Deep in the mountains, where human presence was scarce, a secret organization had endured for millennia—its existence even more enigmatic than that of the Hermitage Society.

  While the ascetics of the Hermitage Society frequently returned from the outside world with sacred relics, the vast majority of this clandestine group seldom emerged from the depths.

  They called themselves the Theosophy Society.

  Composed mostly of scholars and sorcerers, they had inherited ancient knowledge dating back over a thousand years. Their perception of the world had long diverged from that of the outside.

  It was arcane—timeless.

  The hollowed-out mountain glowed with embedded jewels and ores, illuminating the vast inner chambers where they spent their days poring over a single object of obsession:

  The corpse of the Father God.

  Their purpose was clear.

  They sought to obtain divine power.

  But—

  A millennium of effort had brought virtually no results. The Tier 4 being's body was utterly impervious; not even a single strand of hair could be removed from the Father God's remains.

  Moreover, the Father God's source had been completely annihilated. Even if they recklessly invoked the Incantation of Lore upon the body, it yielded nothing.

  He was fully, irreversibly dead.

  Unable to make progress through the corpse, the Theosophy Society eventually redirected their efforts to the crimson spear that had pierced through the Father God’s chest.

  In the end—

  Despite trying countless methods, they couldn’t dislodge the crimson spear. Not even the slightest movement. They could not extract it, and they could not activate it.

  This spear had slain a god—proof of its unimaginable power, a force greater than the Father God himself.

  Yet the Theosophy Society could only look on.

  Until one day.

  As usual, the scholars gathered around the Father God’s body, debating new theoretical approaches, proposing adjustments to past failures.

  Then suddenly—

  The crimson spear began to tremble violently.

  The scholars fell into stunned silence. Eyes wide, they stared.

  In a thousand years, this was the first sign of activity from the weapon.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Is something calling it?”

  “Stay back!”

  A heartbeat later—

  None could react in time. The spear abruptly tore itself free from the Father God's corpse, spun midair, and turned its tip outward—then shot forth as a streak of blazing crimson light, piercing through the mountain and vanishing into the sky.

  It was gone.

  The room fell silent. Shock and emptiness settled into the scholars' chests.

  But then—one of them gasped.

  From the gaping wound in the Father God's chest, fresh blood had begun to flow.

  The room erupted in chaos.

  “Blood!”

  “Hurry!”

  “Don’t waste a single drop!”

  A miracle born from loss.

  Meanwhile—

  Burlington, United Kingdom of Westland.

  Julius had grievously wounded the False God. Everyone believed it was over—that one of the Twelve Knights of the Firenze Empire would strike the killing blow.

  Then, the crimson spear arrived.

  It split the air and impaled the False God squarely through the chest. The deity howled in fury—then crumbled to dust, his divine form disintegrating, never to return.

  “Your Majesty!”

  Only Julius recognized what had occurred. His heart surged with awe.

  The Firenze Empress, absent from the throne for a millennium—was watching.

  In that moment,

  The world fell still.

  “…”

  “…”

  The twelve knights stood in silence, expressions weighed down by complex emotions. The civil war they had waged a thousand years ago—one that led to the Empire’s collapse—flashed through their minds.

  The Empress had never once spoken a word of blame.

  And that silence—pierced their hearts more than any reprimand.

  In wordless penitence,

  The grand illusions of the twelve knights vanished. They returned to their true forms, descending to the Firenze throne in solemn unity. With one knee to the ground and blades planted before them, they bowed in reverence.

  If the Empress gave the order, they would march again. They would reclaim the continent, restore the Firenze Empire’s lost glory, and return to the spiritual ocean.

  Yet—

  Time passed.

  The only thing that remained was the crimson spear, planted in the earth.

  The Empress gave no command.

  And so,

  The twelve knights understood.

  ...

  Hum—

  A faint pulse of energy stirred the air.

  As the Twelve Knights of the Firenze Empire remained steeped in self-reproach and regret, their eyes lifted—drawn to the flicker of a figure slowly materializing behind the throne.

  Julius’s heart surged with joy. He knew that silhouette beyond all doubt.

  “Your Majesty!”

  At the sound of his voice,

  Gray, Camelo, Tellugh, and the others felt a spark reignite within them. The Empress—she had not forsaken them after all. She had chosen to appear, even if only briefly.

  The spectral form behind the throne paused for a breath, then took a single step forward.

  Julius was the first to rise and follow.

  One by one, the others stood as well, falling into step behind their monarch’s echo.

  The Twelve Knights followed the Empress’s phantom presence—and as they did, their own forms began to fade, slowly dissolving into air, until they vanished completely.

  And so, the legend of the Firenze Empire came to its quiet end.

