Chapter 305

Chapter 305
### Chapter 305: Award Ceremony

It was undeniable that Randolph’s original path had been split between the Successor of the Stars and the Supreme Sword Saint. Yet, those specific designations had vanished entirely, replaced by a singular, haunting title that had materialized from the void: ‘Another Ruin.’

‘Another Ruin… is this a byproduct of the shadow Randolph?’

It was difficult to discern if the class had simply been altered or if it had undergone a radical evolution. Regardless, it didn’t seem likely that his previous vocations, no matter how much they developed, would have naturally culminated in ‘Another Ruin.’ The most logical explanation was the presence of the ‘other Randolph.’ That version of himself, imprisoned within the Gate of Truth, had established a link to the ‘Heavens.’ Since that entity had nearly merged with the consciousness of destruction itself, it was inevitable that a class reflecting that essence would be manifest.

‘…The irony is thick.’

Frankly, the turn of events was staggering. I had intervened to prevent him from becoming the literal personification of ruin, only for him to emerge as a different manifestation of it. However, the process was clearly still in motion.

[The second Molt of ‘Park Hyunmyeong’ is finished.]
[The second Molt of ‘Randolph’ is finished.]
[Class evolution and expansion are in progress.]
[The class ‘Lord of the Stars’ has been bestowed upon ‘Park Hyunmyeong.’]
[The class ‘Primal Heavenly Demon’ has been bestowed upon ‘Randolph.’]

The notifications surged once more. This was the final confirmation that the molting process had reached its absolute conclusion.

‘Lord of the Stars and Primal Heavenly Demon?’

I—Park Hyunmyeong—had ascended past being a mere successor; I was now a Sovereign presiding over the celestial bodies. For Randolph, he had been granted the title of the ‘Primal Heavenly Demon,’ the foundational essence of that dark lineage. It was a development I hadn’t even dared to dream of. Yet, the moment the reality set in, I could grasp the logic behind it.

‘The polarities have been decoupled.’

Light and Dark. Park Hyunmyeong was now anchored to the alignment of Light, while Randolph was tethered to the alignment of Darkness. This meant the turbulent, mixed energies they previously shared had finally retreated to their natural domains. Even though Randolph and I were bound by shared growth, we could not coexist within these absolute alignments. I knew all too well the instability and chaos that resulted from such a muddled existence.

‘Chaos is born from the gaps. Now, those gaps are sealed.’

This was the primary benefit of the separation: the disasters that had unfolded within the Tower of the War God would never be repeated. A flawless, singular alignment offered no foothold for outside forces to take root. This applied even to the influence of a Primary God. Beings like the God of Ill-Omen or the God of Ash would no longer find purchase within my physical form.

‘Because that other version of Randolph was an entity born of internal discord.’

Consequently, there would be no further risk of a duplicate Randolph or another Park Hyunmyeong clawing their way into existence. An identity forged from chaos was destined to seek annihilation.

‘It shuts out all meddling from the Heavens or the Primary Gods.’

Thus, separating these alignments was a mandatory step for survival. I had neglected it previously simply because the methodology eluded me. Without the profound insights gained from the Creation of Heaven and Earth and the assistance provided by Wilhelm, I would have remained a walking catastrophe—a ticking clock nearing zero.

‘…I can see it now. The peak is within sight.’

The perks didn’t stop there. The trajectory toward the ultimate summit of power had become far more transparent. Previously, the path had felt like a set of shattered, disconnected stairs. The gaps between the heights were so vast they seemed impossible to bridge. Now, however, those steps had aligned into a straight, ascending staircase. My task was simple: maintain my resolve and continue moving upward.

“If fatigue still plagues you, would you prefer to rest longer?”

“……No. I am alright.”

Lyca’s voice pulled me back to the present. For the time being, I was still occupying the identity of ‘Adrium’s String.’

“How did I end up back here?”

“You have no memory? You were found collapsed and unconscious at the base of the Tower.”

The entrance? I pondered this silently. I must have been forcibly ejected back to the start after claiming the peak. If that was the case, what had become of Isabella, Serengeti, and the rest of the group?

