Chapter 1: Unwavering Tenacity
Mankind called it Hell, the gods called it the Underworld, and the angels called it Limbo. But whatever its name, its sole purpose was to restrain a certain man.
A divine human who dared to challenge the heavens, waging world-defying battles that drew blood from gods who revered themselves as omnipotent.
A descendant of the Sun God.
Yet there he was, impaled on a titanic, bloodied crucifix—this defiant human. His skin was pale and bruised, his body clearly malnourished, revealed by its lean, bony structure.
The Heaven's Refining Ring of Servitude hung over his head, pressing down on his skin with heat greater than the sun's. But never once did this figure wince in pain—not even as countless huge worms, leeches of eternity, bored innumerable holes through his flesh.
That was his defiance,even chained by those above, he retained an unwavering tenacity.
The crimson skies, unchanged for eternity in this time-defiant realm, finally parted as a dark comet crashed from above, slamming into the edge of a mountain overlooking the massive cross.
The sinister mist parted, revealing a figure with the physique of a man—albeit leaner and taller. Its eyes were pitch black, encircled by what looked like a dark ring, and its head was crowned with three shadowy halos.
"Just how tenacious can you be?" it called out to the figure on the cross. "Bound here in eternal servitude, do you now regret the path you've taken? Declare it to the heavens, and their legions will set you free."
The figure on the cross looked up. His face was expressionless and bruised, and where eyes should have been, there were none.
He was blind.
He offered nothing but a low, hysterical laugh, followed by a Crazed smile.
"Tell the heavens to cower in shame. Yes, they've crushed my body and bored countless holes through my soul, but my will remains unchanged. My heaven-defying spirit still soars high above the Confines of the heavens.
What holds it back is time.No matter how many Epoch it Demands
persistence is the sole path that leads anywhere worth reaching.
I will finally turn the wheel of fate."
The figure on the mountain gazed at him with an unreadable expression for a while before replying.
"And what if I offer you that chance? A chance to turn the wheel of fate, to redo your blasphemy against heaven—or perhaps restructure it." The figure floated gently toward the crucified man.
"I'll bind my soul to yours. Not only will you possess the divinity of the sun, but also of death. I am willing to do this for the promise of a satisfying spectacle."
The man on the cross looked up once more, his head level with the flying figure.
"I'd be a fool to trust any word spat from the mouth of a god."
"You don't have to. Right now, all I can say is that I've been expelled from heaven for sins I cannot speak of to a human. But with that came the 'Key of Change.'" A huge golden key manifested in its hands. "It can rewind time itself, back to the very start of your journey, descendant of the Sun God. But it only binds to the soul of a god—and for that, I am necessary."
"What do you say, human? Don't you yearn to correct the very errors that led to this?"
One of the leeches of eternity bored into the man's empty eye socket.
"And what do you stand to gain?"
"Nothing," it said, as promised. "I only wish to witness once more a divine spectacle. Never in eternity have I found an odyssey as intriguing as yours."
The man spat. "An odyssey? What a condescending word for what could have been a legacy."
"I take that as affirmation to begin."
The god's form warped into a dark thread, not before birthing storms and darkening the red skies to night. Then, with a flash of lightning, the dark thread surged into the body of the divine human.
"Listen, human. I believe you would be wise enough to hone this perilous path of yours to perfection, without distraction."
That was the last thing he heard before the Key of Change unlocked a gigantic door of light in the skies.
It created a destructive inward vortex that undid his restraints. It shattered the Heaven's Refining Ring of Servitude before pulling him in.
He sailed through the whiteness beyond the door for a time he couldn't calibrate, until at last it faded into the facade of a luxurious ceiling.
It didn't take him long to realize the softness of the surface beneath him—it was a king-sized bed. And when he glanced at his arms, they were far smaller than they should have been.
He leapt from the bed and surveyed the extravagant room until his eyes fell on a highly polished mirror. Drawn to it, he examined his own reflection.
His dark, flowing hair was long but shorter than it had originally been. His eyes were still coldly black, and his face was pale with reddened eyelids.
So the Death Sovereign hadn't lied. He really had respun the wheel of time.
He glanced out the room's high window, framed in luxurious oakwood. From there, he could see a courtyard stretching as far as the eye could see, featuring neat patches of gardens, tall ceramic statues and sculptures, countless water springs, and multiple tea chambers.
He swiped the curtain closed. Then he truly was back—to the very beginning of his journey.
He stretched his arms. Freedom—how he had missed it.
His name was Nether Emrys D'Artagnan, the last-born son of the House of Artagnan, Duke of the County of Renories.
The D'Artagnans were rumored to be direct descendants of the Sun God, revered in the east as the life-giving celestial.
He could have continued his reminiscence, but a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Perhaps it was his personal maid.
"You may come in."
The door's golden handle creaked open, revealing a maid carrying a ceramic white mug and an equally ceramic cup.
"Your medication, young master."
She placed it on a stool close to the bed before bowing out.
He walked toward the so-called medication. It gave off a sweetening scent like roasted sugar, but deep down, he knew whatever was in that mug was far from what he would call "medicine."
It had taken him, in his past life, quite some time to realize these daily medications were actually Umbra snake venom.
Which only worsened his situation by damaging his meridians.
And the culprit? His older brother, Galric Emrys D'Artagnan—one of the many who harbored resentment toward him.
He drained the brown contents of the mug into an outlet in his lavish bathroom.
He had been born with a rare Qi negative depletion. His mother had faced complications during his birth, and to heal her body, her spirit origin had transformed into a void that depleted whatever Qi was in his unborn body, severely damaging his own origin.
As a result, he had not zero Qi, but a negative value—making him extremely frail with low potential in magecraft.
But that was in his past life, where it had taken him countless years to find the Holy Rose Lotus that undid it. So if this really was two thousand years before the Great war,then he knew the location of that plant.
Perhaps the only one in this world who yet knew its value beyond mere ornamentation.
He returned to the king-sized bed, then sat cross-legged, projecting his astral self into his origin.
The origin was the domain that determined an individual's potential in this world. It contained the evolvable bloodline, which could be refined through six stages known as the Divine Refinement Path.
And as for his... within the dark space of his origin, two conflicting bloodlines stood. The innate bloodline of the Sun God, represented by a huge burning sun orbited by six spheres—its Divine Refinement Path.
None of them emitted a glow, which meant he had not cultivated a single path of that bloodline.
The other was dark: a crescent black moon ringed with six white halos. That had to be the Death God's fused soul.
'I see... it has become a bloodline as well'
But contrary to his expectations, when he looked closer, he could see one of the white halos glowing. The sight made a pretentious smile stretch across his face.
It seemed he had already ascended one step in the Death Sovereign's bloodline.
Quite treacherous of that god to bait him so.
He projected his consciousness back to the real world. Without sparing a second, he stood from the bed, pulled on his heeled boots, and grabbed the door's golden handle.
First, he had to brew a proper maintenance medication for his negative Qi plight.