The cyclone from the Northern Sea carried torrents of moisture. As the vapor gathered, colossal rain clouds formed. Torrential rain poured down, scouring the half-submerged ruins of a coastal city—a human metropolis long destroyed by gods. Skyscraper skeletons jutted from the seawater, rotting beneath the waves. Exposed rebar, thick with rust, silently whispered of time’s passage in the rain.

The roar of engines shattered the ruins’ silence. Composite rotor blades tore through the curtain of rain. Black attack helicopters flew low over the dead city, arranged in precise assault formations, missiles bristling beneath their stubby wings. A lightning bolt split the stormy sky, illuminating a colossal figure in the distance—a giant humanoid clad like an ancient armored warrior. It knelt half-buried in debris, its shell scarred and battered, fractured light-wings slowly regenerating. A divine apostle. Shot down by the Air Force.

“Target acquired! Confirmed as ‘Authority Angel’!”

“Execute Operation Plan Fifteen. Commence attack!”

The helicopter formation split left and right. Nose-mounted targeting systems locked onto the distant angel. Missiles streaked from underwing pylons. With deafening explosions, crimson flames engulfed the wounded angel, carving horrific wounds across its hundred-meter frame. The angel lifted its head. High-energy particles coalesced into a blinding sphere on its forehead. The air crackled with discharges. A laser beam lanced out, sweeping across the helicopter formation.

But the gunships had already evaded. Nano Shields flared at the front, absorbing the angel’s full-power strike. Only two unlucky craft were hit, exploding midair. The remaining helicopters regrouped, firing missiles relentlessly. 23mm autocannons beneath their noses spat fire, tracer rounds piercing the rain to concentrate on the angel’s light-wings, preventing regeneration.

The angel roared in fury. Its halo pulsed, releasing a shockwave that shattered every window in nearby ruins. Glass shards scattered like rain. Yet cruise missiles from the sea struck its body one after another. Smoke cleared to reveal shattered armor, exposing veins and muscle beneath. Beyond the horizon, untouchable by the angel, a fleet of cruisers and destroyers launched endless cruise missiles. High above the clouds, an AWACS aircraft relayed targeting data from the helicopters via high-speed datalink, enabling over-the-horizon strikes.

Five-hundred-kilogram warheads detonated on the angel’s form, scattering metallic chaff strips. Forged from special “black iron”—an alloy diametrically opposed to divinity—these strips severely disrupted godly entities, especially angels. Swirling chaff blinded the angel’s senses, plunging its vision into darkness. It lashed out wildly with energy beams, unable to hit the agile helicopters.

Helicopters, warships, and even long-range bombers joined the assault. On a coastal highway sixty kilometers away, sixty self-propelled howitzers elevated their barrels. With earth-shattering booms, 155mm shells rained toward the angel.

Pummeled from air, sea, and land, the angel’s form began collapsing, dissolving into light particles. Yet from its core, a figure emerged under cover of the glow—a winged humanoid in ornate robes—slipping unnoticed into the ruined streets.

Before it could steady itself, commandos hidden in the rubble spotted it. Clad in black combat gear and demon masks, their night-vision lenses glowed faintly in the eye sockets. They reported the angel’s position, encircling it. At their captain’s command, electromagnetic rifles fired black-iron rounds that struck true. The wounded angel went berserk, tearing one commando in half. Entrails and blood sprayed the air. The others retreated while firing, pinning it down until reinforcements arrived.

Escaping the encirclement, the masked, winged angel halted inside a derelict department store. Not to rest—but because something far deadlier had found it. Heavy footsteps echoed in the darkness. A warrior in powered armor emerged, gripping a longsword wreathed in lightning.

“Gods are humanity’s enemies,” the warrior declared in a resonant voice. “I am the Night Watch. Guardian of all beings. Watcher of this world. And—Godslayer!”

Seeing him and his blade, the weakened angel raised its staff in surrender.

The dream faded. Mio opened her eyes. The rain-lashed ruins vanished. Before her lay bright morning light and a lapis lazuli sky. Such clear blue was extinct in her original world. War against the gods demanded payment. For a millennium, the world had grown colder, skies choked with ash. Humanity marched toward extinction, oblivious.

Even she hadn’t noticed.

“Morning already,” Mio murmured, sitting up. She slipped on a white shirt, untying her silver hair. A shake of her head let it cascade freely. She glanced at Aimee still in bed—drooling slightly, soft snores escaping her lips. Anyone seeing the Sword Saint like this would surely lose respect.

