A week had passed since the God of Death stormed the capital, leaving the heart of the Paladixtus Order in ruins. Unlike typical conquerors who would rally their troops to celebrate such a conquest and ignite the fires of war, Raiking found such pursuits beneath him. To him, true victory was as certain as destiny itself. Instead, he withdrew to the solitude of the barbarian outpost, seated in the grand hall's center.
He was accompanied by two constants: the desecrated altar on his right and the hollow form of Ezmelral on his left. Beneath them, a vast, glowing green array cast an eerie light throughout the chamber, connecting them in a flawless triangle. This ancient art was designed to extract the pure spiritual essence from the altar, weaving its golden particles back into Ezmelral's shattered vessel to mend her soul.
For seventy-two relentless hours, Raiking remained unmoving, rejecting rest or relief. Delay was not an option; the last miscalculation of his enemies' savagery had cost Arshara, his master, her life to protect him.
He thought he would be left alone with his remorse until the massive doors of the grand hall groaned under a sudden burden. The doors parted, revealing Primnear and Helzarn, a towering figure cloaked in shadows trailing between them.
"Demon King, forgive the intrusion, but a matter of grave urgency demands your attention," Helzarn announced.
"Indeed?" Raiking's eyes shifted to the newcomer. "You arrive sooner than expected, Giantess."
The figure stepped forward, shedding her hood to reveal the stern visage of Dia'Tia. "I have fulfilled my promise. Now, I expect you to fulfill yours."
"It's a shame I cannot witness the sovereign's despair when he discovers yet another of his vanguard commanders has abandoned his crown," Raiking remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Rest assured, Dia'Tia. The truth you seek shall be unveiled."
In an instant, Raiking's ethereal spirit detached from his physical form, leaving his body to sustain the intricate array. With a swift motion, he crafted a barrier around the hall—an impenetrable shield that no cultivator below the Divine Realm could breach.
Without warning, he appeared beside Dia'Tia, his eyes locking onto his generals. "Ensure the barrier remains intact."
"With our lives, Demon King!"
Before their promise could linger in the air, he placed a firm hand on Dia'Tia's shoulder, warping reality and whisking them away from the hall.
They found themselves at the entrance of an ancient cavern, a location so secret that only the highest warlords knew of its existence. Here lay the hidden origins of their world.
"The beginning of everything lies within these walls," Raiking declared, stepping into the shadowy depths.
Dia'Tia followed without hesitation. As they crossed the threshold, an overwhelming sense of dread seeped into her soul. Yet, as they ventured deeper, the oppressive atmosphere shifted to something unexpectedly mundane. The path before them was just a typical underground tunnel, with damp, uneven stone and murky water dripping from above. Blind rodents darted into crevices to escape the sound of their heavy footsteps. The spiritual energy was so depleted that the cave felt devoid of life.
"Was that crushing presence at the entrance just a trick?" she murmured.
"It was no trick," Raiking replied. "The barrier is meant to annihilate any lineage unworthy of barbarian blood. But the mark on your skin overrides the ancient curse."
Dia'Tia glanced at her palm, tracing the jagged scar left by the altar's backlash. Since their fateful meeting in the cathedral, the mark had haunted her thoughts. When she questioned Raiking about its significance, he didn't refute Klarineht's claims. He merely stated that the priestess was blind to the larger scheme, and that within this abyss lay a truth capable of upending the beliefs of every soul under the heavens.
"We've arrived," Raiking declared, his voice slicing through the darkness as the narrow tunnel burst open into a realm of dazzling, ethereal light.
Dia'Tia stepped cautiously into the chamber, her eyes widening as they traced the intricate patterns etched into the stone. "This artistry... it mirrors the sacred murals of the cathedral."
"It should. They were crafted by the same hand."
"Who created them?"
"The Goddess of Creation."
Dia'Tia froze, her eyes locking onto the Demon King. "Is it possible that such a divinity truly exists?"
