The ceiling above flickered with crimson light—pulsing, alive.
The 999th floor of the Tower wasn't just a battlefield.
It was the final judgment.
Saejin stood at the front—cloak torn, breath ragged—yet his eyes still blazed with the fire of a man who had endured 998 hells.
The Hero. The Shield. The Last Light of Humanity.
Behind him stood his five loyal comrades—exhausted but unyielding. Together, they had crossed the threshold of the impossible.
And before them… the Demon King.
A grotesque monarch of despair, its laughter echoed through the broken chamber like a curse sung by the dead. The stench of rot and hellfire filled the air.
"End of the line," Saejin muttered, gripping his sword—the divine blade gifted by the heavens.
And when he struck…
The world trembled.
With one final blow, the Demon King fell—its scream ripping through space like the tearing of a soul. The black crown shattered into dust, and the tower's pressure vanished like smoke in the wind.
It was over.
Silence followed.
He turned around, smiling—ready to fall to his knees, to rest at last. The war was over. Humanity was saved.
But the first thing he saw wasn't relief.
It was the cold glare of King Aldron and the Royal Guard, teleporting into the chamber along with top guild masters, generals, and high-ranking officials.
"Your Majesty…?" Saejin breathed.
The king's robes swayed as he stepped forward, expression unreadable. Then came the words—ice-cold and final.
"You've done your duty, Hero. And now, your existence is no longer necessary."
Saejin froze.
"I… don't understand…"
"You stand above all others now. Stronger than our nations, stronger than our armies. You've seen the divine. Defeated what even gods feared."
A general stepped forward, face emotionless. "In a world rebuilt, someone like you would only become a tyrant."
"Tyrant…?" Saejin whispered.
"You are a threat," the king said, eyes filled with contempt. "And threats must be eliminated."
Saejin looked back to his comrades—but they did not move. Their eyes were cast down. Silent.
They knew.
"You were all in on this…" he muttered, breath shaky.
The king raised his hand.
"Kill him."
Blades were drawn. Magic gathered. And Saejin—the man who had given his blood, soul, and youth—was struck down without mercy.
Blood splattered across the broken throne.
He collapsed, coughing, trembling, staring at the crimson pooling beneath him.
"You… bastards…"
His hand moved across his chest.
One skill remained—one he had hidden even from the gods.
[The Forbidden Skill : Reincarnation.]
He had saved it for the world.
Now, he'd use it against it.
"If there's a next life… I will make this world regret ever turning on me."
With the last of his strength, Saejin invoked the forbidden rite.
The world would forget its hero.
But it would come to fear its Demon King.
Five years later.
A throne room of obsidian and fire.
A pair of crimson eyes opened.
The Demon Palace fell silent.
The world trembled.
"Where…?" A voice, deeper than before—cold, layered with ancient power. "This magic… it's not the Tower… no… it's something greater."
He sat up slowly. Looked at his hands.
Not human. Not anymore.
Power flooded him like blood through veins. Pure authority. A dominion not borrowed—but earned.
Memories surged—betrayal, sacrifice, death.
And then…
"That Demon King I fought… it wasn't the real one. It was just a puppet."
His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Now I… am the true Demon King. No… something more."
"A god."
To be continued__