Chapter 388

Chapter 388
## Chapter 388: God Game

—

Return from the grave.

The concept of resurrection implies a total reversal of the end.

This was exactly what had occurred when the eight fallen Lords were restored following the revival of the Demon King. However, in the strictest sense, it was not a genuine return to life.

They were merely reconstructed by the ‘Stars’—the fragments of the goddess Pina, who had shattered her own essence to shield the soul of Wilhelm at the moment of his passing. It was, quite literally, a process of regeneration.

As the ravaged demon realm was mended, the Lords were simply woven back into existence along with it. By definition, a Lord was an entity bound to the laws of the demon world; they were subjects who had surrendered their life force and spirits to the Demon King. If one sought precision, these Lords were closer to the nature of the undead than the truly living. And one does not typically describe the reanimation of the undead as a holy resurrection.

“…Humans are incapable of such a return. Not without the reversal of time itself…”

The passing of Park Hyunmyeong was a tragedy to be mourned. Yet, the cessation of life was a universal constant that applied to all breathing things. It always culminated in a definitive ‘finish.’ It was a boundary that could not be crossed back.

“I have no intention of attempting that,” the Sunken Emperor declared with cold certainty.

Despite his refusal, the phrase ‘attempting that’ felt peculiar—as if he spoke from the experience of someone who had actually tried to manipulate the flow of time before.

He continued his explanation. “Furthermore, Park Hyunmyeong has not yet reached the state of absolute death.”

“…Preposterous. Are you suggesting that death exists in varying intensities?”

The Sunken Emperor’s logic seemed flawed. Death was a binary state; it possessed no spectrum. However, the Emperor clearly viewed the situation through a different lens.

“If his demise were final and complete, those two Spirit Kings would have dissipated into nothingness the moment he fell.”

He referred to Agnis, the Spirit King of Fire, and Um, the Spirit King of Earth. These were the primordial beings who had entered into a direct pact with Park Hyunmyeong. For reasons unknown, their bond with him had facilitated miracles that defied the natural order.

—Great entities are standing guard over him.
—However, even that protection is failing.

Agnis and Um spoke these words internally. As their ethereal forms bled power and their physical manifestations began to shrink, it was clear that the timer on Park Hyunmyeong’s ‘absolute death’ was rapidly approaching zero.

“Time is a luxury we lack, Seventh Lord Basara.”

“…How is it that you know my name?”

The Seventh Lord Basara and the Sunken Emperor were strangers. It defied logic for a dweller of the Abyss to recognize an entity from the outer realms. Moreover, the demon world had only come into being long after the Abyss was established. The idea that he had known her in an age before that was impossible to reconcile.

“The Golden Spirit offers no revelations to those who lack the necessary merit. You alone possess the sight and the right to inquire.”

“Are you claiming that you yourself are unworthy?”

“Indeed. Even ‘Mammon’ was found wanting in that regard.”

Mammon had been stripped of his identity and swallowed whole by the weight of the power. He lacked the inner fortitude required. It was a wretched conclusion for him. But then, the Emperor posed a different question.

“Does fear grip you?”

Fear? Of what? She was Basara, the Seventh Lord, a being synonymous with invincibility.

“Do you believe you lack the standing of a Dragon God?”

“…”

Basara found herself unable to retort. He had struck a nerve. A Dragon God was meant to be a sentinel for the world, a duty Basara felt she had failed to uphold. She had simply fled her origins like a refugee until she stumbled into the demon realm. She might act as a guardian for this dark land, but there is no true sanctuary found at the end of a retreat. She was a far cry from the perfect protector the Golden Spirit sought.

…Just how deep did this entity’s knowledge go? She couldn’t even fathom the source of his insight.

“You… you are far more than a mere ruler of this Abyss.”

A standard master of the void would not be privy to such secrets. The Sunken Emperor was something else entirely; perhaps he was ‘the Abyss itself.’ She recalled whispers of beings so profound that they became objects of terror even within the dark heart of the Abyss.

