On Tark Prairie, Bryan walked right past the massive skeleton giant, heading toward the house that lay beyond it. In a dark room, a robed figure with an indistinct face also turned around and prepared to leave.

  There was no need to linger around since they had achieved their goal.

  Roel Ascart had already ceased to exist.

  The abrupt freezing of Roel’s bloodline and Origin Attribute had robbed him of his divine protection right before the gray miasma pierced through him, rendering him utterly defenseless. There was no way he could have survived that attack, and that was evident from how his body had stalled to a complete halt.

  Oblivious to Bryan and the robed figure, Roel was still conscious.

  He had returned to the dark space he had seen right before he lost control of his bloodline. Extreme coldness gripped his existence. The hand from the shadows was still smothering the candlelight, but he couldn’t move at all.

  He had a feeling that his life would be snuffed out the moment the candle flame extinguished.

  I have to do something.

  Roel instinctively understood what the candle flame represented—it was the source of power for Ascarts’ awakeners. The hand from the shadow was an external intervention from an enemy to disrupt his source of power, resulting in the freezing of his Kingmaker Bloodline and Crown Origin Attribute.

  The culprit was likely to be the robed figure Bryan had summoned via the gray miasma.

  The true question here was how the robed figure managed to pull it off. How could someone interfere with the Kingmaker Bloodline and Crown Origin Attribute?

  Countless doubts surfaced in Roel’s mind, but he was hardly in a good position to mull over those questions. He couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening to him right now, but he instinctively understood that his life would come to an end once the candle flame went out.

  Death was a terrifying concept, but what frightened Roel more was what came after that. Without his protection, the heretics and inquisitors wouldn’t stand a chance against Bryan and the evil cultists. The princess he had sworn to protect would also soon lose her life.

  The thought of that was enough to drive him crazy.

  He struggled with all his might, desperately gathering his willpower to walk over and tear that blasted hand off the candle flame. His efforts showed as his body displayed signs of manifesting in this dark space, but it would dissipate right after as if fate was playing a trick on him. It felt like his body was lacking a lynchpin to hold everything together.

  It was then that Hanks’ words flashed across his mind.

  What you lack is a belief core.

  Realization finally dawned on Roel.

  This dark space was a metaphysical dimension manifested by his powers, an existence between reality and illusion. If he wanted to interfere in this land, he would have to grasp full control over his powers, which he hadn’t been able to do so due to his lack of a belief core.

  His only chance at survival was to find the center of his existence and regain control of his powers.

  But what could his belief core be?

  Hanks was a devout believer of Goddess Sia, so his belief core was centered around the teachings of the church. He actively sought to put these teachings into practice in his everyday life, such that they had become an integral part of who he was.

  Is there anything pushing me forward too?

  Roel tried to focus his fuzzy mind to figure out the answer to that question, but things weren’t going well for him. His thoughts slowed as the candlelight grew dimmer, till everything stalled to a halt.

  In a moment of daze, the life he had lived began replaying in his head. One particular scene flashed across his mind.

  Inside a dark palace, he found himself faced with a dignified man standing in the shadows. That man had golden hair and blue eyes, and his facial features were a delicate work of art. The way he carried himself was evident of his haughty personality.

  Storm clouds rumbled in the sky. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the dignified man’s face.

  Wade Xeclyde.

  Roel was surprised. He never thought that he would think of Wade in his dying breath.

  Did he pop up in my mind due to my fight with Felder? Or is it because I was fighting to protect Nora back in the Witness State too?

  Such thoughts surfaced in Roel’s mind, but he swiftly refuted them.

  From the moment Wade appeared before his eyes, he felt a spark of flame igniting within his body, granting him the strength he needed to fight against the force dragging him into the abyss. He felt like he was on the verge of grasping something important.

  Hanks said that a person may peer into the truth when he’s on the verge of death. So why did I meet Wade in my dying breath?

  “I see… We do share quite a few similarities,” murmured Roel in enlightenment.

  Roel and Wade were two very different people, be it in terms of personality or ideals. Yet, there was still a striking similarity between the two of them, and that was their defiance.

  Two centuries ago, the defiant prince raised the flags of rebellion, leading the heretics on a fight against the establishment that treated them unjustly. The crimson lightning he wielded symbolized his wrath. Putting aside whether he was right or wrong, he fought valiantly for his ideals to his dying breath.

  In a way, Roel was in the same position. It was just that what he sought to overthrow was far greater than any establishments—fate.

  He had been fighting against fate ever since he recalled the memories of his previous life. Whenever death came knocking, he would tenaciously struggle with all his might, refusing to surrender even when faced with the direst circumstances.

  That was how he had managed to survive all this while.

  Danger was always baring its fangs at him, be it the wartorn Holy Capital, the treacherous seas, or the despair-inducing academy. From calamities that destroyed entire civilizations to an Origin Level 1 Race Sovereign, he had encountered threats that most wouldn’t in their lifetime.

  And with the Mother Goddess on his back, things were only going to get worse in the future.

  Awakeners of the Ascart Bloodline were destined to walk alongside death, but Roel wasn’t planning to allow these difficulties drag him down. He planned to walk on with his head held high.

  Calmness washed over him when he finally made sense of these thoughts.

  He had found the answer he had been looking for.

  “To desperately resist and change the trajectory of fate, that’s my belief core,” murmured Roel.

  A surge of heat began gushing through his veins. He saw the silhouettes of Ro, Ponte, and the others flashing across his eyes. The High Elf Queen of the Golden Fleet smiled at him. In the Dream Realm, the ancestor who had devoted her life to protecting humankind was proud of him.

  Boundless power started to gather within him.

  In the dark space, the candle flame that was on the verge of extinguishing suddenly began blazing with newfound vigor. It was just a faint flicker at first, but it slowly intensified until its light was blinding.

  Roel strode forward and grabbed the hand from the shadows, as if he was grasping hold of his own fate.

  “This isn’t a place where you should be, Fallen.”


  Roel glared at the silhouette in the shadows with glowing eyes.

  “It’s time for you to return what you took away from me.”