Carry your will to the very end.

That’s the right way through the trial of the gods; only then will the door ahead open.

You could hand over clothes, armor, weapons—along with reserve, ambition, and resolve—to the gold-armored Gatekeeper. That’s an answer too, and the answer most Heroes chose across the ages. But to betray your own will and ideals for it leaves a taste of regret and shame like cold ash on the tongue.

So the girl chose to rebel.

She didn’t spit words like tyranny, cruelty, or harshness. Across from her stood Justice itself, the great cause she’d once defended with her life; to deny that Justice would be to cut down her own shadow.

She only said she was another kind of Justice—different from the old, different from what people accept, different from what the gods point to.

The young Hero knew what it costs to stand against the world, knew what curses the world would hurl her way.

She cared—cared enough to cry—but she wouldn’t take it back.

Because she is Stini Saya. Because she clings to another Justice. Call it “Wicked Justice,” and she won’t flinch.

She raised a black two-handed Greatsword, the blade dark like metal eaten by night. Her right hand, left leg, right eye, and heart had all been replaced by Blackgold, legendary stuff poured full of her will.

No blessing from gods. No halo of grand righteousness. No one’s benediction. For a foolish little stubborn wish, she stood alone against the world like a lone pine against the wind.

Knight of Wicked Justice, reborn here.

It was Stini’s own use of Immunity Privilege—Throne Shatter—that tore open this thought-world she couldn’t parse, and from SkywardCity she summoned this blade.

This time the Greatsword wasn’t thought made flesh. It was real—a relic of the Divine Being.

Only by reaching that far could she stand against the Justice of this age.

She’d guessed her wounds hadn’t healed at all. She’d braced herself to fail the summon and die broken. That’s the resolve she owed herself.

“This is… a relic of the Divine Being!”

“Yep. That’s my choice.”

Li’s face grew heavier than ever. Stini found it funny; Andor always wore a dead man’s face, unreadable like stone in rain.

“You killed him yourself, then held his Justice high! Do you even know what you’re doing?!”

“Of course. They don’t clash.”

“How could they not!”

“The world should host this kind of Justice. It doesn’t need a single unified Justice.” Stini’s tone settled, grave as a thunderhead. Lightning and flame pooled in her Blackgold right eye. “The Divine Being’s view differs from mine, so we fight, even though I do agree with the Justice he spoke.”

“To kill over a word…” Li gave a bitter smile.

“I’ve never heard that saying, but he just came back to life. If he knows someone in this era still agrees with him, I bet he’s happy—though he has to fight me.”

“…”

“Mutual understanding. Mutual recognition. A good talk. Then… bow, raise blades, fight for discord, kill for ideals. Sounds dumb, right? Haha, like antique thinking the era will throw away, a jaw-dropping way to die.”

“…Ridiculous.” Li’s voice carried only heavy helplessness, no mirth.

“Mm. I think so too,” Stini said, bright as a spark, and smiled.

“…The gods withdrew their blessing on you because of his death. Yet when you oppose Justice, he’s the only one at your back. A laughable story! A laughable theory! Laughable Justice!”

Stini shrugged. “It is what it is.”

We have already lost Absolute Justice. When it returns, it feels to people like a biased, harsh Wicked Justice.

Her stance coiled to strike. A radiance belonging to the Divine Being flowed from the Blackgold, and thunder-fire leaked from her eye like a storm through shutters.

She didn’t hunger for battle, but when words fail, strength decides right and wrong like sun and shadow.

“Here we go!”

She crowned herself with the name “Wicked Justice” and raised a rebel banner against human Justice.

Stini moved forward, learned the weight of Blackgold, then broke into a run.

She drove with gathered momentum, lifted the Greatsword high, and brought it down with all the force in her bones.

Justice is always face to face—upright victory or upright defeat. He had felled Heroes through the ages, winning until now. Stini knew it, so she knew the Gatekeeper who embodied Justice wouldn’t dodge this strike.

The gold-armored Gatekeeper had already fallen back to the last third of the path, where his power peaked. Even so, he had to raise sword and shield to meet Stini’s heavy chop.

The impact still crushed him back two steps, boots scraping like stone on ice.

“Good,” Stini breathed.

The ruinous edge was gone; now the Gatekeeper’s strength matched Stini’s. On one side stood Justice the world accepts; on the other, the Absolute Justice of a past age. Two tides hit equal.

At least in this world built of thought, they were peers.