In that moment, the figure spoke. “…I am the Sunken Emperor.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled back his helm. When his features were finally revealed, Basara’s expression froze.

“…!”

Shock rippled through her. She couldn’t mask her reaction. That face—it was a haunting sight.

“The man who ruled as sovereign over a world that succumbed to total devastation.”

It was a face identical to that of the ‘Sleeping Emperor.’

—

The genesis of the Arhon Empire was a subject of much debate, especially regarding the era in which the Sleeping Emperor first appeared. Yet, the Empire revered him with a devotion usually reserved for a deity. Consequently, his visage was known to every citizen. In every corner of the Empire’s vast territories, stone monuments were carved in his image.

Similarity was one thing. It was often said that everyone has a double somewhere in the world, and a striking resemblance could be dismissed as a fluke. But Basara knew she wasn’t seeing a double. It was an exact duplication. It was a likeness so precise it defied explanation—unless he was the man himself.

…If such a thing were even possible. There was only one precedent for such a phenomenon.

“‘Shinbyeong’…”

The term ‘Shinbyeong’ described those who had fallen under the possession of players. To combat this, the Empire had purged those afflicted by the Divine Sickness. In their place, they installed decoys—people who looked identical—to maintain the illusion of continuity.

“You seek answers, just as I do,” the Sunken Emperor remarked.

It appeared even he was haunted by his own identity. He had spent an eternity drifting in the Abyss, seemingly disconnected from the Empire’s history of Shinbyeong. Was this a mere twist of fate? Or was some invisible hand moving the pieces? He carried himself with the air of an omniscient being, yet gaps remained in his own story.

‘The instant my eyes fell upon Park Hyunmyeong, the memories of God’s Island began to play back.’

He knew one thing for certain: seeing Park Hyunmyeong at the base of the Mountain of Earth had triggered a resurgence of his suppressed past. As that missing link clicked into place, his inherent power began to stitch the rest of his history back together. Along with it, the fragments of memory he had lost to the crushing weight of the Abyss began to surface.

‘I… am a traveler who has crossed back through time from a different reality.’

The recovered memories were a nightmare. He had successfully rewound time to salvage a world on the brink of collapse. He had ascended as a true leader. But despite his efforts, that world had met a gruesome end anyway—one far worse than the first. If he had simply let it fall, perhaps they would have found some small peace.

The ‘Heavens’ did not tolerate the defiance of the emperor or his kingdom. The act of reversing time was viewed as a transgression against the celestial order. In retaliation, they tore his reality to ribbons. They ensured that nothing could survive the onslaught. Ultimately, stripped of his strength and his past, the emperor had drifted down to the lightless floor of the Abyss.

‘The records after that are a void. They were erased.’

The restoration was incomplete. He couldn’t explain how he possessed certain knowledge. Names like Park Hyunmyeong and the intimate details of Basara’s life were clear to him, yet they had no place in his former memories. Perhaps it was the result of a mind capable of processing and analyzing vast streams of data—a cognitive ability that surpassed even the gods. By calculating the highest probabilities, he could essentially see the future through logic.

If he brought Park Hyunmyeong back, the truth might finally be revealed. He would learn if this man was an enemy to be eliminated or an ally to be saved.

‘If he is a puppet of the Heavens, I will personally end him.’

…Naturally, if there was any link between Park Hyunmyeong and the ‘Heavens,’ his death would be swift. Therefore:

“Seek your answers.”

The Emperor urged her to ask. Every curiosity, every doubt—the Golden Spirit would provide the clarity she sought.

“…”

Basara gripped her hands tight. She could no longer afford to wait. For reasons she couldn’t quite name, her focus had been tethered to Park Hyunmyeong from the start. She needed to understand why.

Step by step, she moved toward the fallen Mammon. She reached down and took the golden icon from his grasp. In that instant:

“…!”

