A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

But in less than a breath, another crack appeared.

Countless threads emerged from within and wrapped around Beatrix's left arm.

The silk threads seemed to have a life of their own, continuously penetrating beneath Beatrix's skin.

Not long after, Betley lost sensation in his left arm.

At the same time, he also lost control of his left arm.

“The Weaver Girl of the Heavens…” Betley murmured, jumping up and stepping on the silk threads that were invisible to the naked eye.

If you can't use divine magic with your hands, you can still use your feet.

The pale blue moonlight severed the silk thread along with Betty's left arm.

Betley is currently unable to use many divine spells, but he can still firmly grasp the divine power of a few divine spells that he has mastered to a high degree.

Even in his current disheveled state, Beatrix is ​​still incredibly powerful.

It's just that the enemy he's facing is too powerful.

Even through the thick "wall of the world," the golden seed still exudes an aura of despair.

"Come! Come! Come!!!" Betley roared to the sky, his eyes completely blinded by a frenzied desire for destruction.

And all around him was a desolate and ravaged space.

A crack is a gateway to despair. Pain...

Betley wasn't used to feeling pain, but this pain was different.

It felt like a red-hot iron rod being inserted into the spine, or like boiling water being injected into the blood.

That is excruciating pain that can drive a person to death.

The body and even the soul are suffering torment.

"It hurts so much..."

"You guys really don't consider other people's feelings at all," Beattie said through gritted teeth.

This should be retribution.

Betley is a man burdened with a grave sin, so it wouldn't be surprising if he suffered some kind of retribution.

This is punishment for the avenger who has taken countless lives.

However, even so, Beattley would never repent.

Losing the divine power controlled by Beatrix is ​​painful enough just to preserve.

Betley had to endure the pain to use the divine magic.

He had no choice but to adapt and use it, because it was his only ability. Without using divine magic, he would be unable to contend with these golden-type beings.

True God, deities, the Golden Seed—they have all sorts of names, but no matter how they are called, it doesn't change the fact that they are our enemies.

He had never believed in any deity, and looking back now, it was incredibly wise of him.

So-called gods are nothing more than a group of people who are very similar to humans.

It simply possesses the power to change everything.

Unfortunately, power cannot change anyone's nature.

—Kneel down.

A voice rang out from afar.

Almost the instant the words fell, the immense pressure forced Beatrix to kneel.

"Don't act all high and mighty." Betley's tone wasn't as agitated as I'd expected, as if his current miserable state was all an act.

"I didn't expect that some of you would enjoy seeing others kneel."

“What a twisted sense of humor. No matter how many years you’ve lived, your so-called gods still have the same personality as those inferior beings,” Beatrix said arrogantly.

His body was breaking down, but he was still putting on a brave face.

Still keeping his knees straight.

“Not a single word in the scriptures can be trusted,” he murmured, blood trickling from the corner of his eye.

Anyone who sees Betley now, Yangzi, would think he's made it through.

Ultimately, divine magic is nothing more than a "concept" weakened countless times.

Even the things they utilize are divine power, fragmented energy shaken off from "concepts".

If it comes to the original, there's still no way to win.

"Marek, what are you and that clown expecting?!" Betley asked Marek, who had already lost all signs of life.

Unfortunately, the dead were unable to answer Beatrix's questions.

Marek, whom I've always found incredibly troublesome, has died just like that.

Although Betley's "false god" persona was impressive, Marek's death was still a bitter pill to swallow.

Of course, even after obtaining two rings and breaking through his limits, Betley was still quite unhappy to be suppressed by several Gold Saints.

"Ah, ahhhhhh..." Beatrix's tone was irritable, but less frantic.

At least his expression wasn't so ferocious.

Despite my years of research and investigation, I have long understood that the difference between black iron and gold varieties is enormous.

But when I actually experienced it firsthand, I found that it wasn't what I had imagined.

The projection of that "Weaver Girl" back then put similar pressure on Beatrix.

But unlike last time, this time it's not just "the Weaver Girl of the Sky".

Are there really ten? Maybe.

By that calculation, he has incurred the common hatred of many gods.