At the window, Mio gazed down at Seralni bathed in dawn light. A gentle breeze tousled her silver hair. The tranquil city stirred awake. Streets filled with people. Wisps of cooking smoke rose.

*Thud-thud-thud.* A rough knock rattled the door.

“Sword Saint! Urgent summons from the Governor!”

Mio yanked the door open. The swordsman outside flinched—a young man in Hamodia Swordsmen uniform, crimson-and-blue cloak draped over his shoulders. His handsome face held a swordsman’s sharpness; his trained body showed no weakness.

“I’ll wake her immediately. Wait here,” Mio said.

“Understood.” He bowed slightly. “You’re a lifesaver, Mio.”

Closing the door, Mio sighed softly, leaning her back against it as she stared at the ceiling. She’d never realized how distant the ceiling had become.

“Morning already?”

Aimee’s voice cut through her thoughts. Mio turned to see the golden-haired beauty stretching on the bed, her ample chest straining against thin fabric.

“Early to bed, early to rise,” Mio tossed clothes at her. “Cover yourself. You’re a girl—what if someone sees you like that?”

Aimee pulled the shirt over her head with a satisfied grunt. “You’re sounding more like my mom every day. Is she… doing okay?”

Mio’s heart lurched.

Frostwind Fortress had no survivors. Not a single one.

“I knew it,” Aimee sighed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Mom’s gone.”

Mio nodded silently.

“It hurts… but it’s better than clinging to fantasies of loved ones surviving somewhere. Cleaner to know they’re truly gone.” She paused. “I braced myself when the Empire’s Nineteenth Legion marched to war. But I couldn’t stop it. If you’d been Emperor, maybe…”

“I’m no ruler.”

“How would you know unless you tried?”

Twenty minutes later, four Hamodia Swordsmen, three garrison commanders, and the mage Rasputin waited in the governor’s hall. Once the throne room of the northern Vosson Kingdom, the castle now flew Imperial banners. All traces of Vosson decor were erased—only the fortress and its neighboring ruined tower remained.

The Governor emerged, pale-faced, supported by two attendants as he sank into his seat. The others followed suit. Though merely a regional official, he couldn’t mimic the Emperor’s aloofness; his chair was deliberately lowered, yet still sat too high.

Mio scanned the room. Aimee and Gild were present, but the muscular greatsword wielder Teris was absent. His seat was taken by a delicate-looking female swordsman. The odd sight of the Grandmaster flanked by three beauties—truly an “all-attribute harem”—drew disapproving glances. Gild hid his embarrassment behind a strained smile.

The ceremony master prepared to begin, but the Governor raised a trembling hand. “Skip formalities. Begin the meeting.”

The official bowed and withdrew. Servants filed out.

“My apologies, everyone,” the Governor whispered. “I had no choice.”

Hands drifted toward weapons. Even the garrison commanders tensed. Rasputin’s face stiffened—he knew something.

“Allow me to explain.”

Dark miasma coalesced in the hall, shaping into a bewitching raven-haired woman. Her scandalously short dress revealed pale thighs. Hair and eyes black as midnight heralded the world’s greatest terror: the Fallen God Yaoye.

Every muscle locked. Bone-deep fear crawled up spines. Before this fallen goddess, human strength—sword or spell—meant nothing. They all understood that truth.

“Yaoye!” Mio stepped forward, blade clearing its sheath with a *shing*. Liquid metal crackled with electricity along the blade as she raised it before her chest.

“Gods are humanity’s enemies,” she proclaimed. “I am the Night Watch. Guardian of all beings. Watcher of this world. And—Godslayer!”

Her eyes snapped wide. Power surged from the darkness within her soul, reconstructing a form beyond this world. Yet her human body stubbornly resisted full mechanization. No matter. By manifesting the *concept* alone, the system could function. *Reinforce! Reinforce! Reinforce!* Push this flesh to its limit. Then—annihilate the god before her.

Mio saw only the smiling fallen goddess.

“Safety locks three, four, and five—disengaged! Spirit Furnace—overload!”

Raw Spirit Energy erupted from her. Crimson circuit-like patterns flared across her pale skin, tracing from wrists to cheeks and ankles. Excess energy bled from her magic channels, visible silver threads of Spirit Particles swirling around her body in the storm of power.

For that instant, Mio stole every gaze. That holiness. That beauty. That power—utterly inhuman.