“The formal recognition ceremony is set for tomorrow. Use the time until then to focus on your physical recovery.”

Lyca began to turn away, his back toward me. I called out to him before he could leave.

“Do you have no desire for me to reveal the remainder of the Scripture of Life and Death?”

“……”

He froze.

The moment I spoke, Lyca’s progress halted. The final trial of the grand tournament had centered on deciphering the Scripture of Life and Death, but the text provided had been fragmentary. I, however, possessed the knowledge of the missing passages. I was the sole individual capable of fulfilling the ancient ambition of the Eight Houses.

“……It does not matter.”

Despite this, Lyca exited the chamber. To claim he felt no curiosity would be a falsehood, yet he chose to walk away from that knowledge regardless. I wondered why.

‘He must finally be accepting the reality of his own end.’

Lyca’s vitality was at its lowest ebb. It would not be shocking if he drew his last breath at any moment. His health was already precarious, but his clash with Wilhelm had likely accelerated his decline. It was a somber fate for the man hailed as the Empire’s finest and the pinnacle of human martial prowess. He was far from weak.

‘The problem was simply that Wilhelm existed on an entirely different level.’

Lyca was formidable—certainly capable of holding his own against ancient primordial entities or the Abyssal Lords. He had simply been cursed with the worst possible matchups. Wilhelm eclipsed them all, and the shadow Randolph was no different.

‘A string of losses paired with a death sentence…’

The weight of those defeats, combined with the looming specter of his own mortality, was likely crushing Lyca’s will. I felt a pang of pity. Still, there was nothing I could offer him; his death was an established certainty. I had glimpsed a potential solution involving the ‘Sunken Emperor,’ but tracking that figure down was a nearly impossible task. If Lyca himself had lost the spark of survival, the odds dropped to zero. It was a tragic waste.

Lyca served as a vital check and balance within Pangenia. He restrained the influence of the Reaper Cult and maintained human stability in his own fashion. But more than that—

‘……The Heart Sword.’

While he hadn’t fully perfected it, he had reached the threshold of the Heart Sword through his own merit. His version was fundamentally different from Wilhelm’s. Wilhelm’s technique focused on redirection and using an opponent’s momentum—a defensive mastery. In contrast, Lyca’s Heart Sword was an instrument of pure, unadulterated aggression. Their philosophical approaches to the blade were diametrically opposed.

‘I want to grasp that power.’

Because his sword was the inverse of Wilhelm’s, I felt a deep desire to learn it. If I could synthesize both styles, I believed I could forge a truly flawless Heart Sword. This only heightened my regret that Lyca was surrendering to his fate.

‘First… I need to evaluate my own status.’

I cleared my thoughts. My primary concern had to be the shifts occurring within myself. Lord of the Stars and Primal Heavenly Demon. I hadn’t even checked the attributes granted by the Gloves of Ill-Omen and Ash. Taking a long breath, I opened my status interface. When the full extent of my new power became clear—

“……Heh.”

An involuntary, stunned laugh escaped my lips.

—

Lyca knew the truth: his life was leaking away with every sunrise. He had less than a month remaining. He had touched the ceiling of martial arts and felt the thrill of the chase, but now it all felt hollow. Death was coming regardless. That final technique Wilhelm had displayed was the final nail in the coffin.

‘I can never reach that. No amount of talent will bridge that gap.’

That single strike had cast him into an abyss of inadequacy. The realization that he would never attain that level of mastery brought a profound despair. He couldn’t even begin to process the mechanics of it. He could understand Wilhelm’s growth as they scaled the Tower, but that final swing was beyond his comprehension. It proved there was a dimensional rift between his skill and Wilhelm’s. Wilhelm’s existence and his relationship with the blade were simply superior.

Because of this, he didn’t care about the rest of the Scripture of Life and Death. What point was there in learning it now? He was a ghost already.

“The victor of the grand tournament is ‘Adrium’s String’!”

The sound of polite clapping filled the air.

Lyca stood and joined the applause for Adrium’s String, though the reception from the crowd was noticeably thin.

“You bunch of ungrateful cowards! Why aren’t you cheering for the winner!”

