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Chapter 1429: Surpassing the Limit

Deity of Gods. Beneath the Birth Tower.

This was the city’s core—an expanse of crystallized Red Mist forming scarlet lakes that submerged the God’s Stone mine entirely. In one sense, this was the Origin of Magic that the race had made for itself. It amplified the Birth Tower’s conversion capabilities and provided the essential conditions for nurturing powerful magic stones.

The lake fostered continuous growth and advancement among the demons, and most upgrade ceremonies were held here. Every city’s lake was slightly different, but the structure beneath was roughly the same.

Passing through the ceremony square, Silent Disaster slowed for a moment.

The familiar scene pressed against memory—the sound of countless voices chanting Charita, herself walking forward in a white gown under their eyes.

But the way the Red Mist had dispersed across the stone slabs told its own story. This place had not been used in a long time.

Since the race had begun making extensive use of the underground civilization’s Symbiosis technology, the upgrade ceremony for Primal Demons had been replaced. All Primal Demons passing an initial filter now had a higher probability of advancing, increasing the number of Junior Demons and forming the backbone of the race’s fighting force today.

The architect of that technique was Senior Lord Mask, Nassaupelle. He had asserted that so long as the research continued, the large-scale nurturing and advancement would extend beyond Junior Demons—eventually reaching even higher ascendants.

Countless voices had expressed doubt. Not only did this go against ancient tradition, they argued; it endangered the stability of the race. But the King had given his fullest support.

The results were what they were. In the past few centuries, the number of Junior Demons had multiplied tens of times over. The number of those who had advanced through ceremony to a higher realm could be counted on one hand. And not a single senior lord had emerged from the process.

If magic stones could one day produce senior lords, then the ceremony square—this space that had witnessed the race’s greatest moments—would have no purpose left.

Serakkas sighed and pushed the thought down. Memories implied hesitation, and hesitation opened cracks.

She continued forward.

Passing the square, she entered the tower at the center of the surrounding walls.

The Junior Demon guards bowed their heads as she passed. An unobstructed path—no one blocked her way. Silent Disaster located her target’s signature in the control room with no difficulty.

“You have something to see me about?” Nassaupelle appeared to be adjusting the magic power core’s structure, his back to her, not bothering to turn.

She drew her sword.

Serakkas crossed the distance in a single burst—sword leveled, driven with everything she had. Her first attack since recovery. All of her strength behind it.

Every senior lord knew Mask was not suited for open combat. But Serakkas knew that statement only held in a fair fight. Outside his own territory, she would not fear him even if ten Masks stood against her—in magic power, physical strength, and the instinct earned from tens of thousands of life-and-death battles, she had the advantage at every point.

But this was not outside.

Even the slowest beast will make its lair into a labyrinth. And this was Nassaupelle. Since the Deity of Gods had risen and moved into the Dawn Region, he had been given all the time he needed to turn the tower’s lower levels into his domain. She had not been on a fair battlefield from the moment she stepped inside.

Her instincts had told her not to underestimate him.

Ten steps collapsed in an instant. She pressed her speed to its maximum—the blade became a streak of cold light, the shockwave from her movement radiating outward. The sword struck Nassaupelle’s body.

He screamed. A startled, pained roar that seemed to awaken the entire room. Stone needles burst from every direction, sealing her retreat.

She wrenched her sword out and pulled back rapidly, generating a barrier of circling blades around herself. The needles struck the barrier in a cascade of impacts, the ringing filling the room.

“You—! What is the meaning of this!” Nassaupelle pressed his wound and roared.

Silent Disaster raised her sword and moved again. The first strike had not felt like piercing a living thing—more like driving metal into thick grease. She registered dimly that he was mid-transformation, becoming something other than what he had been. But whatever he was becoming, it would no longer integrate cleanly with the race.

Receiving no answer, Mask waved his hand. The surrounding walls rumbled and revealed Symbiotic Demons concealed within the layered flesh. Then another shape emerged—a peculiar Symbiote that opened a carapace and swelled to twice its size, before connecting with Mask and forming a deformed combined body.

Is this the latest Symbiotic Demon?

Serakkas threw her sword without hesitation. The aim was perfect—through the gap in the joining Symbiotic bodies, directly into Mask’s closing carapace.

Half his body was left exposed.

She released her power. Gold lightning cracked through the control room, filling it with fractured light. Under the arcing discharge, the stone needle symbiotes were instantly paralyzed—and so was the new combination creature. The sword became the channel; magic power poured through it, and Mask’s shriek was ear-splitting.

Serakkas leaped toward the falling Symbiote, seized the scorching hilt with both hands, and used the weight of her drop to drive the blade deeper. The shrieking stopped. The weapon carved upward—from his chest to his head—and Nassaupelle split entirely in two.

A mask, also split in two, slid from what had been his head and fell to the floor.

“Twenty-two… seconds.”

He turned what remained of his face slowly, and spoke.

”… Are those your last words?” Serakkas pulled the blade free. Blood ran down it.

“The humans’… unit of time is not bad. I will… make use of it.” Mask’s voice came in fragments. “That is the time the Symbiotic Demons managed to delay you. Heh… I thought it would be longer.”

“Battles that bring me to the edge of death let me break through them.” Silent Disaster’s voice did not change. “Compared to who I was before I was gravely wounded, I am now stronger. It is a pity that you and your creations can never learn that lesson.”

“That is why… I hate uncertainty.” Mask’s voice continued to fade. “But uncertainty means… the inability to replicate… If I had more time, I would certainly have surpassed… the limits of our race…”

“There will be no future.”

“How… are you so certain?” The surviving portion of his face produced a strange smile. “Do you remember my words? Before knowledge, even the most powerful body… is nothing…”

An overwhelming sense of danger hit Serakkas without warning.

“Let me… gift you something.” Mask’s voice fell to a whisper. “It is something I found among the humans… you should recognize it.”

The Symbiotic Demon that had merged with him opened its carapace once more, revealing layer after layer of cysts nested within.

The cysts were packed with human explosives.

He had actually brought that into the Birth Tower.

What—what is he planning—

Serakkas’s expression broke. Before she could even begin to retreat, a searing red light obliterated her vision.

The boom arrived as something physical, a blow felt in the bones. The fireball erupted from the center tower, swelling outward into a semicircle of light. Beneath the glare, a brilliant reflection blazed across the surface of the lake. When the ball broke, the city beneath shuddered; the shockwave collapsed walls and sent debris plunging into the Red Mist lake, which detonated in rolling secondary explosions.

When the noise was spent, emptiness replaced the lake—the extreme heat had driven the Red Mist away, and what remained could not be refilled. In the scorched hollows around the Birth Tower, Primal and Junior Demons choked in silence, staring upward.

But Serakkas felt no heat. No pain.

At this range, with the Red Mist amplifying the explosion, the shockwave should have torn her apart—

She lowered the arm she had raised in front of her face and opened her eyes.

Hackzord stood with one hand extended, a massive Distortion Door spanning the space before her.

Everything outside its protection had been vaporized. The ground had been razed flat.

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