Chapter 294

“If the Elves have gods, what do they look like? Do they resemble us? Or do we resemble them?”

Jerolen’s words echoed ominously through the banquet hall. Leia bowed her head without a word. She was the closest to the Elven Temple of the Gods in this era and had actually conversed directly with the Goddess.

Yet, even she had never faced the true form of a god. How is the form of a god depicted? In ancient paintings, mosaics, tapestries, or stained glass. They were often portrayed as the most perfect form of an Elf.

Of course, it had to be that way. The gods bestowed their form upon their most beloved creations. That’s what was believed.

“If there were immortals who looked like us… we would have willingly submitted to them, even if it meant turning a blind eye to the truth. If… such beings loved us, we would have gladly burned our souls for them.”

Jerolen slowly closed his eyes and drank with trembling hands. The scene from that day still vividly glowed behind his eyelids.

The light was purple.

* * *

The World Tree is the gateway connecting the Elven Temple of the Gods and the Material World, a proof of the gods that does not exist for other civilized races. Unlike the lower races who build churches and cathedrals, begging for their gods’ love.

Behold. This giant tree stretching beyond the horizon is proof that our gods love us. The Elves proudly proclaimed.

But why didn’t the gods of other races bestow such a gift? Why was there no price for their miracles?

Was it truly because of the superiority of the Elven gods?

“What… what is this…!”

Jerolen’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide. His grip on the spear weakened, making it hard to maintain his stance.

The world beyond the gateway. The distant sky, the writhing earth, and the mist-covered horizon—souls were scattering everywhere.

The dimension of the gods was closer to concept than form. In that brief moment, losing focus from the shock, his body slowly crumbled into dust.

“Snap out of it!”

Malerun gritted his teeth and steadied the Beastman. The crumbling bodies of Guimerin and Jerolen regained their forms. Malerun, unable to hide his disgust, jerked his chin toward the sky beyond.

“Can we call that a god? Dare we call that being our salvation, our light, our creator? That’s a demon!”

In the direction he pointed, some forms were floating. The souls of Elves who had sacrificed themselves or died calling the name of the gods swirled. Jerolen whispered unknowingly. He knew such a sight… such a being.

“A… demon…”

Even among Elves, ‘fallen’ beings are not uncommon. The corruption of demons knows no racial bounds. For Elves, whose gods are clear, the temptation of demons is lethally hard to ignore.

Such beings often sacrificed their kin or offered themselves as burnt offerings. Their souls were sucked into the demons they worshipped, and the demons left behind power and relics as proof of their existence.

Such behavior… is strikingly similar, isn’t it?

“Yes. Our ancestors, their ancestors, and their kin. All must have entered that greasy belly! Isn’t it grand? To devour an entire race, they took away the very will to resist! Those parasites mimicked the form of gods!”

What is the most efficient way to corrupt a stubborn and prideful race? Perhaps, to disguise oneself as a god. Show mercy, feign love, whisper one’s name… make them worship you.

Was that enough? Did it mean that was enough? Now that their purpose was served, they would burn the entire race, consuming every last soul to stockpile their power?

Jerolen glared at the approaching being with burning eyes. The devourer of souls. He knew that being, but he could no longer call it by the name it had given him.

[My children have returned!]

It was a soft chorus, a sweet voice. Piercing through the gaps of the soul, stealing focus… Just hearing it made one want to kneel and beg for mercy.

How absurd. The gateway to the gods could be opened so easily, and anyone who wished could see the form of the gods. If even one Elf in their long history had climbed to the top of the World Tree and opened the gateway… then.

“Why didn’t you stop us?”

Jerolen spat out blood as he spoke. Anger and disgust had him gnashing his teeth, ruining his gums. He shouted at the approaching being.

“Why! You… why!!”

Why did you use us? Why didn’t you stop us? Why did you abandon us? Many questions were implied, but none took shape.

His spirit was broken. In this situation where even the beliefs he had held and the common sense he had trusted were crumbling. No matter how strong a warrior, maintaining reason was impossible.

[Why, you ask? What an interesting question! Well, why do you think? Hmm?]

It created a giant eye in the air, rolling it around as it spoke. The souls of dead Elves bubbled up nearby, like tears flowing.

Its gaze fixed on Malerun. Soon, its eyes curved like a crescent moon.

[Why didn’t you tell them? Hmm? I spared you because your whining was amusing and cute. Yet, you couldn’t even fulfill your role properly?]

“You… bastard!!”

Malerun shouted in anger. But Jerolen felt something strange during the process. Having spent a considerable time crossing life and death together, he remembered Malerun’s unique expression.

That was the expression he made when hiding something.

[Ah! Perhaps… did you say there was no god? Yes, yes… How kind… How considerate! Did you want to protect your friends’ hearts? How noble, how affectionate! Why say there was none when I was so fully with you!]

It laughed bitterly, opening its mouth. Inside, there were shapes glowing like gems. Similar to Elven souls… yet flawlessly noble.

The origin of the species. The instinct of an Elf screamed fiercely. Ancestors. Perhaps…





Truly, they are the ancestors from the distant past who were revered as ‘gods.’

