Chapter 105
Yannis is dead.
He died lightly, no different from those gods who fled in panic.
The King's Sword charged forward relentlessly, piercing through Him across all timelines, including the remnant soul protected by the contract granted by the world.
His consciousness faded quickly. He screamed for help from the world's consciousness, saying it was impossible. How could that sword possibly pierce the protection of the contract granted by the rules?
Veris stood before the collapsed Sky Palace, slowly returning the King's Sword to an equally ordinary scabbard.
With a sound as the sword touched its scabbard, the entire secret realm began to slowly dissipate, everything like bubbles, starting from the white clouds on the horizon, little by little, tearing away the curtain of time to reveal its original appearance.
King Rinister, the young man riding a giant dragon soaring through the sky, suddenly sensed something. He stared intently in a certain direction, saying nothing.
Until the sky suddenly burst open with a burst of rosy light, spreading across the entire sky in the blink of an eye, the attendants around him exclaimed in surprise, but the young King Linister remained calm. He stood on the back of the dragon, the strong wind in the sky blowing his battle robes.
The bloody rain that had lasted for more than a month has finally come to an end.
As if sensing something, the humans stared blankly up at the distant sky.
When a group is completely wiped out, no matter what form it takes to revive, it can never return to the carefree days of the past.
The dim blue flames illuminated the entire Fisherman's Tomb.
Veris stood on the ancient altar, his back to the Seven Guardians.
The Seven Protectors immediately looked at his waist—the flute was indeed gone.
But Veris's hands were empty; the King's Sword he had seen was nowhere to be found.
That era really existed, right?
A chill ran down his spine.
For more than a month during that era, the Seventh Protector lived in a daze. His strength was no match for the young king's followers, and he was soon kicked out of the entourage, leaving him to wander aimlessly in that era.
Back then, even demons could roam freely across the continent instead of being trapped in the Demon King's Forest.
The seasons in the Demon Forest are not distinct, and the climate is only more severe in different areas.
Sandstorms, snowstorms, torrential rains, and droughts—such terrible environments were almost ubiquitous in that era.
Humans are having a hard time, and the other races aren't doing much better.
Veris turned around, and the Seventh Guardian instantly came to his senses. He had seen the blood rain falling from the sky and the astrologers' speculations on the ground. He also knew that the rain mixed with blood and flesh was most likely Veris's doing.
What lives in the sky? The Seventh Protector felt terrified just thinking about it. A chill crept up his spine. He had once witnessed two gods fighting in the wild. The surrounding mountains turned into ravines in the blink of an eye. They tore at each other and then fled to another place. A short while later, flames blazed up in the direction of that place.
The people nearby seemed unfazed.
After the deity had completely departed, those who had been pressed to the ground by the terrifying pressure and unable to rise for a long time slowly stretched their limbs, pulled themselves out of the yellow earth, dusted themselves off, and continued on their journey.
“You saw it.” Veris looked at him.
The Seventh Protector stammered, "Yes, Your Holiness."
Veris smiled: "There should be no gods in the world. No, the original gods are the source of all evil."
The Seventh Protector dared not speak, for he remembered that the Orlando Church worshipped the God of Love.
Veris knew what he was thinking, but he didn't respond. He glanced at the now-quiet Fisherman's Tomb and didn't see the young men.
“You survived, but the other demons might not,” Veris said softly.
The Seven Protectors raised their heads, paused for a moment, and then suddenly realized something... Could it be that there are other mysterious altars like the Fisherman's Tomb in the other Protector areas?
The altar was hidden very well; if his father hadn't told him, he probably would never have discovered it.
Veris didn't continue, but simply nodded: "Give my regards to your father."
The Seventh Protector paused, then whispered, "He will be very happy."
The young man chuckled, and the next second, a pale golden light shone. When the Seven Protectors looked up again, Veris was no longer in the Fisherman's Tomb.
He stood there for a long time before stiffly turning around, feeling cold all over. The temperature inside the Fisherman's Tomb was getting lower and lower, and he wanted to go back to his hut to warm himself by the fire.
He should get some more sleep. He hadn't closed his eyes for over a month, and whenever he closed them, he felt like some deity would suddenly throw something to the ground, or strike something from the sky.
He felt that if he died in the secret realm, then he would truly be dead.
Was that a secret realm... or did he travel through time and space?
Thinking of this, the Seventh Protector felt as if he had been electrocuted. He returned to his hut in a daze, sat on the bed for a while, then stood up and went to the basement of the hut.
There were many odds and ends inside, as well as his father's collection of books.
He searched for a long time before finally finding a tattered booklet in the corner, which contained legends from the old days.
Sitting back down by the fireplace, the Seventh Protector, suppressing the cold, couldn't help but move closer to the fire and open the booklet.
Then, to his dismay, he discovered that he couldn't understand the writing at all; it wasn't the standard script used today.
All I could do was stare at the blurry pictures in the booklet and rack my brains to guess what they meant.
The booklet was very thin, and they quickly flipped to the last few pages, but the Seven Protectors still found nothing.
He turned to the last page, feeling somewhat disappointed, but that disappointment abruptly ended when he saw the last page.
It wasn't that he saw some incredible picture, but rather... he saw his father's handwriting.
"Hello, Mr. Veris."
-
The Papacy welcomed its master back after a long absence. The Pope's return did not alarm many people; only the archbishops still in the Papacy and Sylvain received the news.
