Kartora was gone.

Yet the Puppet Kartora remained.

At that moment, the puppet that bore her name stood quietly amidst the fractured landscape of the Origin Continent. Though she had inherited Kartora's soul, she had not inherited her power.

In truth, the puppet's body was far from perfect. The framework that Daniel had assembled was little more than a temporary vessel, a crude construct with a weak foundation. In terms of ability, she was—at best—Level 1.

Now, with Kartora's true body gone, the puppet turned her wooden, expressionless face toward Daniel. Her glass-like eyes, however, shimmered faintly with the light of awareness—her soul's echo making the puppet seem almost human.

"Lord Crossbridge," she said softly, using the title that Kartora herself had always spoken with warmth. "I know you will help me… won't you?"

Her voice, though mechanical, trembled faintly. The tone carried that same fragile gentleness that belonged to Kartora herself.

Daniel sighed.

What could he possibly do?

This was not a problem of skill, nor of courage, but of fate.

He opened his mouth, searching for an answer, but the words refused to come. The puppet seemed to notice the helplessness in his expression and smiled weakly, continuing before he could speak.

"I understand," she murmured. "You've already done so much for me, Lord Crossbridge. It must be difficult for you."

"If it's possible… could you just stay with me a little longer? I don't need much—just a little time."

Her tone was almost pleading, a fragile plea that reached past her wooden body and struck directly into Daniel's heart.

He hesitated, then nodded quietly and stepped forward until he stood beside her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The Puppet Kartora leaned forward and rested her head against his chest. Her movements were stiff, but her presence carried a faint warmth—an echo of the original Kartora's tenderness.

"I understand," she said. "I know what you're thinking. Still… I can't help but feel sad."

For a brief moment, Daniel's composure faltered.

His heart tightened painfully. Though he was a being who had long since transcended the mortal realm—one who could manipulate time, recreate souls, and forge divine materials—he was still human at his core.

No matter how much knowledge he possessed, he could not freeze his emotions.

Especially when standing before Kartora—the woman who had walked beside him longer than anyone else.

Even if the body before him was made of wood and runes, the soul within was the same Kartora who had once laughed, fought, and dreamed beside him.

"Maybe…" Daniel muttered. "Maybe there's still a way."

A flicker of determination flashed through his eyes. Without explaining further, he raised his hand and activated Time Stream, letting his consciousness slip backward through the layers of time.

He returned to the exact moment before the Puppet Kartora had first looked at him—the instant before her eyes had filled with hope.

Then, using Flashback, he vanished from the timeline entirely.

He could not bear to watch her suffer.

But deep down, as the temporal current carried him away, another thought surfaced—one that made his heart grow heavy.

He remembered something.

He had seen two Kartoras before—one with a body of flesh, and another with the unmistakable appearance of a puppet.

At the time, he hadn't understood. But now, the truth was clear. The puppet he had once encountered in another timeline must have been this very creation—the one born from his own hands.

Yet the one he had seen then had been different: more refined, more expressive, more alive.

Could that mean the puppet before him was destined to evolve—destined to become that future self?

For countless cycles of thought, Daniel analyzed, deduced, and simulated the possibilities through mental calculation. But no matter how many paths he envisioned, the result was always the same:

He should not interfere.

If he acted rashly, he might disrupt a causal chain beyond comprehension. To help the Puppet Kartora now could mean harming the true Kartora.

There was no safe path forward.

Thus, with a silent resolve, Daniel used Flashback once more and disappeared from the cliff where she stood.

The next moment, his figure materialized at the center of the Origin Continent.

There, hanging between heaven and earth, was a rope of light—a shimmering cord that extended upward into the endless void. Its threads pulsed faintly with vitality, and even from a distance, Daniel could sense a chilling aura of destruction emanating from above.

It was the Rope of Life.

One end anchored itself in the earth, while the other extended into the void, connecting to a space that had already perished. Daniel could still feel the faint breath of that annihilation—the echo of a world collapsing into nothingness.

The Rope of Life, he knew, was formed from the remnants of a destroyed space. When a realm that housed living beings was obliterated, the intertwining essences of those lives and the fragments of the shattered dimension sometimes condensed into this rare phenomenon.

It was, in essence, life born from death.

That meant one thing—somewhere, not long ago, a living space, filled with sentient beings, had been completely destroyed.

He did not know how that destruction had occurred, nor what had caused it, but the result stood before him: a rope woven from the cries of a dead world.