Basara’s world tilted. Her vision was flooded with a brilliant gold hue, and the fabric of her reality began to warp. Her perception expanded exponentially, allowing her to view the Abyss in its entirety. She saw Earth, the continent of Pangenia, the vast reaches of the cosmos, and the husks of worlds that had long since perished.

She even caught a glimpse of the ‘Heavens.’ But the vision stopped there. The path forward was barred. She lacked the necessary credentials. The Golden Spirit served as a gateway, but without the proper key, the final doors remained locked. Her current key was insufficient to unlock the secrets of the celestial realm.

However, her immediate concern was much closer than the Heavens.

‘I see him now.’

She found him. Park Hyunmyeong’s spirit and physical form had not yet dissolved into nothingness. They were being maintained in a state of suspension by the ‘great beings’ the Spirit Kings had mentioned.

—Was I unsuccessful once more?

Park Hyunmyeong let out a heavy, weary sigh. He looked like a man defeated by his own limitations. How many times had he walked this path of failure? His voice was thick with exhaustion.

Then, figures began to coalesce around his lingering soul. The goddesses—Leah and Pina—were there, offering silent gestures of comfort, their hands resting on his shoulders. But Park Hyunmyeong remained oblivious to their presence. He continued to shrink away, withdrawing into the comforting numbing of the dark.

Then, a new presence emerged.

—Stand up this instant! You absolute coward!

The Primal Heavenly Demon roared his disapproval. Though Basara had never encountered him, her connection to the Golden Spirit allowed her to recognize him instantly. Yet, even his thunderous rebukes failed to reach the man.

—…

Then, a silent figure stepped forward. He did not speak. He did not offer empty platitudes or harsh criticisms. He simply stood there, a quiet sentinel. He seemed to offer Park Hyunmyeong the space to exist, regardless of what choice he made.

Watching this, Basara’s heart hammered against her ribs.

‘Wil… helm…’

The silence was deafening. She had never expected this. Why was the Knight King—the slayer of the Demon King—lingering by Park Hyunmyeong’s side? What bond could possibly link them? It defied every law of the world. Wilhelm should be dead; his soul should have been scattered to the winds long ago. Yet here he was, undeniably present.

It was jarring. Was this the reason she had been so drawn to the man? Had she sensed Wilhelm’s presence instinctively? But she soon realized the truth was even more complex.

She almost missed the final observer watching from the periphery.

—…

It was Randolph. A figure shrouded in the deepest gloom, a personification of Ruin itself. The entity known as the Apocalypse! He was so entwined with the darkness that even the Golden Spirit’s light struggled to illuminate him. Yet he was there, staring at Park Hyunmyeong with an unreadable intensity.

Basara felt a cold shiver run down her spine. He was a being of such concentrated dread it was physical. He was the polar opposite of everything Wilhelm represented. They were two forces that should never occupy the same space, yet Park Hyunmyeong was the bridge between them.

‘Two goddesses, Wilhelm, and Randolph…’

Why were these legendary, conflicting powers huddling together? Each was an anomaly. They were entities that by all rights should be at odds. What was the common thread?

‘Park Hyunmyeong.’

The realization was stark. They weren’t just companions; they were facets of his own being. Park Hyunmyeong was a soul that possessed the potential to be anything and had tried to encompass everything.

It made sense now—why his awakening as a second-generation warrior had been so delayed. He had been in the process of defining himself. He had only reached completion when he truly understood his own nature. And yet, in that moment of completion, he had stumbled. A single lapse in judgment had led to his end. Wilhelm or Randolph would have persevered.

So, who was the true Park Hyunmyeong?

As she pondered this, the scene shifted once more.

A soft sound echoed. A small, mundane room materialized. Inside, Park Hyunmyeong was hunched over a screen, focused on a game.

“Seventh Lord Basara? Man—this boss is incredible! Look at those movement patterns! This is what I call a real god game!”

He rolled up his sleeves, his eyes bright with excitement and focus. He looked truly alive, consumed by the thrill of the challenge.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”

The Phantom had arrived.