While Zairon dove deeper into his vortex of spiritual obsession, the world above moved—stirred—shook.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
Some claimed he had ascended.
Others whispered that he had been devoured by his own power.
But the truth?
He was becoming something the world wasn't ready for.
In the Sovereign's Territory—Zairon's declared empire—cities stood tall, borders expanded, and order was absolute. The governors he appointed ruled fairly, but everyone knew one thing:
He was not here.
And his absence echoed louder than any decree.
Crime began to stir in the cracks. New factions emerged, petty lords dreaming of glory, mercenary groups looking to test the crown. Some said,
"He was a myth, a passing storm."
But those closest to Zairon knew better.
Wei, the tactician of his first legion, simply scoffed. "You think he's gone? No. He's waiting. And when he comes back... gods help you all."
Elsewhere, in the deeper lands—beyond the Sovereign's territory...
Nobles and rulers in the advanced cities noticed the power vacuum. The Moonlight Guild held emergency meetings. Reports of Zairon's exploits now sounded more like legends than fact. A few guilds started investigating his old movements. They wanted to know:
Who the hell is Zairon?
One said, "He was just an A-rank. How did he—?"
Another interrupted, "Then why do his words shake armies? Why does the Raur Gate react when his name is spoken in chants?"
Even the prophets in the Inner Sanctums began to whisper of The One With Two Shadows—a man with a beast's soul and a sovereign's mind.
Meanwhile…
Zairon screamed into the void of his temple, a laugh cracking the heavens.
"Hahahahaha—YES! You thought you could tame me?! You think madness is a curse? It's my sword!"
He meditated with his eyes open, unblinking for days, no food, no water—only cultivation, only chaos.
Each heartbeat was like a drumroll of war.
Visions of Raur invaded his mind—cities made of bones, skies soaked in eternal crimson, beasts with wings wider than mountains. And he welcomed it.
He wanted it.
No, he needed it.
More spiritual energy.
More pressure.
More PAIN.
He laughed harder, blood trickling from his nose.
"I am the hurricane you feared. The sovereign you doubted. The beast you failed to leash."
His spirit beast, the Roc, roared in tandem from the highest peak—its eyes also glowing, resonating with Zairon's energy. It too, was evolving.
And in the deepest cracks of the world, where the first Raur gate was once sealed, something stirred.
The cult may have fallen, but echoes of their final ritual had awakened a presence.
A new name—Azareth—whispered in ancient tongues.
One above SSS-rank.
And it smiled… watching the boy who laughed at the gods.