Daniel reached out and touched it lightly. The surface shimmered beneath his fingers, and a surge of energy pulsed through his body.

If he could infuse it with the power of temporal fragments, it would evolve into something far greater—

the Rope of Genesis.

He recalled his plan. During his return journey, he had been collecting space-time fragments, shards left over from the collapse of other realms. By his calculations, he had already gathered enough to complete the Rope's transformation.

A flicker of triumph crossed his eyes.

[Rope of Life]

Effect: Contains boundless life force.

Description: A special substance formed after the destruction of an ancient plane, woven from the deaths of its inhabitants and the fragments of its space.

He smiled faintly. His assumption had been correct.

Daniel stored the Rope of Life within his dimensional inventory. For someone of his level, turning it into the Rope of Genesis was merely a matter of time and precision.

Yet curiosity still gnawed at him.

What kind of world had perished to give birth to such a relic?

Even Kartora, with her power as a Fake God of Time, had been unable to travel further into the past to uncover such mysteries. What hope did he have now?

Shaking his head, Daniel prepared to leave. But before he could open another portal, his senses flared.

From a direction not far away—where the Puppet Kartora had remained—space and time suddenly violently convulsed!

A surge of temporal fragments erupted outward, scattering like shards of glass across the horizon.

Daniel frowned deeply.

Those were the very fragments he needed to transform the Rope of Life.

Originally, he had planned to gather them gradually. But now, it seemed the event surrounding the puppet's location was producing enough fragments to complete the process instantly.

The question was—should he go?

If he ventured there, he risked being drawn into another temporal vortex. Once trapped, he might not escape unscathed.

A moment of hesitation flickered across his face.

Was it worth the risk?

Yet the answer came swiftly.

"No matter what happens," he muttered, "the God Rank synthesis must come first."

With that, Daniel clenched his jaw and activated Flashback, teleporting directly to the puppet's last known position.

The world he arrived in was drenched in temporal distortion. Space rippled like liquid light, and countless fragments drifted in the air.

But of the Puppet Kartora—there was no trace.

In her place was a storm of fragmented reality, the residue of her fusion with the ancient god's Time Seat. She had vanished into a higher, unpredictable dimension.

Daniel exhaled softly. Relief mixed with regret.

"At least she's gone somewhere beyond my reach," he murmured. "Perhaps that's… for the best."

He knew it was a selfish thought. But deep down, he also knew this was the only ending that would not tear apart the flow of fate.

Taking a deep breath, Daniel began to work.

He laid out his materials, drawing from both his personal stores and the vast reserves he had inherited from the City of Luck—the divine fortress that once belonged to the Luck Goddess, Luke.

Among his supplies were crystals carrying the rare [Unique] property:

[Core of Wrath (Unique)]

[Core of the Deep Sea Creature (Unique)]

Each of these was an artifact of impossible rarity, materials that could only be obtained through the intervention of the Luck Goddess herself. Without her assistance, Daniel might never have acquired them.

Now, they would serve as catalysts.

He disassembled several unused God Rank Skills, reducing them into their essence, then combined them with the rarest materials he possessed.

His goal was clear: first, to complete the Rope of Genesis—then to synthesize the God Rank scroll for the Liberation Technique.

Daniel summoned his clones and sent them into the field to gather the nearby space-time fragments.

It did not take long. The Rope of Life absorbed the gathered essence, glowing brighter with each infusion until it finally transcended its former state.

Rope of Genesis – Complete.

Once all the ingredients were prepared, Daniel began the synthesis without hesitation.

A pillar of light shot upward. Reality trembled.

[Liberation Technique]

Effect: Allows the user to remove certain restrictive "Unique" properties. For example, you may exist as multiple versions of yourself within the same timeline without being constrained by temporal laws.

Daniel's eyes narrowed. Something was off.

As the scroll finalized, new runes appeared along its surface—runes that had not been part of his calculations.

He frowned slightly, surprise flickering in his gaze.

"Strange…" he whispered. "After fully charging it, the Liberation Technique's effect seems to have… changed again."

The power that pulsed from the scroll felt different—deeper, broader, as if it were no longer merely a tool to bypass restrictions, but a key capable of rewriting the very framework of causality.

And as Daniel stared into the glowing runes, a quiet realization settled in his mind:

Whatever came next would decide not only his own fate, but the fates of all who walked the paths of time and creation.

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