This was the Demon King’s Castle on the Freya Continent. As the name suggested, it was where the Demon King resided. Across the crimson-scarred earth, lava pooled like puddles. Even the sky bled an eerie crimson, slashed occasionally by deep blue lightning. Now, a massive fissure split the castle’s towering, spike-studded walls—walls stained brown-red with old blood.

A silver figure darted through the horde of monsters rushing to intercept him. He was a man of such ethereal beauty he could be mistaken for a maiden, with silver hair and crimson eyes. Clad in ornate silver-white armor that clashed starkly with the castle’s gloom, his white cloak snapped in the wind. In his hand gleamed a holy sword, pure white with golden filigree and embedded gemstones.

Golden aura blazed around him. Each swing of his blade unleashed a golden shockwave, reducing mid-tier and higher monsters to ash. Even elite foes like Dark Knights fell after just a few strikes.

When the man sheathed his golden holy sword with effortless grace, the ground lay thick with black ash from fallen demons. Not a speck touched his silver-white boots. A lightning flash painted his pale skin faintly blue.

"So," he murmured, "next is the Demon King." Thunder rumbled. Torrential rain erupted, shattering the castle’s deathly silence. He frowned—a sharp, masculine contrast to his delicate features—and tilted his head skyward. Black raindrops hissed into steam inches from his golden aura, never touching him.

"The Demon King’s presence on that throne only feels dangerous, not lethal. Yet this unease in my chest… what is it?" Brow furrowed, he approached the colossal doors of the Demon King’s throne room. At their center loomed a massive horned skull, its eye sockets burning with crimson flame.

***

Three hours earlier.

"Hmph! Cold Night Feather, you *are* a genius—I admit you’re now Freya Continent’s strongest warrior," boomed a stern elder with a silver beard trailing to his belly. He wore white robes embroidered with gold and slammed a fist on a spiritwood table. "But to charge the Demon King’s Castle alone? Your arrogance blinds you!"

The chamber gleamed with white and gold. At its end stood a lifelike statue of a twelve-winged goddess in prayer. Beneath crystal chandeliers, a long red table seated dozens of elites. The elder occupied an ornate throne beneath the goddess.

Opposite him sat the accused: Cold Night Feather. Slender and silver-haired, his face held a woman’s delicate beauty—save for his flat chest and Adam’s apple. Yet his sharp sword-brows lent him masculine edge. He idly traced the golden patterns on his white holy sword.

"Archbishop Rector," Cold Night Feather replied with casual insolence, "this Demon King Token in my hand grants direct teleportation to the castle—a stroke of luck! If they detect us, such chances vanish. Finding the castle’s shifting hidden dimension alone is near impossible." He met the elder’s gaze. "Besides, the Demon King’s armies are relentless. Even if we locate the dimension, we’d never break free from their endless waves. I’ll slay the Demon King with absolute certainty. Leaderless, his forces will crumble. Our victory will be swift."

Rector opened his mouth to retort, but a breathtaking woman in pure white gauze interrupted. Her raven hair framed ivory skin; sapphire eyes held quiet wisdom. "Feather," she said, her voice ethereal, "you never boast without cause. If you claim tenfold certainty… have you truly…?"

At his master XiaoYunYao’s question—she who’d raised him like a mother—Cold Night Feather dropped his crossed legs. He sat straight, expression turning solemn. "Yes. Through comprehending the world’s laws, I’ve solidified my Sword Heart. I’ve taken that step. I am now… a Sky-Shattering Sword Saint."

Gasps echoed around the table. These were continent-shaking saints, yet none had seen a Sky-Shattering expert in nearly a millennium. Many believed such ranks—Sky-Shattering Sword Saint or Archmage—were mere legends.

After all, the Demon King plaguing Freya for centuries was merely a Heaven-Union realm expert. Only the castle’s power and his mysterious artifacts made him formidable. Worse, he’d inexplicably resurrected after past defeats.

Cold Night Feather scanned the room. Disbelief flickered in their eyes—they doubted his breakthrough. *Without this,* he thought, touching the blood-red gemstone pulsing with golden light beneath his collar, *I’d still be trapped at Heaven-Union.*

He rose and strode to the chamber’s center. Bowing slightly to the assembly of elders—humans, elves, dwarves—he declared: "Witness this!"

