The swordsman emerged onto an ashen plain, where twisted trees clawed at the sky like frozen specters. The air was heavy, stagnant.
The young man stood there, waiting. His voice was tight with nervous energy.
"What about the girl? Is she alright?"
The swordsman met his gaze, his eyes empty. Reality struck him like a blade to the gut.
"She… did not make it… I'm sorry."
Time seemed to freeze. The young man's face contorted, a storm of emotions crashing within him—anger, regret, overwhelming sorrow. He blamed himself. If he had been stronger, if he hadn't left her behind… Maybe she wouldn't be—
No. No, she couldn't be gone.
His voice trembled.
"W-we have to go back… She can't be dead… She just can't…"
The swordsman held his gaze, his expression unreadable.
"We both know it's impossible. Even if we could, it would be useless."
A pause.
"I saw her dead with my own eyes."
The young man's fury erupted, his voice raw.
"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE SAVED HER!"
The swordsman's reply was quiet, yet it cut deeper than any blade.
"I… I could not."
The young man clutched his head, his breath ragged. Around him, the desolate land mirrored the hollowness within. His fingers tightened around the fabric of her jacket—the only piece of her he had left.
Then, a fire ignited in his eyes. A resolve so fierce, it burned through the despair.
He screamed, his voice tearing through the wasteland.
"I WILL BREAK YOU, WHATEVER THE COST!"
He wasn't shouting at the swordsman.
He was shouting at the world itself.
Silence settled between them. Neither spoke.
Even through the swordsman's cold, calculated movements, a hint of guilt lingered in his eyes.
The rare creatures they encountered stood no chance. The young man's fury left only slabs of meat sizzling over the fire, their forms unrecognizable from what they once were.
The night was cold. Alone by the dying embers of last night's fire, the young man could not sleep. The weight of what he had lost pressed into his soul like a wound that refused to close.
Then, the swordsman felt it.
The two worlds would soon overlap. It was near—two days.
He prepared the young man as best he could, explaining the movements, the way to infuse energy into the strike. It had to be precise. He would have to channel his energy through both his own sword and the young man's.
The young man could not perform the technique alone.
To slice through dimensions, one needed the power of a god.
A power the swordsman possessed—though he withheld that truth from his apprentice.
The hands of time moved relentlessly toward their fate.
And then, the day came.
Reality felt thinner, like a fragile veil waiting to be torn apart.
The young man took a breath—real air. For the first time since arriving in this forsaken place, he tasted an air that did not wish to kill him.
Both swords were drawn to their highest point, glimmering with something otherworldly at their tips.
Then, they struck.
A tear.
A way out.
But before they could step through, a deep, rumbling sound shook the earth.
It did not come from the tear in space-time.
It came from something else.
The Titan.
The Devourer's towering figure loomed in the distance, though its arm was still missing, its presence was suffocating.
The swordsman's voice was urgent.
"Get in! We have our escape!"
But his words did not reach his apprentice.
The young man launched himself toward the monster, riding his sword through the air, his eyes burning with rage.
He was going straight for the core.
The swordsman cursed under his breath.
"Shit."
Then, he followed.
This irrational decision—so unlike him.
Perhaps it was guilt.
Perhaps it was something else entirely.
The young man's attack was easily blocked, his blade deflected like a mere nuisance.
The swordsman exhaled sharply. He knew now—he could not afford to hold back.
The Embers of Infinity ignited.
The world turned orange.
But this time, something was different.
It was stronger. Overwhelming. Almost too much.
The rare trees and bushes surrounding them instantly vaporized. The ground itself burned.
The young man could now see it—his master's movements weren't simple strikes backed by immense power.
They were tens of thousands of strikes compressed into what appeared to be a single motion.
The fire that engulfed him wasn't just aura. It was air friction, born from the sheer speed of his attacks.
Even with his mastery of aura, he could not shield himself from the aftereffects of this technique.
Every strike chipped away at the Devourer's massive form.
But they also chipped away at him.
To the Titan, the young man was a fly.
But the swordsman—he was a swarm. A force so relentless, so fast, that the Titan could not touch him.
And yet, despite this display of power, the young man felt weak.
He watched as his master burned away his own life.
And once again—he could do nothing.
The fight was not on the swordsman's side.
Blood poured from his wounds. His hair was ablaze. His skin charred.
It was clear now.
He would not leave this battle alive.
The young man stood frozen, his eyes empty.
He was about to lose something he cared for—again.
The swordsman appeared beside him.
His body—barren.
His sword—chipped and broken.
Half of his face—charred to the bone.
Yet still, he stood tall.
He looked at the young man, eyes hollow, and whispered in a dying breath—his final words.
"I am sorry..."
Then, he fell into the young man's arms.
A warmth enveloped him.
It grew—hotter and hotter.
But it was not painful.
An immense power surged through his mind, wrestling for control.
The young man clutched his head, his breath ragged.
His master's body slipped from his grasp, collapsing to the ground.
The swordsman had transferred his power to his disciple.
The power of a dead god…
The battle that followed was greater than anything before.
The young man had acquired the power of a dead god.
Yet, unlike the Sun of Rot, he did not succumb to it.
A faint image flickered behind him—fleeting, broken.
The last, shattered echo of the girl's soul.
Then—she was gone.
The young man charged at the Devourer.
He launched his sword, riding it with blazing speed.
Crystalline spikes erupted from the titan's body, desperate to protect its core.
But it was no use.
The young man had reached realms beyond mortal speed.
His sword crashed into the core of the Devourer.
Blow after blow—a torrent of attacks—yet the core stood unbroken.
The young man knew what he had to do.
He placed his hand on the crystal.
Energy surged through his body.
It was too strong.
So strong that his body and mind began to decay—
He was burning away at his own life just to remain standing.
The core crumbled into dust.
The Devourer let out a piercing scream.
And then—silence.
The young man stood.
The titan's crumbling body lay beneath his feet. The air was still. The sky—silent.
His once blond hair had turned a lifeless gray, the glimmer in his eyes faded into something unreadable. His blade lay broken beside him, but it did not matter. He did not need it anymore.
He had become something greater than the Devourer. Something greater than gods.
A name formed in the depths of the universe, one that would echo beyond the heavens—The Knight of the Dying Sun.
But at what cost?
He stood alone.
The power within him still pulsed, threatening to consume what little remained of his being. The battle had changed him—not just in strength, but in essence. He no longer felt hunger, nor exhaustion. He felt nothing at all.
With his bare hand, he slashed through the thin veil of reality. The fabric of existence unraveled before him, revealing the door—the gateway his master had sought for so long.
The wind howled through the rift, yet there was no one left to hear it.
No voice to praise his victory. No hand to pull him forward. No soul to mourn what he had lost.
He stepped toward the threshold. The light of the dying sun stretched his shadow, long and thin, across the ashen ground.
For the first time, he hesitated.
His master should have been here. The girl should have been here. He had reached the end of a battle they had all fought together, yet he alone remained to see it.
He clenched his fists. There was no turning back.
And so, he walked through the veil, into the unknown—alone.