A single voice cut through—Aaron, the son of the Goddess Religion’s high-ranking Cardinal. The lack of enthusiasm was predictable. The masses saw no reason to celebrate a victor who lacked a noble lineage or a local reputation. Furthermore, within the heart of the Empire, the victory of a representative from the holy city only bred resentment and cold shoulders.

The ceremony was brief. As the terms dictated, the champion was awarded the ‘Path of Light’ and the ‘Holy Path’—the legendary relics once wielded by Wilhelm. Lyca had also intended to officially name Adrium’s String as his personal ‘disciple.’ However, the passion he once felt for finding a successor to the Eight Houses had been replaced by a cold, hollow indifference.

‘Even with his gifts, he will never stand where Wilhelm stood.’

No matter how bright a star the boy was, he would still fall short of the sun.

—

“……Is this not absolute madness?”

“He has gone too far this time.”

“I suspected he might, but this is beyond the pale!”

In the depths of the Imperial Palace, the high-ranking members of the Reaper Cult were in a state of agitation. These individuals, usually consumed by the hunt for the ‘Spirit King of Gold,’ had convened because of the tournament results. Lyca had actually honored a foreigner from the Goddess Religion as the champion. He hadn’t just overstepped; he had burned the bridge behind him.

“Do you intend to remain silent, Golden Mask?”

“……”

At the head of the table, the Golden Mask said nothing. While he had secured the ‘Heart of Greed’ from Lyca as payment for allowing the games to proceed, the outcome had caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected Lyca to follow through and pick someone who wasn’t an Imperial citizen—especially someone tied so closely to the holy city.

A man wearing a lion mask leaned forward.

“I ran a background check on Adrium’s String. He is a ghost. It is as if he didn’t exist until a few weeks ago.”

His history was a void. If the Reaper Cult’s intelligence network couldn’t find a trace of him, he truly had no past.

“A man with no identity?”

“Is it possible he is an escaped slave?”

Usually, a total lack of records pointed to a slave with no legal standing. This realization only fueled their fury.

“……Did Lyca see some reflection of himself in a common slave?”

“This is absurd. A slave in the palace?”

“The ‘Eight Houses’ is making a mockery of us again…!”

They all remembered the bloodbath from years ago when the previous head of the Eight Houses had plucked Lyca from obscurity and named him the heir. That leader had ruthlessly eliminated anyone who questioned Lyca’s worth, including his own vassals. The Reaper Cult had stayed their hand then, content to watch the Eight Houses weaken itself through internal purges. Once the old head was gone, they had successfully sidelined Lyca, sending him to waste his life in the Abyss. By the time they realized Lyca had grown into a true monster, his power was already cemented.

“We won’t repeat that mistake.”

“We have to kill this problem while it’s still small!”

The hatred among the council was palpable. The idea of a slave walking the halls of the Imperial Palace was an insult they wouldn’t tolerate twice.

“……We will wait.”

The Golden Mask’s voice cut through the noise. The room erupted in protest.

“What kind of secret agreement do you have with him?”

“Golden Mask, have you developed a sentimental attachment to Lyca?”

There had been a bargain, but that wasn’t the only factor. The Golden Mask spoke calmly.

“Lyca is a dying man.”

“……Are you sure it isn’t a ruse?”

“It is a certainty. He will be dead very soon.”

The conviction in his voice silenced the room. Lyca’s passing would create a massive power vacuum within the Eight Houses. The Golden Mask continued.

“He has a month at best. Even if he tries to pass on his legacy in that time, there are limits to what can be transferred. We can deal with Adrium’s String once Lyca is in the ground. There is no reason to trigger a premature conflict with the Eight Houses by attacking Lyca while he can still fight back.”

The true power of the Eight Houses didn’t rest solely with Lyca or his knights. The ancient families and their hidden strengths remained in the shadows—monstrous entities that rarely interfered with the surface world. Even a man of Lyca’s stature wasn’t fully embraced by them. The Golden Mask was certain that ‘Adrium’s String’ would find no support there.

Summing up his stance, the Golden Mask reiterated:

“If we leave them be, the problem will solve itself. Both Lyca and his puppet will fall. Let them have their moment.”