“Ahhhaha!” Yaoye’s laughter slithered out. “Yes! Burn your soul to ash! Amuse me with your broken will, my beloved child!”

She spread her arms wide, defenseless, as if offering an embrace.

“Simulated Holy Sword No. 13—final safety lock disengaged!” Mio’s blade transformed. The hilt lengthened twenty centimeters; the blade doubled in size, becoming a menacing zweihänder. She leveled its blazing edge at Yaoye and uttered the activation phrase:

“Godslayer!”

In the next heartbeat, Mio became lightning. Her electrified blade pierced Yaoye’s body.

*Godslayer Armament: Soul Collapse!*

Soul Collapse—a phenomenon where high-dimensional matter disintegrates under forcibly induced Spirit Energy. Ordinary humans couldn’t possibly possess such power. Only Night Watch operatives, implanted with miniature Spirit Furnaces and wielding Simulated Holy Swords, could trigger it. Mio had forcibly recreated her original world’s mechanical body capabilities using the Fragment of Creation’s power. Yet the light vanished in an instant. Yaoye’s body didn’t dissolve into spirit particles.

"Why?" Mio’s golden eyes widened.

"Simple," Yaoye smiled, cupping Mio’s cheek. "This world doesn’t acknowledge your strength. In other words—you lack the qualification to be a Godslayer. Not yet, at least."

She flicked Mio’s forehead. Mio’s eyes dimmed. Her body slumped to the floor.

In the next heartbeat, as if unshackled, Aimee and Gild drew their swords simultaneously. They charged Yaoye from opposite sides while Rasputin unleashed ice spears through his Abyssal Magic circle.

A shadow materialized beside Yaoye. A curved blade deflected both sword strikes. A black-gloved hand raised—a Nano Shield vaporized the ice spears. Gild staggered back, arm numb. The three Hamodia Swordsmen commanders formed a protective ring around the governor. Rasputin gritted his teeth, erecting a defensive barrier—he knew further attacks were futile. Only Aimee held her ground, sword tip aimed backward, coiled for a lethal thrust.

The shadow straightened. Black miasma dissipated, revealing a warrior swathed head-to-toe in bandages. Only lidless eyes gleamed through the wrappings—a horrifying sight.

"Death Servant!" someone shrieked. Panic rippled through the hall.

*Clap. Clap. Clap.*

Yaoye beamed. "Allow me to introduce my retainer—the Third Death Servant, ‘Mad Blade’ Iduchi. You’ll be keeping each other company for the next day."

Gild’s jaw tightened. *Iduchi.* The ‘Mad Blade’ who’d erased three cities. A butcher who’d drowned tens of thousands in blood.

"First, my gratitude to the governor," Yaoye purred, "for providing such a splendid stage. As thanks, I’ll host a game here in Seralni."

The governor shrank back, nodding frantically.

"Come, human warriors! Wager your lives and honor. Join my game. Victory earns reward. Defeat—eternal darkness." Yaoye spread her arms, radiant. "The rules are simple: My forces attack. Your duty? Protect the governor. Should my Death Servant claim his head before time’s end, every soul in Seralni becomes mine. Fail to take it? We leave peacefully. Understood?"

"This wasn’t the deal!" the governor yelped. "You promised mercy!"

"Did I?" Yaoye tilted her head, feigning thought. "No matter. With so many champions guarding you, death isn’t certain. And since it’s a *game*..." She turned to Iduchi. "You may not use any martial techniques during this battle."

"Understood," Iduchi rasped, bowing deeply.

"Fight well, brave souls. I eagerly await your performance."

Yaoye raised a hand. An intricate magic circle flared in the air—runes spiraling into rings that engulfed the hall. Rasputin gasped.

"Abyssal Magic!"

"Oh? An expert among you." Yaoye’s smile turned razor-sharp as she eyed Rasputin. "But my magic operates on a tier beyond human mages."

The circle exploded outward, swallowing Seralni whole.

"This is the activation seal." Yaoye pressed a gear-shaped sigil into the trembling governor’s chest. "Game begins when Seralni’s last sunlight fades. Ends at dawn. Use these hours wisely."

She dissolved into miasma, leaving only Iduchi.

"Humans," Iduchi croaked, "I’ll offer that fat pig’s head to my divine master. Though it’s hardly a worthy sacrifice—*hahaha!*"

His laughter echoed as he too vanished into the dark.