  When one looked again—

  The area around the Firenze throne lay empty. The Twelve Knights had come and gone like the bloom of a phantom flower—vanishing as if it were all a dream.

  Ashes to ashes.

  Dust to dust.

  Born from legend—and to legend they returned. Civilization marched onward down the river of time, and time, as always, never stopped flowing.

  RUMBLE!

  The celestial rivers above twisted and crashed down like falling torrents. Floating ruins and suspended dwellings drifted earthward like rain, shaking the ground as they landed.

  Amidst the descending chaos—

  “The Empress of Firenze…”

  A girl watching from afar stared at the crimson spear still embedded in the earth. Her eyes flicked toward where the Empress’s shadow had once stood—and though her fingers twitched, she dared not touch the weapon.

  Her long-standing confusion finally unraveled:

  The one who had slain the Father God's true form a thousand years ago was none other than the Empress of Firenze.

  A sovereign powerful enough to kill gods.

  Even more terrifying—

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  She was still alive.

  A falling ruin crashed into the ground, obscuring the girl's silhouette—and when the dust settled, she was gone. But she was far from the only observer that day.

  Fate.

  Fantasy.

  Death itself.

  The fall of the Empire, the fading of its legends, the death of a False God—each of these were causal events of vast magnitude, sending ripples across the entire world.

  And the death born of these events…

  Was quietly gathered.

  Absorbed by an unseen, higher realm of power—coalescing, piece by piece, into a complete conceptual entity.

  Throughout the long annals of history, only Death remained eternal.

  Endlessly witnessing death. Endlessly causing it. And through this endless process, the concept of Death evolved—ascending once more.

  Thus,

  Death became the first concept to fully recover.

  Upon witnessing the demise of legends and the fall of the False God in the Burlington event, Death finally crossed its final threshold—

  It had completed its rebirth.

  The human-like gleam in the old man's eyes faded, giving way to a cold, transcendent light—inhuman, absolute.

  At the very moment the Conceptual Deity of Death fully awakened—

  Its expression twisted into one of grave unease.

  Too fast!

  It had returned far too soon.

  Its plan to destroy its own concept and enter a feigned death had been a desperate gambit—to avoid having its essence stolen by that Daemon.

  And yet—

  How much time had passed?

  Already, its concept had reformed.

  Last time, it had only escaped by taking advantage of the Daemon’s chaos—during their titanic clash with the other gods.

  But this time—

  Death turned.

  And met a gaze.

  Mei stood there silently, having observed Death’s every step.

  “Miscalculation.”

  Hum—

  The overwhelming force of Conceptual Counter-Creation surged forth, instantly binding and suppressing the essence of Death.

  Before it could resist—

  A shadow loomed behind it.

  Shiro emerged from the void, ghostlike and silent. Its jaws opened wide, engulfing the Conceptual Deity of Death in a single bite—devouring its essence at the very source.

  Completely erased.

  A flash of light sparked before Mei.

  She reached out, and it fell into her palm.

  Without hesitation, she claimed the power for herself—bringing her one step closer…

  To All Concepts.

  【Ability Acquired: Concept · Death】

  ——

  【Ability: Concept · Death】

  【Level: LV1】

  【Description: A higher-level concept that bestows death and ultimate cessation upon all things.】

  ——

  “Let’s go.”

  “Ooh.”

  In the void—

  Causality silently shifted, threading future after future together. One individual after another, one event after another, converged toward a singular point in space and time:

  Mei’s fifth key coordinate.

  And after that—

  He was never seen in Burlington again.

  The aftermath of the Firenze Empire’s emergence left Burlington in ruins, reeling from what could only be described as a cataclysm. Though the battle had unfolded largely in the sky, the devastation below was widespread.

  After all—

  The scale of power unleashed was unimaginable.

  Worse still—

  When the Twelve Knights of Firenze manifested, even the city’s homes and rivers had been lifted into the sky. And when the legendary presence vanished, the once-floating buildings crashed down to earth, twisted and broken beyond repair.

  The number of casualties remained uncountable.

  The capital of what was once the strongest empire of the current era had been reduced to rubble. Many wandered the wreckage in dazed silence, unsure whether they had just survived a dream or lived through a nightmare.

  Some time later—

  Samuel was roused by commotion outside his window. His eyes fluttered open. His body was wrapped from head to toe in splints and bandages—his every nerve thrumming with pain.

  “Mr. Samuel, you’re awake!”

  A maid spotted him stirring and rushed out in excitement to summon the others.

  Moments later—

  The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Westland arrived, along with Rosinante, who stood tensely at Samuel’s bedside. The situation was critical—there was no time to delay.

  The Prime Minister spoke first.

  “Sir Samuel, on behalf of the Westland Kingdom, I offer you our deepest gratitude. You and your companions rendered us great service during this catastrophe.”