This is someone that all the gods should hate, but there is one thing they all hate about each other.

That was Beatley.

This was something Beatri brought upon himself, but he wouldn't regret it much.

"That won't work..."

"We've gotten used to one-sided slaughter, and it's been too long since we've been in such a predicament."

"I've almost forgotten how to struggle."

“But it’s not too late to start learning now,” Beatrix muttered to himself.

Those golden creatures were constantly speaking in an ancient language.

But Betley wasn't interested in what they were saying, especially the "Fallen Lord" who had been whispering from the beginning; Betley didn't want to pay any attention to him at all.

Even at this moment, he's still thinking about making Betley fall. The "Fallen Lord" still hasn't figured things out.

Betley was corrupt from the very beginning.

He had never stood in the sunlight, and his blood-stained hands dared not even touch innocent children.

He was just a guy who envied the light.

"Sizzle—" Countless threads "grew" out from the wounds on Betley's arms.

This was not the work of the Golden Seed, but rather Beatri forcibly seizing divine power to heal his injuries.

Arms without skin or muscle, completely woven from white thread, are more flexible than normal human arms.

“My arm is still very convenient.” He simply took off his tattered and somewhat cumbersome coat and grabbed a crack with one hand.

With a firm press of the fingers, the crack gradually closed.

"Swoosh!" Betley's own shadow suddenly stood up, twisted into a spear, and pierced through his throat.

Betley grinned, and the shadow that had been controlled by the Golden Seed was once again under Betley's control.

The shadow transformed into a giant beast, swallowing the other rift whole.

“Come on… ah… you guys who can’t even get into their own homes…” Bate made indistinct sounds through his pierced throat.

Each word is mixed with phlegm, making it impossible to discern its true meaning.

But the Gold Saints understood Betley's tone; it was sarcasm.

Even though the interference of the Gold-type was greatly weakened due to the "World Wall," it was still a disgrace that so much time was wasted in dealing with a Black Iron-type.

This is merely a black iron type; all others are mere ants beneath the gold.

Even if the power of the Golden Seed has been weakened, it shouldn't have taken so much effort.

Immediately afterwards, Betley saw an eye in the last spatial rift.

Its long, wolf-like eyes obscured all the view from the other side of the crack.

The needle-like pupils exuded endless majesty.

"I will acknowledge your strength for now." A voice like an ancient bell echoed in Beatrix's mind.

The sound knocked Betty's consciousness into a hazy state.

No claws emerged from the crack; only wolf eyes were visible.

Elegant and pure white, like the moon.

"But you have crossed the line with the true god far too many times."

This glance is no easier than extending a part of a limb.

Similarly, the power of this glance is not much weaker than a strike from a Gold Saint.

This is the utmost respect that Wolf Eyes' owner has shown to Betley.

"Reflect on your actions at the moment of death."

As the ancient voice spoke, Betley saw moonlight enveloping him.

He squinted, neither dodging nor flinching.

In a pitch-black space, countless bookshelves are collapsing.

A girl wearing a large hat looked up, gazing blankly at the collapsed bookshelves around her.

She was born not long ago, and although she seems to know a lot, she actually understands much more than she knows.

After all, everything the little girl knows comes from books.

The knowledge in books does indeed differ from reality.

The girl shrugged her hat a little uncomfortably.

The world is about to collapse; will she disappear too?

She pursed her lips and took a deep breath.

She must be strong; she must be strong enough to wait for the next Master to arrive.

Every individual with their own will is tragic, because their lives are destined to be filled with waiting.

Waiting is so painful; that pain only lessens when the long wait bears bitter fruit.

She is of her own will, and she understands this.

But understanding is one thing, and whether it causes pain and fear is another.

The girl's small face under her hat was gradually wet with tears.

She didn't sob, but tears just kept flowing down her face, and her body kept trembling.

She clutched her large hat tightly, trying to reassure herself.

The hat is so big that it can cover half of a little girl; perhaps it was all for this moment.

"Boom!"

"Splash!"

Different loud noises rang in her ears, impacting the little girl's young mind.