Though his pose seemed like a street performer’s flourish, none dared mock him. Behind him, a colossal golden domain unfolded—a self-contained world. At its heart stood a towering golden holy sword and a radiant temple, defying heaven itself.

The mark of a Sky-Shattering expert: a Domain World.

On Freya Continent, saints—whether mages, warriors, or priests—achieved Heaven-Union by forging their own path through the world’s laws. At Sky-Shattering, their domains became true worlds.

The fragment visible behind Cold Night Feather radiated crushing pressure. Proof enough.

XiaoYunYao led the applause. "Splendid! Feather, you truly are Freya’s greatest genius! This master swells with pride! One day, the world itself will hail you as a True God!"

Rector joined in, laughing heartily—Cold Night Feather was the Church’s ace. Praise filled the hall.

Cold Night Feather smiled, accepting their cheers. Then his expression hardened. "I depart for the Demon King’s Castle now. Once inside, I’ll signal its location. Rally your forces. We strike from within and without!"

Rector’s smile faded. "Be cautious. Countless Heroes used Demon King Tokens before. When allies arrived, only the resurrected Demon King remained."

Cold Night Feather nodded. Time was critical—the sooner he struck, the less prepared the Demon King would be. He crushed the token.

***

Present time.

Cold Night Feather faced the throne room’s massive doors. He tossed a locator device into the shadows, then inhaled sharply. His sword flashed—a whirlwind of strikes reducing the doors to dust.

Beyond lay a long crimson carpet. Blue flames flickered in bone sconces lining the walls. Chandeliers of interlocked skeletons hung from the ceiling; transparent wraiths strained against their bone cages, unable to escape.

Sinister carvings covered pillars and walls, casting psychological gloom. At the carpet’s end sat a colossal bone throne. Behind it rose a pillar topped with three snarling hellhound heads, their jaws blazing with blue fire.

Upon the throne sat a towering figure armored in spiked black-purple plates. His right hand propped up his helmeted head, as if asleep.

Cold Night Feather knew better. He advanced slowly, shattering magical traps with casual flicks of his wrist.

Stopping before the throne, he opened his mouth—

"You are strong," the Demon King rasped, voice like grinding boulders layered with ghostly echoes. His golden pupils—burning like molten suns—snapped open beneath his faceplate. "Join me. Together, no power in this world can oppose us. Why fight when we could rule as gods?"

"Waste no breath," Cold Night Feather scoffed. "You know I’ll refuse." His holy sword swept upward. A golden arc ripped through the air, shattering the bone throne into splinters.

As his blade moved, the Demon King vaulted backward. Mid-air, he clenched his fist—a blood-red demon sword materialized. Its blade pulsed with vein-like crimson patterns; a living eye rolled wildly in its fuller. Utterly vile.

Cold Night Feather’s eyes narrowed. Even at Sky-Shattering—above the Demon King’s Heaven-Union realm—the fiend’s artifacts and castle-blessings leveled the field. He’d need everything he had.

***CRACK!***

The Demon King shattered the sound barrier. Demon sword clashed against holy sword. Golden and black-red auras collided, sending shockwaves spiderwebbing across the throne room floor.

At that moment, behind Cold Night Feather, the giant sword phantom formed from his mental domain world grew increasingly solid, granting him a massive power boost. Meanwhile, behind the Demon King, a colossal blood sea phantom emerged. These two terrifying phantoms radiated an aura that struck fear into all who beheld them. They unleashed violent energy waves, riddling the walls and floor of the Demon King’s palace with holes. Pillars collapsed one after another, and massive boulders crashed down.

In the first round of energy contest, Cold Night Feather—being at a higher realm level—gained the upper hand. With a sudden surge of power, he repelled the Demon King. Seizing the chance, Cold Night Feather raised his Holy Sword and flashed forward to pursue.

Mid-air, the two exchanged countless sword strikes. The vast Demon King’s palace lay in ruins from their battle’s aftermath. Any ordinary person here would either be torn to shreds by leaking energy or could only vaguely glimpse golden and crimson shadows colliding at blinding speed.

