"The greatest power is not born of the body… but of an idea you believe in so deeply that the universe itself accepts it as truth."
It wasn't the body that evolved first.
It was the spirit. The mind. The image he carved for himself in an inner world no one but he could enter.
Sajibro sat in utter isolation—without a sword, without shadow, without armies.
A lonely stone on a peak untouched by sun, unknown to the winds.
A silence so absolute it was as if existence itself had forgotten this place.
There, the true training began.
It wasn't training of combat… but of endurance.
He dove into the depths of his mind, crafting scenarios of battles against enemies not yet born. He invented gods, clashed against armies, fell in defeat, only to rise again. He burned himself a thousand times inside his imagination, only to rebuild himself from ashes a thousand more.
He forged a false reality… until he no longer knew where truth ended and illusion began.
With each mental trial, his soul expanded. His very particles adapted. Slowly… but surely, his body began to transform.
Then, on a still night, immersed in a dimension of thought deeper than dream, something happened.
His eyes flared—not with light, but with a pulse of shadow. For the first time, he heard the voice:
"Your power… completes now. You are the one who creates, and the one who destroys. Your imagination… is infinite."
The mountain trembled beneath him, yet his body remained unmoved. Only his eyes stayed open to a world none else could see.
And the ability emerged—
Infinite Imagination.
A power neither offensive nor defensive. It was everything.
The gift to turn thought into weapon, illusion into reality.
With it, he could envision the outcome of a battle—and it would unfold.
He could imagine a weakness in his enemy—and it would exist.
He could envision the world's end—and the countdown would begin.
He could rewrite the laws of existence… under one condition:
He must believe it first.
He opened his eyes, gaze now eternal. He no longer thought as a man… but as one born to reshape worlds.
He spoke no word. He simply stood. Shadows rose from beneath his feet, obedient, unresisting. They required no command… for they already knew.
Looking toward the horizon, he whispered inwardly:
Now… it is time to return.
He descended the mountain, and with every step, the earth bowed its head.
He was heading toward something greater than every dream he had ever forged…
Toward a kingdom spoken of a thousand times…
But he did not intend to enter as a stranger.
He would enter as the Shadow King to come.
End of Chapter 55.