  Samuel attempted to shake his head—but his neck brace locked him in place.

  “This is my duty. My mission.”

  “Sir Samuel…”

  Rosinante stepped forward. His tone was stiff, uneasy. It was his first time participating in a conversation at such a level.

  “This incident has inflicted unprecedented damage upon the Westland Kingdom. The destruction and loss of life in Burlington are beyond measure. I bear responsibility for this tragedy—and I intend to carry it. Not just to atone, but to prevent it from ever happening again.”

  Samuel didn’t hesitate.

  “What do you propose?”

  Rosinante's gaze sharpened.

  “We must distort their memories. Twist the historical legends of the Firenze Empire. Seal off the source of all of this. I need your help!”

  It was a daring proposal—but not an impossible one.

  They had the Incantation of Lore, and with the assistance of the Hermitage Society, such an operation could be realized.

  The power of the Firenze Empire was simply too immense.

  Even centuries from now, human civilization would likely still be incapable of resisting it. If those Twelve Knights ever descended again, the consequences would be beyond comprehension.

  Since that day—

  Rosinante often stood amid the Burlington ruins, gazing up at the moon.

  The scar on its surface, sliced cleanly by Julius’s blade, was a reminder of the battle’s scale.

  Such terrifying force.

  In that clash between gods and legends, they were nothing but ants on the ground. Even a stray aftershock could have obliterated them.

  That fear—

  That awe—

  Was forever carved into Rosinante’s memory.

  The legend had to be rewritten.

  The Firenze Empire must never return.

  The past could not be undone. But this—this was Rosinante’s atonement. He would see it through, no matter the cost. Even if that cost was his life.

  Likewise—

  Samuel came to a bitter realization: no matter how strong their will or their hearts, they could not stand alone against legends of this magnitude.

  Rather than passively defend against legends, they would confront them at the root.

  Control the narrative. Rewrite the history. Suppress the myths at their source.

  That way, even if a legend did emerge again—its power would be little more than a shadow.

  But such a feat required more than one kingdom.

  They would need the cooperation of the entire world.

  And so—

  With the help of the Hermitage Society’s calculations and the Kingdom’s holy water, Samuel recovered swiftly. Once awake, he took action immediately.

  By the next day,

  A secret agreement had been forged—between the Hermitage Society, the Prime Minister of Westland, the royal family, and several top-ranking officials.

  A covert operation began: to distort the world’s legends.

  Rosinante formally joined the Hermitage Society. With their assistance, he succeeded in altering the memories of every civilian in Burlington—

  In just three days.

  Only the kingdom’s highest authorities retained their memories. To everyone else—

  It had simply been an earthquake.

  The battle with the False God? The reappearance of the Twelve Knights? The revival of the Empress?

  They had never happened.

  And this erasure was necessary.

  If tales of the Twelve Knights spread, their legend would grow—possibly pushing them to even greater heights.

  If the battle of Burlington became myth, the next reappearance of those figures might lead to a calamity beyond imagining.

  With the Westland Kingdom’s backing, the Hermitage Society reached out to other world powers—urging them to take part in rewriting global history.

  Step one: The legends of the Firenze Empire.

  One by one, historical accounts were edited. Records of miracles and mythic feats were either purged or altered beyond recognition.

  The task was monumental. The Hermitage Society was buried in ancient scrolls, digital archives, and lost tomes of legend.

  But—

  It worked.

  The revised records cut cleanly between the eras—like a sword splitting time itself.

  From that moment forward—

  The legend of the Firenze Empire was over.

  ...

  【Key coordinate · Established】

  【Upgrade Task 5·Complete】

  【Truth Manifestation Level·Upgraded】

  【Truth Manifestation ·LV6?】

  ——

  【Ability: Truth Manifestation】

  【Level: LV6】

  【Description: All sentient perceptions in this world become the wielder's perceptions. All sentient beings' fantasies, legends, and myths in this world can be temporarily manifested. Duration: one year. The specific effect cannot exceed the controller's current Grade.】

  ——

  The manifestation duration had lengthened—from the original thirty days to a full year—steadily progressing toward the permanent manifestation Mei had foreseen.

  Following the Burlington incident, the Hermitage Society’s heightened scrutiny of global history and legend allowed Mei to anchor this critical coordinate, completing her fifth Upgrade Task.

  Yet the Burlington event alone wasn’t enough to divert this world’s trajectory in any meaningful way. What truly mattered was Mei’s manipulation of the Hermitage Society—driving them to rewrite the world’s historical record. That was the decisive step in establishing the coordinate.

  This maneuver nearly severed the influence of history and legend from all future generations, effectively cutting off their power.