Stini hopped back a small step, trying to open space for another attack. But the Gatekeeper’s ferocity shocked her. He didn’t reset like she planned. He surged in, catching the gap before she settled into her new weight.

The golden longsword swept for her neck, a crescent of sun.

At this range, her Greatsword was hard to swing. She ground her teeth, raised her metal right arm, and caught the blade. She slid along it, body skidding back, ready to use reach to take his head clean.

The Gatekeeper was faster.

His shield smashed her right arm; the leftover force hammered her chest like a magi-cannon. She spat blood, bright as poppies in snow.

Stini struck back with spite. Her Blackgold left leg whirled like a sledge, and as she flew, her kick crushed into his side, buckling his frame like tin in a storm.

First clash after drawing the Divine relic—both hurt, both smoking.

Stini spun twice in the air, landed steady, and charged again.

“OO—AAAH!” Her bellow tore out, rough as drums splitting. The gold Gatekeeper paused, then rushed too, answering with a war cry.

It rang long and clear, like it rose from ancient wild plains in dawn mist.

That was a true battle-cry.

Two engines of war collided, and blade met blade in iron thunder.

Wound for wound. Life for life.

The Divine relic granted Stini only one thing—a chance to fight as equals. For her, that was enough, a lamp in long night.

A Greatsword’s reach outruns a longsword. With only parts of her body changed to Blackgold, Stini moved a shade quicker than the fully armored Gatekeeper.

Even so, his unexpected ferocity pressed her into disadvantage like tide against a cliff.

He held the classic sword-and-shield stance, yet his rhythm and weight outpaced Stini’s Greatsword like rain beating drum-skin.

How do you wield a large weapon? Before the storm of sword and shield shredded her, the girl clawed back Andor’s style from memory like fire from damp wood.

Andor used a door-sized Greatsword—two meters long, half a meter wide—different in shape from hers. But this relic felt Blackgold-forged, close in weight, heavy as a thunderhead.

She started to imitate Andor’s way. She never used that Greatsword Valor in daily fights, but in combat classes she’d crossed blades with it countless times, echoes like footprints in sand.

She spun to add force, loosened her body. Step in. Twist the waist. Sweep and cleave. Use the turn to jump back, a hawk wheeling then stooping.

One breath in one flow—Stini grew at home with the Greatsword like a river finds its bed.

“It’s a Greatsword, sure, but it swings like a sledge,” she joked when the rhythm clicked, a spark amid steel.

She ran light around the Gatekeeper, slashing and thrusting. Most times, he blocked with sword or shield, rain tapping helm and rim. But as she adapted, those defenses began to fray.

Cracks spidered across the golden armor. Fissures etched the sword and shield like frost lines.

At last, amid his relentless rush, Stini caught a flaw. She flicked his longsword aside and drove in. Her Blackgold shoulder slammed his chest plate; stacked with earlier blows, it left a deep dent, thirty centimeters long.

She hopped back. She had the trick now—balance center, settle weight like a tree roots grip earth.

The Gatekeeper should counter hard—raise sword, lift shield, charge like a bull.

Stini snapped an upward slash as she retreated, forcing him to halt—she aimed at the ruined spot on his chest, a wound like a dark flower.

The heavy bite of her blade slid off his shield. He lowered it a fraction, ready to rush—and the tip of her sword punched into his chest plate, cold and sure.

“Haaaa! I knew you’d come!” Stini didn’t return to guard after the upswing. She reversed her grip and drove with all her weight, a comet falling.

She gambled on his style—on his hunger to drop the shield and attack. If she failed, she’d be open, her blade slow as winter sun, his counter a storm.

Lucky—the gamble landed.

As predicted, the gold Gatekeeper lowered his shield the instant her edge skimmed past, leaned and lunged—straight into her point.

She arrested the Greatsword’s arc, angled forward, and shoved. A low thunder rose from her throat. Her face slammed his visor. With the tip biting his heavy gold breastplate, she bulldozed ahead like river ice.

The black blade carried mountain force, pierced the dented gold chest, and nailed the Gatekeeper to the door like a pin through silk.

His longsword and shield fell with the clatter of rain on stone. His helmet dropped too, rolling like a dull moon.

“Congratulations, Hero. You’ve won.”

Li stepped up and patted Stini’s back as her breath sawed like wind in reeds.

But Stini didn’t answer.

She stared, stunned, at the face beneath the visor—a face that mirrored her own, like a reflection caught in still water.