Chapter Seven: The River That Never Dries
Ethan set foot upon the planet without announcement—
no gate, no signal, no trace—
save for a sudden distortion in the laws of energy.
From the very first step, the absorption began.
The air contracted.
The ground split.
Invisible currents veered off their paths, as if the planet itself were being pulled by its nerves.
It was not a violent absorption, but a cold, methodical one—
like a river being drained from its source without a sound.
High within the upper layers of the atmosphere, inside observation towers, officials, mages, and watchers stood in silence, observing from afar.
They did not shout.
They did not issue orders.
Only a heavy stillness remained as they watched battles crushed the way insects are crushed beneath a passerby's foot.
Ethan—known as the Crimson-Comet, Breaker of Crime—was walking.
Walking through heaps of corpses.
A sight he had grown accustomed to:
the stench of blood, decaying energy, eyes left open after losing their final question.
He did not stop.
He did not look.
Until he saw her.
The Lady of a Thousand Illusions' Fragrance.
She lay sprawled on the ground, surrounded by a thousand fighters. Their bodies formed a perfect circle around her—seals raised, swords of harmony poised for soul-fusion. She was crying. Screaming. Begging for a name that no longer held meaning.
Ethan did not care.
He passed her as one passes an old echo.
He had heard that wailing before—from thousands he had saved, who neither thanked him nor stayed.
But the words that left her mouth this time…
were not a plea.
"Will you do to me… what even the King of Destruction himself did not?"
The step halted.
Ethan's eyes widened slowly—not in shock, but in something deeper, something like a river's course snapping.
In the next instant, the fighters' heads no longer existed.
No explosion.
No splattered blood.
Only disappearance—
as though the world had recalculated and removed them from the equation.
He approached her.
Two fingers touched her forehead, his voice low yet cutting through the air:
"What do you know about the King of Destruction?"
She trembled.
"He… he attacked our planet," she said, choking on terror.
"Destroyed it. There was no equal to him."
Ethan recorded the words—not in memory, but in something deeper.
He turned to leave.
She followed him, stumbling, desperate.
"I… I know someone… someone who defeated the King of Destruction."
He froze.
This time, he turned slowly—lethally.
"Who?"
"The Lord of Elements… and the Hell Dragon. They fought together. He survived… but fell into the Abyss—"
She never finished.
Purple lightning tore through the sky and struck the ground.
Ethan absorbed it.
He smiled.
"A good amount."
He bent down, picked up a shard of a broken sword, pressed energy into it. The metal trembled—then he fired the lightning through it.
A bullet.
A distance of three days.
It struck the distant mage's shoulder.
Ethan knew it had not killed him.
He headed toward the Graveyard of Lords, positioned along the boundary between night and day, where laws collide and none prevail.
The girl followed in silence.
He lit a cigarette.
Stood amid ice storms.
Gradual absorption began—turning wind, spiritual fire, and cosmic pressure into raw energy.
Ice cyclones.
Toxic purple flame.
That was why it was called the Graveyard of Lords.
Those who entered did not leave.
He stepped inside.
Confidence vanished with the first step.
He screamed.
Real pain.
The laughter of the Alliance Lord echoed through the void.
He lost consciousness.
But his body did not stop.
Absorption turned violent.
His cells cracked like dying stars—
then regenerated—
then cracked again.
Ethan understood.
Regeneration was not the solution.
He converted the environment's energy into ki and forged new cells.
Five only.
That was enough.
Minutes later, he emerged from the storm—a ruined body, barely alive. He changed clothes and walked on.
The girl asked him, stunned.
He did not answer.
Space sealed shut.
A Lord-level seal: Delta.
He tried to break it.
Failed.
Chains appeared.
Not just any chains.
Volterra Chains.
Unbreakable.
Ethan smiled.
The smile that made the Alliance Lord crush the arm of his throne with his own hand.
Ethan absorbed everything.
The chains vanished.
The seal vanished.
The spirits, the intent, the entire trap evaporated.
But a magical strike pierced his defense.
He was hit.
He turned.
Id.
Smiling.
Behind him—a dragon, its body living venom.
It attacked.
Ethan could not respond.
The Lady of a Thousand Illusions' Fragrance grabbed the dragon.
She fell, wounded—poison devouring her.
Ethan froze.
He remembered the old man's words:
"If the mind does not dry… the river renews itself."
Thought collapsed into a single phrase:
"Third Form… Integration of the World of Abilities."
The aura exploded.
Pressure tore the space apart.
He screamed—not in pain, but in rage:
"WHY… didn't you tell me… who defeated the King of Destruction?"