  Although past deeds and legendary events couldn’t be literally erased, it didn’t need to be that complicated. The Hermitage Society only had to revise the written chronicles.

  And however they revised them—that became history. That became legend.

  Undeniably,

  This was Mei’s masterpiece.

  But it was far from her endgame. Ripples of causality spread in waves; the scope of this act reached far beyond the surface.

  The story of the Firenze Empire—from its rise and fall, to its distortion and eventual erasure from official memory—was methodically reduced to a mere ancient tale.

  She was fishing.

  Whether the void would bite, remained to be seen.

  After choosing to cooperate with secular governments, most of the Hermitage Society relocated their main base to the United Kingdom of Westland, centering themselves in Burlington.

  In a secret underground chamber, the crimson spear was secured with utmost care by the ascetics of the Society. It radiated no divine power.

  And yet—

  This was a god-killing spear.

  Samuel and Rosinante had been deeply involved in revising ancient legends. While sifting through old documents, they encountered a text detailing the Church’s early history. Samuel, startled by a sudden realization, grabbed the manuscript and rushed to where the spear was sealed.

  In the quiet vault,

  Samuel examined the old drawing in the text. Though colorless and worn, the shape of the spear was unmistakably identical to the one before him.

  His expression darkened.

  “…As expected.”

  Rosinante was stunned. “You mean that’s the same spear from the records?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  The manuscript clearly described how the Church’s Father God had once descended to the mortal world a millennium ago—only to be impaled through the chest by a crimson spear and nailed to the cathedral’s dome.

  Now, the False God had returned…

  And died in exactly the same way.

  If this were a coincidence, it would be too absurd to believe. Samuel didn’t buy it for a second—especially after witnessing the conditions surrounding the False God’s death.

  He theorized that the spear was either designed to slay gods, or had been summoned by the Twelve Knights of the Firenze Empire, or perhaps even by the Firenze throne itself.

  Rosinante hesitated, then offered a bold guess:

  “Could the spear’s owner be… the Empress of Firenze? Back then, she’s the only figure who could’ve possessed the power to slay a god.”

  “…The Empress of Firenze…”

  Suddenly,

  A figure flashed across Samuel’s mind—Mei.

  And in that instant, the pieces snapped into place. Not only had she orchestrated this entire affair, she may very well have been the Empress herself, reigning a thousand years ago.

  A terrifying possibility struck Samuel like a thunderbolt.

  That disdain toward all things.

  That calm dominance—the kind that only those with absolute power or unmatched authority could exude.

  A chill ran down his spine.

  “Please… let it not be what I’m thinking…”

  Just the Twelve Knights had caused them chaos. If there truly was another surviving force—even stronger—he couldn’t remain calm.

  Especially if that person… was not content to stay hidden.

  The very thought gave him a migraine.

  Samuel clutched his head. If it really was her, why reveal herself now? Was it because she simply didn’t care?

  Unlikely.

  …

  Mei’s public appearance, of course, was intentional. She wanted certain people to know she was here. And while she had expected their pursuit, it still amused her.

  “Your Excellency… Might I request your aid?”

  The old man’s tone was unusually humble. After all, he was now seeking help—and that required proper etiquette. He wandered still, as he had a thousand years ago.

  Creating legends, thriving through legends.

  Compared to the Concept of Death, his path to advancement was far more convoluted. He sought Mei’s help for one simple reason:

  His final threshold was near.

  His fame had been built on the legend of the Firenze Empire. He had created its glory and directly contributed to both the Empire’s resurgence and the False God’s reappearance in Burlington.

  Now, that momentum had brought him to his final limit.

  To advance, he needed to create one more legend—a world-shaking one, akin to the mythos of the Firenze Empire.

  The problem was,

  The modern world had long since moved past the dark ages of ignorance. With global connectivity and instantaneous information, the mystique of myth had been all but stripped away.

  To birth a new legend of that magnitude now?

  It was nearly impossible.

  Naturally,

  He didn’t disclose any of that to Mei. He only asked for her help—never stating why.

  But Mei, already aware of his true intent, couldn’t help but laugh softly.

  “Are you certain?”

  “This old man received a revelation—one that said only you could aid me. Regardless of the outcome, I will remember your grace forever. This is the proof of my sincerity.”

  With that,

  The old man produced a yellowed strip of cloth:

  “The God of the Sky’s winding sheet. A divine relic—I spent years unearthing it.”

  That was no minor offering. Relics from the mythic era were vanishingly rare, and this one belonged to a god.

  Mei didn’t question who had delivered him the revelation. After a moment’s thought, she accepted the winding sheet into her hand.

  “If there’s a way,” she said lightly, “then it’s not impossible.”

  “…Truly?”

  The old man’s voice trembled slightly.