Chapter 340: River of Blood, Mountain of Screams (3)

Keter dived from a seemingly bottomless cliff. A Transcendental might survive such a fall, but Keter’s body was not that of one. This was the mind world; here, he was no different from an ordinary human.

One might wonder if dying mattered in the mind world, but it did. People felt the wind, gravity, and pain here even more vividly than in reality. Mind and body were one—if the mind collapsed, the body died; if the body collapsed, the mind died as well.

Keter, you probably think you’ll survive even if you fall. Heh... heh...

The height from which Keter jumped was so great that he remained airborne for a full five minutes before finally crashing into the ground.

Thud!!!!

To maximize the agony of the impact, Paratul had formed the ground from basalt. Because basalt has a rough surface and fractures into sharp edges upon impact, the pain was multiplied.

“You’ve saved me time with your recklessness.”

Paratul teleported to the ground and looked at the meat pancake that had once been Keter. He was utterly mangled and twisted. He had suffered injuries fatal enough to kill him dozens of times over. His flesh was tattered beyond recognition, so his mind, too, should have been shattered. In the millions he had observed over millennia, this was always true. However...

“Whew, that was a good stretch.”

The meat pancake began getting up—Keter, who had been bent in grotesque ways and been shredded, was standing up. By the time he stood fully upright, he had returned to normal. All this had happened in mere moments.

Keter cracked his neck and stared up at the sky where Paratul was.

“You just skimmed through my life, right? The fear and pain from falling thousands of meters? I’ve experienced worse in Liqueur.”

“Recovering your body within a mind world. You shouldn’t have learned such a thing even in a previous life.”

“This is my mind world. So it’s only natural that I can do whatever I want. For example...”

With a snap of his fingers, a refined middle-aged man appeared before him, dressed in archaic, elegant attire. Keter immediately threw a punch, but the man caught Keter’s fist.

“...I see. Your mental strength far surpasses human limits. Then again, if you are to be my vessel, that much is only fitting.”

The figure Keter had summoned was Paratul in human form.

“But how could the imagination of a mere human compare to that of a god?”

Then, Keter’s fist suddenly transformed into flowers. As the stems crept up his arm, he turned his arm into flames and burned them away.

“Oh, a flame punch. Always wanted to try that.”

Whoosh!

Keter’s hands ignited as he unleashed torrents of fire. These were no ordinary flames—they coiled around Paratul like a dragon.

“You dare show me something like that and call it a dragon?”

With a scoff, Paratul stomped the ground. A distant mountain transformed into a dragon and charged.

Roar!!!

It was a construct of the mind world, yet it was not false. It possessed a substance formed from the essence of dragons that had truly existed. At the Dragon’s Fear, Keter stiffened. The dragon of stone and forest slammed into him.

“If it’s mountains you want, I know one too.”

From the ground beneath Keter rose a massive stone hand. It was Malfite, the guardian of the Terra Ring. Malfite seized the stone dragon’s jaws and tore them apart. Thousands of rocks and trees rained from the sky.

Paratul recognized the guardian and shook his head.

“The Guardian of the Terra Ring? You think that is enough to stop a dragon?”

The crumbling dragon split into another, which began tearing into Malfite.

“You think you’re the only one who can make multiple?”

At Keter’s gesture, more Malfites erupted from the ground. The scene became utter chaos. Watching from above, Paratul felt a flicker of admiration.

Even if Keter carries the blood of many races, his root is human... Yet this mental strength surpasses that.

In the mind world, anything was possible, but not without cost. It was like counting numbers in one’s head. Counting in order from one to ten was simple, but what if there were multiple sequences? And each followed different rules?

Exerting power in the mind world worked the same way. The stronger, larger, and more complex a creation, the exponentially greater the mental load required to sustain it.

He is bearing the mental load of ten thousand humans alone.

An average Master possessed the mental strength of about one hundred people. Even Transcendentals averaged around a thousand, but Keter far surpassed that.

“Even so... you are nothing more than a mongrel—a dish prepared for me.”

Floating in the air, Paratul raised a finger, as if declaring the game over.

Rumble....!!!!

The world shook, not just metaphorically. Gravity inverted, and the ground swayed violently. Even though Keter couldn’t see the sky, he could sense that something that had been a mere point in the sky was growing larger.

“...This bastard’s insane.”

The approaching point was the moon. Paratul had hurled an entire celestial body toward the world.

Paratul grinned. “Go ahead. Make hundreds, thousands more guardians.”

Numbers were meaningless. Once the moon struck, the world itself would end. Keter should have felt despair, crushed by the growing mass and pressure in the sky. That was Paratul’s intent.

But after a moment of thought, Keter slowly raised both hands toward the heavens.

“If you’re going to drop the moon...”

A ripple ran through the air. Paratul looked where Keter pointed in disbelief, and saw the sun shining there.

No... he wouldn’t.

Even dragons would not attempt to drop the sun. The moon and planet were rocky bodies, but the sun was a gaseous star. Moving it required power billions upon billions of times greater. Even a divine being wouldn’t attempt such a thing.

But Keter did not know that. He simply believed it was possible. And because he believed, he could move it.

“I am the sun!”

As the sun began inching closer, Paratul’s expression twisted.

* * *

A heavy air of impending war hung over Sefira’s grand conference hall. The silence stretched on.