Quick as lightning, Cold Night Feather parried the Demon King’s Demon Sword with one strike. He then delivered a heavy kick, slamming the Demon King into the sturdiest pillar. Instantly, hundreds of golden magic arrays condensed behind him. He roared, “Heavenly Fire Meteor! Annihilate!”

Countless golden-red fireballs shot from the arrays like machine-gun fire, carrying scorching heat toward the Demon King. The Demon King leaped out of the pillar’s crater. Thick, tangible dark energy surged around him, instantly forming thousands of black-red spear-like creatures. They clashed with the fireballs, annihilating each other in bursts of light.

By now, the Demon King’s palace had utterly become history. Black rain fell onto the plowed-earth ground, evaporating instantly from the lingering golden and black flames.

Cold Night Feather and the Demon King stood far apart, locking eyes. Cold Night Feather bore several new wounds. His elegant armor was cracked and shattered in many places. The Demon King’s grotesque black-purple armor was similarly scarred.

As if by unspoken agreement, their Holy Sword and Demon Sword blazed with dazzling light. Ambient energy from heaven and earth surged toward their blades like a tidal wave.

“Let this strike decide our fates!” Cold Night Feather shouted sternly. His beautiful, almost feminine face had lost all traces of its earlier frivolity, replaced by resolute determination—win or perish.

The Demon King laughed heartily. Behind his cracked faceplate, his Golden Pupils burned fiercely. “Hahaha! Thrilling! Then let’s settle this with one strike!” he bellowed back.

Before either could swing their energy-charged swords, space itself began shattering like glass. Violent voids appeared behind the cracks. Cold Night Feather roared, swinging his Holy Sword—now a massive beam of light.

“Break for me!!!!”

Cold Night Feather yelled. The Demon King countered fiercely, raising his twisted dark greatsword to meet the radiant Holy Sword.

The two opposing energies collided. The world dissolved into gold and black-red. Already-fracturing space shattered in large chunks. The violent clash produced no sound—air had been burned and pushed aside by their power.

Time passed. Ambient energy and air slowly dissipated. The silent rain’s patter returned to Cold Night Feather’s ears. The entire Demon King’s city had vanished into history. The ground had sunk significantly. He looked up: deep-red skies showed two massive gashes where black-red storm clouds had been torn apart. The rain lessened.

Cold Night Feather looked utterly battered. His already pale skin was now paper-white from exhaustion. His exquisite armor had disintegrated, revealing a slender, almost feminine body covered in fine wounds and blood—yet untouched by dust. He sighed, wincing. “Damn it, my King Vajra Armor!”

That line ruined his image. Cold Night Feather pulled a finely tailored white trench coat from his spatial ring and slipped it on, adding shoes. He stood over the Demon King, collapsed in a giant crater. “Heh. So the Demon King who plagued the Freya Continent for a millennium is finally finished by me.”

The Demon King laughed weakly, forcing himself up. His armor and faceplate crumbled to ash like Cold Night Feather’s had, revealing a pale face Cold Night Feather recognized. He spat black-tinged blood, coughed, and his savage Golden Pupils faded to calm cerulean blue.

“Huh?” Cold Night Feather’s unease intensified. A chill crept through his body.

The Demon King grinned bitterly. “The Mirror Shatterer falls to demonhood… It seems the Freya Continent is truly doomed!” His voice was frail.

At that moment, Cold Night Feather gasped. Thin, snake-like black threads were devouring his energy, crawling up his legs. His body felt alien, unresponsive.

“This! What is this!” Cold Night Feather’s crimson pupils widened. The threads carried the Demon King’s exact aura. The pit held no evil energy now. Connecting this with the Demon King’s words, Cold Night Feather understood.

The Demon King stared blankly at Cold Night Feather being consumed. His despair deepened. “The slayer of the Demon King… is devoured by an unknown law. They lose sanity, becoming the next Demon King. That’s why the Demon King never dies, growing stronger each time… The Freya Continent lost hope the moment this curse began!”

The Demon King closed his cerulean eyes. Blood tears streamed down his cheeks. His body slowly turned to ash—he’d died long ago, controlled by that force. His brief clarity was just a dying flicker.

