royal family. Many royals had sought to claim it as their own, yet all had failed.
After countless years of slumber, it had finally chosen Shiltina.
Yet now, the Holy Sword—once belonging solely to her— lay quietly in Rast’s hand, its tip aimed straight toward the broken night sky where the Gravekeeper Angels were emerging.
“True Name—Liberation.”
The clear voice echoed through the ruins of the palace complex.
It was a phrase Shiltina knew all too well— yet this time, it was spoken by the black-haired youth, his metallic tone carrying the resonance of an ancient tongue.
The word he uttered bore the same meaning as Shiltina’s first weapon, “Shimmering Morning Star.”
It meant—Star.
In the next heartbeat—
The radiance of the Morning Star illuminated the heavens, and its light reflected in Shiltina’s eyes.
This moment, this scene—just like that time, that instant.