"If you already knew so much, why didn’t you stop it?" Roland thought—if he’d known someone planned to destroy the world, he’d have been first in line to punch that guy. No time for chatter.

The Goddess of Creation shook her head. "I created this world, but it has grown independent. I can no longer interfere. Everything now rests on you. I can only offer trivial hints."

"Uh… Why not interfere? Shouldn’t it be easy for you?" Roland was utterly confused.

"Civilization must grow on its own. Outside help only backfires—I know this well." She smiled wryly, as if recalling something.

She sighed. "Also… gods and humans see things differently. You think I should prevent tragedy. I believe I must not interfere. You can’t understand watching your creation endure hardship and grow stronger day by day."

"Different values between gods and humans…" Roland nodded thoughtfully. "So… you truly won’t expose that traitor trying to destroy the world?"

"No." She shook her head. "From now on, it’s all on you."

"What if the world *is* destroyed?" Roland asked curiously.

"I’ll ensure some survive—to preserve civilization." She stood. "Time’s up. I’m leaving. Ponder it yourself."

"Aren’t you worried I won’t stop him?"

Roland couldn’t fathom why she’d so casually dump world-saving duty on him. Did she trust him?

"First—when I patted your shoulder, I stacked dozens of buffs on you. Even if the whole world dies, *you* won’t."

"Second—think carefully. If everyone’s gone… who’ll read your stories? Your wives? Dead. Friends? Dead. You’d be utterly alone. How lonely."

"You… threatening me?" Roland realized it—this was a blatant threat! She was forcing him to work!

The Goddess patted his shoulder again, casually adding more buffs. Adopting a superior’s hopeful tone: "So, kid—work hard. Don’t disappoint me. Don’t mess up…"

She lowered her voice, words dripping with menace: "Or you’ll live alone… until the end of time."

Roland felt deeply frustrated. *How did I get stuck with this? And this goddess… so unreliable…*

"Alright. I’ll send you out. Guard the World Stone—it’s vital."

With a wave, Roland vanished.

"Tsk, tsk. Fate’s ironic. Never thought the savior role’d be snatched… but Roland should handle it better than Silva," the Goddess muttered.

Wangcai, beneath her, let out two discontented barks.

She smacked his head. "Still thinking about dog food? You nearly ruined everything!"

"Whimper…" Wangcai drooped his head, letting out soft whines—as if saying, *Not my fault! How was I to know powerful humans would crash the plan?*

The original plan: misdirect the group into Wangcai’s territory. He’d stage a symbolic fight, bring Silva here. Goddess descends, names her savior. Simple.

But humans ambushed Wangcai. After a bloody stalemate, pressed for time, he charged back to his lair. Tried grabbing Silva en route—but Roland shoved her away. Plan collapsed. Savior role shifted to Roland.

*Boss, blame the humans! They wrecked everything!* Wangcai whined inwardly.

"Hmph. You’re just too pathetic. Stronger, you’d have beaten those assassins. I sent you to cultivate near the World Stone—*this* is the result? Shameful," the Goddess snorted.

"Whine…" Wangcai slumped.

"Enough. Time to go." She snapped her fingers. Holy light bloomed above. She and Wangcai ascended, dissolving into starlight.

…

Roland sat dazed at the cave mouth. One second: threatened by a goddess. Next: here. *Gods really are something—teleporting like breathing.*

He stood, brushed off his pants. Barren earth stretched around—scorched, empty, as if hit by a Forbidden Spell.

Sensing lingering magic, his face paled.

*It really was a Forbidden Spell!*

*Had to be that Grand Sage! Is Silva… ash?*

Forbidden Spells were like nukes. Roland knew nuclear footage from his old world—equal under the blast. All dead. Same effect.

They had tiers. This one felt low-grade—Grand Sage probably ran low on mana. Still devastating.

Silva had the full divine gear set… but could it hold? Roland had no idea.

He searched anxiously. The land was bare. No hiding spots.

But—a corpse. Battle signs. All post-spell.

Three stab wounds on the back: heart, liver, kidneys. Throat slit.

*Ruthless*, Roland noted silently, moving toward the scorched ground.

Blackened patches. Deep gashes. Some magical, most physical. Bloodstains. Chaotic footprints. A fierce skirmish.

He crouched. "Blood’s still wet. Minutes ago. We can catch up."

*Silva survived the spell—if not, the Goddess wouldn’t have been calm.*

*And these wounds… match the divine gear.*

*She tanked it. Now hunting the black-clad.*

Following a blood trail deeper into the forest. Ravaged trees. Some cleaved clean in half.

More black-clad corpses. Faces frozen in terror. Deaths brutal—like the killer vented fury.

Roland made the sign of the cross. Observed a 0.00000001-second silence. Kicked each corpse twice. Walked on.

*Deserved it. For bullying Silva.*

Pushing through thick grass—he found her.

Silva stood motionless in the blood-splattered divine armor he’d given her. Crimson dripped slowly from its seams.

Mutilated bodies littered the ground. No living soul nearby. Air thick with iron scent. Blood pooled, gurgling toward low ground—a river of red.

Roland swallowed hard.

He’d always seen Silva as gentle, noble, delicate—a girl untouched by "slaughter."

But this blood-soaked figure jolted him awake.

She was First Imperial Princess. Future Empress. In this chaotic world, she’d shed all girlish softness long ago. How else rise above her father’s many heirs?

With him, she showed a tender side. Away? She became the Princess again.

How could the First Imperial Princess never have taken a life?

Roland realized—he still didn’t truly know her.

Silva, sensing threat, raised her Staff of Time—fireball forming.

Then she saw him.

Tears burst forth. The staff clattered down. She ran to him, face streaked with tears, and clung tightly.

"I… I… I thought you were dead…" she sobbed, eyes swollen red.

Roland said nothing. Just held her.

Years alone in this world. Rootless. Family-less. Dream: find wives. Reality: failed relationships.

No one cared if he lived or died.

But *she* did. Deeply.

They held each other fiercely, as if fusing into one.

"Ahem."

A weak, clear cough pulled them back to reality.