Cold Night Feather’s heart froze. He finally recalled where he’d seen the Demon King: the legendary peerless swordsman from history texts! The one who fought the Demon King and perished from exhaustion! They said the Demon King later mastered his swordsmanship. Who knew it wasn’t the Demon King learning—it was the swordsman becoming the new Demon King after slaying his predecessor!

Cold Night Feather could do nothing. He watched silently as black threads reached his abdomen. Below his waist, parts of the Demon King’s grotesque armor had already formed.

Without golden flames to block it, black rain pattered on Cold Night Feather’s hair and body. A sense of helplessness—absent since he’d apprenticed under XiaoYunYao at age ten—clung to him like a parasite.

(Is it all over?) Cold Night Feather lowered his gaze to the threads nearing his chest. Whispers of damnation hissed in his ears. Even his steadfast will wavered for a moment.

(No! I can’t give up!) The wavering sparked fierce struggle. (I, Cold Night Feather, dominated the Freya Continent for thirty-four years on sheer grit! As long as hope remains, I’ll fight for it!)

He tried every escape method he knew. Nothing changed. Finally, his expression hardened—he’d detonate his soul and body, erasing himself from existence.

But Cold Night Feather discovered despairingly he’d lost all control. Even his soul felt foreign. Only his eyes and mouth still moved.

(It’s truly over.) He closed his eyes in pain, awaiting death. Consciousness devoured by this curse, turning savage and mindless—that was no different from death.

Soon, he’d become the next Demon King, slaughtering those he loved, relied on, and the continent he cherished. He couldn’t bear that. But…

(I’ve tried everything. No chances left…) Almost instinctively, he glanced at the ruby Mystic Necklace on his chest, untouched by the energy blasts. He murmured, “Necklace… do you have a way out?”

He chuckled dryly after a pause. “I’m mad, talking to a necklace.”

Yet, to Cold Night Feather’s shock, the Mystic Necklace blazed with intense light. It vibrated violently. The black threads at his chest melted like spring snow under sunlight. As he regained control of his body, the necklace’s glow intensified.

A pale purple spatial gate instantly formed before him. Before he could speak, the necklace yanked him through.

The moment Cold Night Feather vanished, the gate sealed shut. Only giant craters and fractured space remained in the Demon King’s realm. The rain had stopped. It was as if Cold Night Feather, the Demon King, and the city had never existed.

Just then, a massive interdimensional gate opened in a corner of the realm. Dozens of men and women in white-gold robes stepped through, radiating immense pressure. Behind them marched a silver-armored elite army, each soldier formidable.

Those white-robed figures were unmistakably from the “Goddess Hall”!

Rector inhaled sharply, surveying the ruined realm where the Demon King’s city once stood. “I still feel residual energy vibrations in the air. A battle of unprecedented scale just happened here!”

Beside him, XiaoYunYao frowned beautifully, sorrow in her voice. “No trace of the Demon King… or Feather. It seems Feather has…”

Rector fell silent. After a long pause, he said, “Little Feather sacrificed himself for the entire Freya Continent. His death secures everyone’s future.”

The white-robed figures and soldiers stood in solemn silence. Rector gently patted XiaoYunYao’s shoulder. “Let’s go. This space is unstable—it’ll collapse soon. The dead can’t return. Grieve, but move on.”

XiaoYunYao didn’t speak. Tears streamed down her face. She’d always treated Cold Night Feather like her own son. Now, she felt like a mother who’d lost her most brilliant child.

After a while, she turned and followed Rector’s group toward the rift they’d come from. Before leaving, she cast one last, deep look at the silent, eerie crimson land of the Demon King’s realm—as if she could still see Cold Night Feather there.

Three days later, the Freya Continent held Cold Night Feather’s funeral. Mourners ranged from royalty to commoners. Cold Night Feather, once titled “Feather Sword Emperor,” was posthumously honored as “Truth-Sundering Sword God.” Peace and harmony returned to the Freya Continent. Cold Night Feather was revered and praised by generations to come.

Who knew the man everyone thought dead was actually traversing world pathways, his body undergoing reconstruction?

(Freya Continent Tip: Domains and laws between high-level powerhouses counteract and suppress each other. Thus, in most cases, powerhouses of the same level or similar strength won’t use domains and laws in combat!)