As soon as they heard Cain's words, the loathing and hatred that the warriors of the Scarlet Kingdom had held toward Divine Sea began to fade. Azazel had been powerful beyond measure, armed with countless abilities and tools. That she had fallen prey to his schemes was infuriating, but it was not shameful. If it had not been her, it could have been any one of them. None of the ArchDeities could claim with certainty that they would have withstood Azazel's mind control. And so, though bitter, they could not truly blame Divine Sea for what had happened.

Leonidas sighed heavily, then adjusted the unconscious woman in his arms. No longer did he let her hang limply like a discarded weight—he cradled her with caution, even a trace of respect.

Cain allowed himself a faint smile as he watched the ArchDeities come to the same conclusion. He would never forgive an enemy, nor would he excuse betrayal—but this had not been betrayal. To blame Divine Sea for succumbing to the True Depravita's hypnosis would have been no different than blaming someone for failing to protect their bones from breaking beneath a hammer.

At last, with the matter settled, Cain turned his attention inward. His condition was dire—truly dire. He had gone all out in his battle against Azazel, sustaining wounds not only to his body, but to his mind and will as well. Rest was no longer optional; it was survival.

"I will enter secluded cultivation," Cain declared, his voice hard and commanding. "Until I wake, follow the guidance of the Six Chief Councilors. Extinguish the fires of war. Heal the wounds of the continents. And capture anyone who can not adapt to the Scarlet Path."

His words were not suggestion but decree. The ArchDeities of the Scarlet Kingdom bowed their heads and nodded.

Then Cain turned toward Anark. Between them lay a deep bond, a brotherhood forged in fire, but Cain did not command him. The Primordial was no vassal of the Scarlet Path. He was a power unto himself, his Fifth Star of Origin cultivation marking him as a Middle Archdeity, though his true battle strength was already at the Peak of that rank.

Anark met Cain's eyes. "I will lend a hand if needed," he said simply. "We can speak more when you wake."

Relief flickered through Cain's expression. The Primordial would not complicate matters. He reached out, clasping Anark's hand firmly before his body blurred into motion, a streak of energy rushing across the world. With the last reserves of strength he carried, he returned to the Scarlet Crown.

There, he descended into the core of the massive flying city and assumed a meditative position. Immediately, the vitality of the continents began to flow into his body and soul, knitting torn flesh, soothing broken spirit. He wasted no time. With what will he still possessed, he turned inward, channeling psychic force into Leviathan.

In Resurrección, he had lost an arm, and so had Leviathan. Restoring such a loss would be no simple feat. It was not merely flesh, but essence, will, and spiritual foundation. Cain's face was pale, his aura frayed—he was wounded, badly wounded. It would take time, perhaps a great deal of time, before he healed completely.

"I will stabilize my condition first," he murmured to himself, closing his eyes. "Then I will see how to advance."

With that resolve etched into his spirit, Cain drew upon the circulation of the world's vitality and the Scarlet Throne's psychic and spiritual energy, slipping into deep cultivation.

---

The death of Azazel and the fall of the Imperium of Time granted the Everstrife Empyrean World a long-awaited reprieve from war. The people could breathe again. Peace—fragile though it was—settled like morning mist.

But in the Crimson World, there was no such peace.

Clashes between the Demon King and the Ancient One shook the realms. Their battles grew fiercer with each passing day, spreading downward into the lower layers. By now, not a single inch of the Crimson World was untouched by ruin. Every sky rained destruction, every land cracked beneath the weight of divine violence. Even the Second Realm, and the Void Beyond where Cain's Divine Kingdom resided, were no exceptions.

At the periphery of this chaos, a woman stood.

She was radiant—a figure of elegance and celestial might. Her beauty was so overwhelming that it inspired awe and trembling wonder in all who beheld her. Long silver-white hair cascaded around her like a river of light, each strand shimmering faintly with divine essence. Her golden eyes glowed softly, suffused with wisdom and transcendence. She wore a flowing gown of white and gold, regal and delicate, like the vestments of a high priestess.

Circles of radiant runes floated around her, inscriptions suspended like divine seals of power. Arcs of golden lightning coiled about her form, wrapping her in radiance, each spark humming with destructive potential. Her very presence lit the void, piercing through the choking clouds of the Crimson World with holy brilliance.

Yet her eyes were cold.

With a single gesture, she raised her hand. The golden lightning gathered, condensing into a sphere the size of a moon. She cast it forward with divine wrath, hurling it toward the Divine Kingdom of the Scarlet King.

"ZNNNNNNNNNN!"

The lightning sphere tore through the void. But before it could strike, it was split apart—ripped in four by a pair of swords.

Another woman stood there, intercepting the attack. Her hair was black as midnight, glimmering faintly with starlight. Her right eye shone with pride unrestrained, her left with envy absolute. And on her forehead, a third eye opened—burning with the insatiable hunger of gluttony.

The two divine women stared at one another across the broken void, their beauty so fierce it seemed it could unravel entire realms. Then, without hesitation, they lunged forward.

Their clash tore the void asunder.

Cosmic storms howled around them as golden light and star-drenched darkness collided. Explosions flared, each strike resonating with enough force to shake layers of the Crimson World apart. Yet here, such destruction was nothing remarkable. The void itself had become a battlefield, and their duel was but one tempest among countless storms.

---

End of Book 20 - World War

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.