"Huff… Huff…" Samarth collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, exhaustion pouring off him like heat. His complexion was pale—far paler than when he first lost in the heavens. The sight terrified the five people watching him: three women and two men, all frozen between shock and relief.
They stood in the Royal Palace's Garden of Beauty, where countless magical flowers glowed like stars. The entire garden shimmered with enchantments that made every petal shine ten times brighter. Yet even its serene brilliance couldn't calm the fear in their hearts.
From the group, one woman suddenly sprinted forward.
"Master, are you alright?" Emily dropped to her knees beside Samarth. She studied his face—ashen, strained, weaker than she had ever seen him. Only once before had she seen him in a state this dire.
Samarth lifted a trembling hand and made a small gesture.
I'm okay.
Emily understood immediately and nodded, though worry still clouded her eyes.
The others stepped closer, forming a circle around him. They watched helplessly, fear tightening their chests. Samarth was their only pillar of hope. Without him, they knew they—and their entire world—would perish. If Aeren does not stop soon, annihilation is inevitable.
Everyone felt it.
"Lord Samarth… will they take action?" King Baltazar asked, his voice steady but his insides trembling. He forced away his fear—he couldn't show weakness in front of Samarth.
Beside him, King Barlet swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. He had seen the magic screen hovering in the air, showing the auction hall drenched in blood. He had watched Aeren kill people effortlessly—mercilessly.
The kings, the attendants… everyone knew: Their fate depended entirely on Samarth's next words.
"It depends," Samarth replied as he rose from his knees. Healing light washed over him, restoring some of his strength. He looked at the faces of his companions—fear, desperation, hope—all reflected in their eyes.
"What is the situation?" he asked, calm but firm.
The moment he turned his gaze to the floating magic screen, his expression shifted—shock flickering across his face as he saw the massacre Aeren was creating.
"We have to protect Lady Nil and Sir Jarek! Without us, they'll die!" Seraphina shouted, stepping closer to him in panic.
Nil and Seraphina had planned all of this together. Nil had sensed Samarth's existence and seen through him—identified the strength she needed to stop Aeren. Seraphina survived her near-death encounter only because Nil had prepared everything, ensuring she could reach Samarth before it was too late.
And now the plan had reached its breaking point.
Samarth listened as Seraphina quickly recounted the details they had discussed days earlier, before any of them faced Aeren directly. The truth was absurd enough to make even him grimace: To protect humanity… they had to kill one human.
A single man. A single existence that threatened countless worlds.
Samarth rubbed his forehead. The headache was already forming—logic itself bending under the weight of the situation. And worst of all, he wasn't even certain he could kill Aeren. But he had to try.
He exhaled sharply.
"Let's teleport there. If we delay any longer, Jarek will die." Samarth's voice was resolute. He motioned for his group to prepare.
"Should I take a few knights with me?" King Baltazar asked, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound brave.
"No use," Jane replied sharply, pointing at Aeren's image on the screen. "They'll only get in our way. Or worse—they'll be slaughtered instantly by that monster."
Her words fell heavily, and no one argued. They had no backup. No reinforcements. No second chance.
Only Samarth… and the hope that he could stop the unstoppable.
***
In the Auction Hall
Aeren stared at Jarek, confusion flickering across his expression.
How do they know about me?
How is it possible they know my past—things even I cannot fully recall?
His past self could see through the world with his own eyes. He could hear every whisper spoken across the continents. Nothing should have escaped him.
Unless… they were sharp enough to hide it. Or too skilled at acting. Or—worst of all—my past self planned something I have not uncovered yet.
Aeren's gaze dropped to the sword still clutched in Jarek's unconscious hand. That sword was dangerous. But Aeren hadn't killed Jarek yet—he wanted to destroy the weapon first.
He bent down.
Jarek, though unconscious, still gripped the sword with desperate strength. Aeren tugged once—nothing. So he grabbed Jarek's entire right arm with one hand and tore the sword free with the other.
The moment he touched it—The divine flame vanished.
"Oh? All that hope vanished the moment I touched this pathetic sword," Aeren muttered. The blade crumbled, turning to ash between his fingers without him exerting any effort. A divine weapon reduced to dust.
He finally glanced at his bleeding stump—his missing left arm.
"I'll die from blood loss soon… I should finish everything before that happens," he whispered to himself, accepting the truth calmly.
He turned. The last enemies still alive stood behind him. Two women.
Olivia—and Nil.
When Aeren's eyes met Nil's, he froze for a moment. Recognition sparked. And realisation followed.
Her face. Her aura. Her fear. Her planning.
Everything clicked into place.
Aeren finally understood how they knew him—how they recognised him—even the things he had never spoken aloud.
He saw the truth. His past self's plan. Nil's past-life knowledge. And why everyone here had tried so desperately to kill him.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Aeren's laughter exploded through the hall, echoing off shattered marble and broken bodies. He finally understood everything—the plan, the restraint, the reason behind every desperate attempt to kill him.
The Heart of Loneliness.
The cursed thing beating in his chest—the very reason he was reborn in a human body instead of materialising from thin air as he truly should have. If he ever removed that heart, only two outcomes existed:
One — the heart would return to its true owner.
Two — he would die. Truly die.
A mortal death… Something impossible for his past self.
If I still had my true body, he thought, none of you could even scratch me… not even with divine weapons. But this body—restrained—can die. How pathetic… and yet how amusing.
Aeren grinned widely, reveling in the revelation.
Do you think this is the end of me? No—my past self left far more plans than this. I can feel them. But even so… I won't die without giving something to this world… or taking something from it.
His eyes shifted back to the battlefield, cold and resolute.
He turned toward Jarek. Jarek would be the first to die—and then Nil, Olivia, and the rest would follow.
Aeren stopped laughing and stepped forward. But when he looked down—Jarek was gone.
Aeren's expression sharpened. His senses swept the hall in an instant. The population had increased. More people—more presences—more life signatures. And then he saw them.
Six figures knelt on the far side of the hall, gathered around Jarek's limp body. They were trying desperately to heal him. All they managed was stopping the blood flow from his arm; the divine wound in his abdomen was beyond their magic.
Jarek was still dying. But not fast enough. Aeren's smile returned… slow and dangerous.
Samarth had moved the moment Aeren's attention shifted toward Nil and Olivia. That brief distraction was enough. In that instant, he and the others managed to pull Jarek's unconscious body away and teleport him to safety.
Now, they surrounded Jarek, desperately trying to heal him. But it was useless.
His severed arm could not be restored. The wound in his abdomen refused all magic. Jarek remained unconscious, pale, and unmoving—his eyes still closed.
Samarth rose to his feet and turned toward Aeren.
Aeren stood across from him, drenched in blood. His severed arm bled through the makeshift cloth wrapped around his torso—imperfect, but enough to keep him standing. Aeren's posture was steady, his stare fixed entirely on Samarth.
A stare that carried a single message: "You're next."
Samarth's throat tightened, but he showed nothing. He stepped forward. Behind him, the two kings—Baltazar and Barlet—stood ready. Fear trembled inside them, but both held their weapons tightly, refusing to break. They could see clearly: Aeren was preparing to kill them all.
Seraphina lifted her spear, her grip firm despite the shake in her legs. Emily unsheathed her sword, stepping beside Samarth with fierce determination.
They had numbers. They had powerful weapons. They had trained warriors and two kings at their backs. By all logic, by all standards of the world—they should have had the advantage.
And yet—
Even together, even with everything they had—
None of them were sure they could win.
The hall filled with silence as both sides prepared:
Aeren, one-armed and bleeding—versus Samarth's entire force.
The true battle was about to begin.