[You have been defeated! By me, by my legion! Children, do you understand? Your parents have now become my most beautiful jewels. You will follow suit! Did you call out the name of a god? Did you see the soldiers crying out, not wanting to die? How beautiful! I was your desire, your earth, your grass, your dawn! Every god you called upon existed for me!]

He laughed, bursting with happiness. In this world, closer to a concept, thoughts themselves shaped forms. A sense of euphoria, bordering on madness, erupted everywhere, creating a dazzling, multicolored foam.

A sweet scent pierced his nose, and his blood boiled, stiffening his body. Jerolen bit his lip to regain focus and glared at him. He forced his weakening spear blade upright.

[Impressive. You three… are no less than those from that era. I thought the potential left in your race was no more than that of a grain waiting for harvest… Was I wrong? I thought it was a depleted mine, ready to be discarded!]

Greed flickered in his eyes. Malerun stepped back quietly, grabbing the Beastman. Guimerin stepped forward, raising his shield. And Jerolen pointed his spear blade straight at his forehead.

[You too will become my jewels, shining eternally. Your struggle will also serve as a long-lasting amusement! Fight! Fight until you die, and carve your souls! Thus, you will become even more perfect treasures!]

With his shout, the world trembled. The small entities flying around him, harvesting and devouring souls, began to take form and descend to the ground.

The three heroes prepared their weapons without a word. They were too exhausted to argue or say anything else. In this conceptual world, the fatigue of the soul directly affected the body.

They might die. No, they probably… will die. The three of them thought the same thing simultaneously. And the thought that followed was no different.

There is no reason to survive. Only the necessity to kill.

* * *

“From the moment a being acquires power too great for an individual, divinity is born within them. They transcend the limits of body and soul, transforming into something closer to a concept. It is a natural law beyond individual good and evil.”

Jerolen continued quietly.

“All gods were born that way. Ancient beings. Those so ancient that their origins are unknown, becoming concepts themselves. And the demons were no different. Those who command legions and enslave the souls of minions… the pinnacle of demonkind.”

The five Great Demons. Not all their names and existences are widely known, but when delving into the world’s secret histories, their names always appear at the edge of demonic activity.

Tyban, Yekaset, Sadarkelisa, Mumto, Urkasia.

But not all Great Demons were called that in those days. During the Celestial War, Sadarkelisa had not yet fallen, and Mumto had not been born.

“Even then, there were five called Great Demons. Before that, four were known, but there was one more.”

The Harvester Eidar. A demon who, after winning the war against the Elven Temple of the Gods, devoured all the gods of the temple and went into hiding.

For a long time, he masqueraded as a god, breeding elves and devouring their souls, growing to possess power greater than any other being.

“The reason he abandoned us was that the quality of our souls was no longer superior.”

During the Celestial War, the elves were in decline. A dwindling population, and the gradual loss of ancient knowledge and power. The newborns of the elven race were smaller and weaker than previous generations.

A race whose soul cycle was broken, bred solely for exploitation. The dark cloud hanging over the entire race could not be lifted as long as he lived—

“When he survives and descends from the temple’s domain to the World Tree, who could possibly stop him?”

A demon who devoured an entire race and consumed all their gods. His long slumber granted him power equivalent to that time. The only way to stop him was to kill him before he could manifest a complete form from the conceptual world into the material world.

“How long did we fight? In a space where the concept of time does not exist. Perhaps forever. Maybe we fought eternally, as he desired. Endless waves of demons, and his gaze watching the spectacle with laughter. Under that—.”

Even without time, experience remains. And accumulated experience has enough power to twist one’s nature. Like the ancient dragons who ultimately descended into madness.

As he desired.

* * *

Memories broke, reattached, and tangled again over time. After a near-eternal struggle, the three heroes stood before the Great Demon.

Thinking back, it’s strange. Even as his forces were shattered, he remained motionless, smiling.

But at that moment, they had no strength to ponder such thoughts. Malerun’s spell bound his body, Guimerin pinned his struggling form, and Jerolen’s spear rested on his heart.

[You must live forever.]

“What?”

“Don’t listen. No more.”

[Raise your spear blades against the ages, carve out time, and defy death. If you wish to prolong the fleeting moment granted to your kind.]

He laughed, looking straight into their eyes.

[Do not think my death is your victory. Your survival will also be my joy, so struggle. Carve yourselves. I will remain here.]

“Even if our time is short, it will be longer than yours. You will die now.”

Guimerin coldly spoke, pushing his body forward. He gasped and laughed.

[Yes! Yes! Death! Do you know how long I have reigned over you? How many ages I have spent in your faith? I am immortal! Your lives and deaths, your religions and civilizations, all lead to me!]

A parasite that became a racial god, and a dimension that materializes concepts. He had already become a symbol of faith for the elven race itself. That would never change, no matter how much time passed, and his mad laughter would echo forever under the shadow of the land the elves walked.

Even in that brief conversation, one thing was clear. He would return. Someday, at the moment he devours the souls of all his kin.

And when an event occurs that leads to the extinction of the elves, and time passes. His competitors would also lose their power.

That was why he did not resist. Watching the struggling heroes, he realized it was not yet time. Now, he—that parasite—pretends to embrace death.

“We must kill him.”

Malerun said, looking at the laughing mouth.

“There is a way. Still.”

Looking at the glowing spirits within his mouth, Malerun began weaving a spell with determined eyes.