“What is Lord Keter’s condition?”

General Pekda’s final question still lingered unanswered. Hissop hesitated for a long time. As his hesitation dragged on, the tension only grew thicker. A dark premonition began to spread through the hall, that Keter might already be dead. Otherwise, Hissop would not be struggling this long to respond.

“Ahem... Keter is...”

Panir rose from his seat in Hissop’s place. He too had just come from checking on Keter. Only the patriarch and the elders knew Keter’s exact condition, and Panir intended to soften the truth by saying Keter had entered a period of rest.

However, Hissop cut him off. “Keter is fighting.”

“...?”

Murmurs rippled across the hall. The vassals could not understand. They exchanged glances, trying to interpret them, but failed.

“Do you mean that Lord Keter has recovered and is fighting the enemy?”

“No. Keter lies in the recovery room.”

That much they already knew. Yet Hissop said he was fighting, which made no sense.

“Keter has fallen into a coma. He is physically unharmed, but he cannot awaken due to a mental condition.”

“Mmm...”

“A coma... serious indeed.”

Even those without medical knowledge understood what that meant. It was an illness, yet not an illness. There was no treatment. Though technically alive, a person in such a state was hardly different from the dead.

Despite their concern, Hissop continued, “There is no need to sink into gloom. Keter is alive, and I told you he is fighting to awaken.”

His words were not merely meant to calm them. He truly felt it. Though he did not know the details, Keter was fighting, even at this very moment.

“So we need not discuss Keter any further. He will awaken someday and appear as he always has. We need only do what we must.”

Hissop turned his gaze back to Pekda.

“Does that answer your question, General Pekda?”

“Yes.”

As Pekda resumed his seat, a deeply satisfied smile crossed his face.

From that point on, the hall filled with energy and fervor as endless strategic debates began. They had to consider every possibility: what strategies to use against the two southern Masters of Swordsmanship, what tactics the enemy might employ, and even the worst-case scenarios.

It was not something that could be concluded in a single day. Two days passed, then three, then four. During that time, no one left their seats. Even bathing felt wasteful, and meals were reduced to bread and water. The hall filled with the smell of sweat, yet no one cared. All were absorbed in finding a strategy that would lead them to victory.

Then Hissop spoke the truth everyone knew but none dared say.

“The absence of a Prime is significant.”

He was right. The Sefira family had no seven-star Prime. Thanks to Keter’s training, their Masters and Grandmasters had increased, but they still lacked a Prime-level warrior aside from Keter himself.

In contrast, the opposing families possessed two Primes. And those were only the ones known—there could be more. The only reason strategy still mattered was the alliance of external forces.

The airships and Titans of the Baen Kingdom functioned as strategic weapons comparable to a seven-star Prime. The Samael Empire’s Special Task Force supplied intelligence and materials that strengthened their foundations. In addition, there was a Prime among the elite troops of Kundeline from the Adeus Kingdom. Because of them, Sefira could still fight even without Keter. Otherwise, this would have been a dire crisis.

At that moment, one vassal cautiously raised a hand.

“Have there been any updates regarding Lord Besil and Sir Gasilius, who entered seclusion for training?”

The two had entered secluded training to break through the limits of Zodiac Archery, Sefira’s signature skill. It had already been six months. That wasn’t a short amount of time, yet it was nowhere near enough time to guarantee enlightenment. Even fifty years of seclusion did not ensure one would become a Prime. No one knew whether they could achieve it in only six months.

Hissop shook his head.

“Their doors remain manned, but there has been no word. We must proceed as though the former patriarch and Sir Gasilius will not join the battle.”

“Then we must plan under the assumption we have no Prime.”

Even as the meeting proceeded, the two Masters of Swordsmanship were tightening their encirclement. They were now only a day’s ride away. War could erupt at any moment; there was no more time for planning.

“Then we will divide the army and form our battle lines based on General Pekda’s proposed strategy.”

The moment Hissop raised the gavel...

Thud!

The doors flew open, and Navakin rushed in, gasping for breath. The vassals’ expressions darkened, and Hissop felt the same. Navakin was Sefira’s fastest messenger; when urgent news arrived, he delivered it. But lately, he had brought nothing but bad news.

What is it this time?

Has the invasion begun?

The vassals watched him with tension and dread. Hissop drew a breath.

“Sir Navakin. You have urgent news?”

“

Huff...

yes. An urgent report!”

“Very well. Speak.”

Hissop had already prepared himself to hear of an enemy assault. Instead...

“T-the high elder has arrived!”

The hall erupted in murmurs.

“High elder?”

“Since when did Sefira have such a title?”

“I was born and raised here and have never heard of it.”

Most did not know, but some did.

Panir’s eyes widened as he shouted, “A high elder? Don’t tell me... Lord Endymion has appeared?!”

He had only heard the name in stories and never seen him before. He dismissed it as legend in Sefira’s folktales. But then...

“Greetings.”

...a figure suddenly appeared behind Navakin. The vassals had been watching him the entire time, yet none sensed the stranger’s arrival.

“

Gasp?!

”

“When did he...?!”

The figure was not human. His pointed ears revealed his race—an elf, an ancient being. He was a guardian of Sefira known only to a rare few. He had appeared in the conference hall before Sefira’s assembled leaders.