Her skepticism was understandable. Among the mortal races, humanity alone clung to the notion of a supreme deity. In the East, especially among the elves, divinity was intertwined with nature—the belief that all souls were born from and returned to the great wild.
"She's no myth," Raiking assured her, his voice resonating in the luminous expanse. "I've stood before her."
Dia'Tia found herself caught between disbelief and wonder. Anyone else claiming to have met a creator would be dismissed as insane or, in their language, a heretic. Yet, Raiking had never lied to her. More compelling was the fact that his very existence defied the known laws of reality; his cultivation realm was a legendary state that her people considered mere fantasy.
She recalled the terrifying scene in the sanctuary when he had maimed Elinea. Her lieutenant was no feeble opponent; she was a Peak Ascended cultivator, teetering on the brink of immortality. Yet Raiking had dismantled her with the ease of snapping a twig. If he wielded such formidable magic, the tales of him vanquishing the four supreme generals in a single night suddenly seemed plausible.
He was an anomaly. If a Goddess truly governed the threads of time and had granted him his powers, his unimaginable strength finally made sense. Determined not to jump to conclusions, she fortified her resolve and prepared to listen.
"What do these cosmic illustrations mean?" she inquired, gesturing at the intricate carvings etched deep into the ancient walls around them.
"If a supreme being exists, why do mortals endure suffering?" Raiking pondered, his voice steady yet contemplative. "It is a question every parent grapples with. Are we not the offspring of the creator? If so, what kind of parent would allow their child to endure such anguish?"
"I can't account for the choices of a supreme being, but in our culture, hardships are the crucible that shapes us," Dia'Tia replied with conviction. "A parent should love and nurture their child, certainly, but overprotection is detrimental. The world is unforgiving, and no cub can remain forever under the lion's protection."
"The mindset of your people resonates with our scholars' philosophies. Which leads to another question: if we are born to suffer, what purpose does it serve?"
"When a cultivator nears the Immortal stage, they must confront a heavenly tribulation," Dia'Tia explained, her gaze fixed on the wall. "Only by weathering the fury of lightning can one earn the reward for their endurance."
"Indeed. Every sharp blade needs a whetstone. This brings us to the first illustration."
He indicated a carving of a man and woman, their robust physiques marking them as members of the barbarian race. They were depicted emerging from a cave entrance that eerily resembled the one they had just passed through, overlooking the vast northern expanse. As the mural unfolded, they ventured forth, multiplying until they formed a massive legion. Then came the unforgettable moment for every race on the planet: the First Invasion.
"Within the stone tablet given to the human clan," Raiking began, "there is mention of a great evil destined to roam the lands. An unpardonable abomination that seeks no peace, feels no remorse, and delights only in the suffering of others."
"I know this history all too well," Dia'Tia stated. "When every race was scrambling for answers, it was only the human churches that offered guidance. They were the ones who revealed the secrets of cultivation to us."
"And now that you understand all this... doesn't the timing strike you as suspicious?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Consider the grand tapestry, Giantess. Which race has truly risen above all others?"
Dia'Tia surveyed the geopolitical landscape with the sharp eye of a seasoned commander. The strategic truth was undeniable: the humans had secured dominance. Their territory lay at the continent's core, strategically nestled between the Dwarven Kingdom to the south, the Beast empires to the west, and the Elden Forest dwellers to the east. This central position not only gave them control over global trade but also their proximity to the harsh northern wastes solidified their role as the sacred barrier against barbarian invasions. By positioning themselves as the world's protectors, they ensured that resources, wealth, and devotion flowed continuously into their lands. Moreover, as the originators of cultivation, their ancestral wisdom eclipsed that of all others.
The evidence was overwhelming, leaving no room for doubt. The verdict was etched clearly in the annals of history. "The human race."
"Then contemplate this truth," Raiking whispered, the cosmic light casting an eerie halo around his form. "The Goddess of Creation, much like a mortal mother, has her favorite child. To her, humanity is the sacred blade of this universe—while all other races were crafted merely to serve as the sharpening stone."