He immediately left the study and hurried to Veris's room.
Veris had just finished washing up and was standing in front of his display shelf, wearing a long robe, looking up at the items on display.
When Sylvain came in, he didn't turn his head.
“I received a signal that Yannis had died.”
Sylvain strode forward, his steps somewhat hurried, and soon he reached Veris's side, staring intently at him.
Veris grunted in agreement. "I killed Him."
After speaking, he looked away from the display shelf, turned his head, and landed on Sylvain. In those heterochromatic eyes, there was still the familiar gentleness that Sylvain knew.
It was as calm as a silent lakeside.
Sylvain asked in a low voice, "What happened... I've discovered that history has changed."
“Really? It seems my guess was correct,” Veris said with a smile.
Seeing that Sylvain was still frowning, he smiled even more sincerely: "Don't worry, I'm fine. I underestimated Mikanoran and almost forgot the characteristics of the god of time."
Time is disordered, fate is reversed—this is the reversed world that Yannis speaks of.
In Veris's reversed fate, there is a helpless young king from an era even earlier than his own.
Even so, the young king was still destined for greatness; what did not kill him was only the lowly soil beneath his monument.
Veris gave a brief account of the young king's story. Sylvain pursed his lips and waited for Veris to finish before whispering, "Yes, a new dynasty was added to history, although it only lasted for a little over a hundred years."
The kingdom of Lortheran still exists, and not much has changed since then; the main changes are in the historical records.
However, some changes cannot be captured immediately; only as time passes can we see a glimpse of them.
Veris was not surprised by this; what concerned him more was something else—if the reversal of the world affected the present world, then according to the gods' concept of reversing the world, he could probably deduce who Hill was in.
But... is Hill's existence still complete? Or has his consciousness merged with that of others?
He couldn't quite figure it out, but he was certain that Hill, who had once been part of the human camp, was most likely now among the demons. He went through all the demons he knew in his mind, but he still couldn't make up his mind.
Sylvain looked at his furrowed brow, silently reached out and took his wrist, and said, "Hill once parasitized Lamb."
Veris paused.
"Therefore, according to the reverse rules of the original gods, he should be in Vesper."
The hero is the counterpart to the demon king.
There was once a popular game in the royal capital involving cards engraved with symbols of different factions. Under certain conditions, the cards could switch factions or reverse their appearance, using opposite attributes: offensive cards could become defensive, and defensive cards could become offensive.
However, the reversal of faction cards can only occur on a single card face. Within that card face, the faction can be reversed multiple times, offering considerable freedom.
Veris took a slight breath and shook his head: "No, I still feel something's not right. Hill can be in Vesper, but... he can also appear in other demons."
"What exactly is his medium?"
"Then let's go check out the Demon Realm again."
Sylvain grasped his hand, the warmth of which enveloped his skin, his eyes earnest: "Go do what you want to do."
Veris was silent for a moment before shaking his head: "No rush. I'll stay at the Papacy for a while. We haven't seen each other in a long time."
The flow of time inside the secret realm is the same as that outside.
The god who controls death can only deduce what Veris is doing by recording the daily deaths of those primordial deities.
Having not engaged in such a massacre for a long time, Veris also needs a period of rest.
The Papacy is much busier than in previous years, and in light of these changes, Veris has decided to extend the term of office for the archbishops.
The royal palace has its own laws, and the Papacy is providing manpower and resources, but they can't contribute any money.
Lortheran's sweeping reforms definitely cost money. Unable to gain anything from Sylvain, he turned to appease the dragons. The dragons, pleased, would give Lortheran the gems that their race had accumulated over tens of thousands of years every now and then.
Lor'theran didn't want jewels; he wanted gold and silver. Dragons love jewels, and they were even happier to hear that Lor'theran only wanted gold and silver.
News of Veris's return did not reach the palace.
After briefly discussing some things with Sylvain, Veris went straight to sleep.
He had been cutting down gods for over a month, and now the thought of those strange and grotesque gods makes him feel unlucky.
After killing Yannis, he waited until the secret realm was about to disappear before killing the twin gods, Mikanoran.
Practice makes perfect, and the third time was even better. Before the Twin Gods could even kneel and beg for mercy, they were hacked into a bloody mist.
Veris believed that the reason these gods could roam for so long was because he hadn't killed them all each time. So when he realized that the secret realm was a reversed world, he sensed the presence of the King's Sword.
The only way for these idiots to die was found.
Veris slept for several days after that sleep.
During this time, he always felt something nudging around him. He opened his eyes groggily and met a pair of deep, dark green eyes, and then he fell asleep again.
...As expected of Sylvain, it's not surprising at all.
After lying in bed for several days, Veris finally made a full recovery on the fifth day.
He has to be resurrected; it seems Sylvain's consciousness has been taken over by the brat.
He still doesn't like to talk, his face is full of unhappiness, and his memory is acting up again.
He opened his eyes and saw Sylvain kneeling beside his bed, his gaze deep: "Father, have you finally agreed to come to the Papacy?"
Veris: "..."
What kind of plot is this?
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Author's Note: Sylvain: I want to hate you o(╥﹏╥)o
-I took the Mandarin test today, and when I got back I slept soundly until after six o'clock.
I had three thoughts after the exam:
Am I human?
Have I ever seen a person speak?
I've been tricked by Mandarin again!!
It's just World War IV, right? [Sunglasses]... [Crying]
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