(Meanwhile, within the Black Hole, Soron's POV)

Inside the crushing silence of the black hole, Soron's eyes snapped open.

The endless hum of refinement stilled for the first time in months, as something inside his soul tore apart.

He felt the fragment die.

A shard of himself that he had buried deep within Charles long ago, which was now extinguished all of a sudden.

'No—'

He thought, as he felt his heart skip a beat.

'Not Charles….'

He prayed, yet despite his plea, a flood of images began to play in his mind, portraying Charles's final moments.

*Slash*

He saw Raymond's blade cleaving.

Charles bleeding.

His limbs falling one after another.

*Wince*

He winced in pain, as he saw Charles remaining defiant even as his body was carved away.

Until finally— Charles's head was severed, putting an end to the Great Monarch's life.

'My friend….'

Soron thought, as his chest ached.

He felt his spirit and will being crushed at once, as though the black hole itself had reached out and squeezed it, for without Charles, he truly worried for the future of the Cult.

"Charles…"

The word broke in his throat, rough with sorrow, heavy with rage.

He had known the risks when he entrusted Charles with the defense of Cult, yet knowing and watching were two different things, for no calculation could soften the agony of witnessing the death of a friend who had fought under him for centuries.

For a long moment, Soron let the Origin Metal's glow dim, his aura stilling as he hovered in silence, letting the memory replay again and again until it carved itself deep into his soul.

He wanted to leave.

He wanted to abandon this accursed refinement, to tear himself free from the black hole's crushing maw and race across the stars, to reach Juxta and annihilate Raymond and every soldier who dared breathe upon Cult soil.

But he couldn't.

He was only thirty-five percent into the refinement at this moment, and if he stopped now, it would all be wasted— the weeks of agony, the risk of stepping into the black hole, the fragile window he had carved for himself amidst enemies who waited for his death…..

It would all be wasted, and then Charles would have died for nothing.

Soron's eyes narrowed, his breath sharp as steel, his knuckles tightening until faint cracks echoed through the blackness.

"Damn it all…"

The words ground out between his teeth, as his aura trembled with the urge to break free, to abandon logic and let fury guide his hand.

But reason, bitter and cold, clawed its way back into him.

If he left now, he would never have the strength to return.

He was too old and too weak to attempt such an adventure again.

And if he left the black hole and engaged in a war, it would most likely be the last one of his life.

He knew his own limits, and knew that he had one good fight left in him.

Hence, the choice he had to make now was between returning immediately and giving up on the origin blade, or returning later and risking the life of billions of Cult members.

On one hand, the origin blade was crucial for his revenge, for without it he could never hope to kill the enemy gods of the Cult.

However, on the other hand, not leaving now meant endangering the Cult and billions of his followers.

'Oh father….. what do I do now?'

Soron wondered, as he closed his eyes, and saw once again the stubborn defiance in Charles's face, even as his body was hacked apart, and even as his end was certain.

That look was not a plea for rescue.

It was a command.

Charles had always known what this war required.

He had sacrificed his life so that Soron could complete his refinement.

And for that reason, Soron felt like he could not squander this chance.

For if not for himself, at least for Charles's sake, he had to see it through to the end.

For without the blade, his revenge would always be incomplete.

'In time I'll avenge you old friend, that much I promise….'

Soron thought, as he forced his trembling body back into stillness, calming the madness in his blood as he once again focused on the refinement.

It wasn't easy. Especially since his grief was deep.

But bit by bit, his aura steadied.

His hands moved once more, weaving the delicate patterns of refinement, as he separated and refined the origin metal, one molecule at a time.

"I know you must have made arrangements for the Cult to be safe even after you died.

Or else you would have fled that battle instead of fighting till the end.

So I place my trust in your trust, and hope that whoever you selected as the Cult's next leader, will do a good job at keeping our people safe."

Soron prayed, as he placed his faith in what Charles had left behind— believing that his strategies, his preparations, and his successor would keep the Cult safe till he returned.

Deep down, he knew that it was most likely the Shadow Dragon Leo Skyshard who Charles would have passed his mantle down to.

And although he felt that it was perhaps too soon for the kid to take charge of the Cult, he also acknowledged Leo's potential, and decided to keep his faith in him, till he returned.

"Keep yourself and the elders safe. If I feel more than half of them die, I'll abandon the refinement and head back.

But if somehow you manage to keep them alive, I'll believe that the majority of the Cult is also safe…." Soron decided, as he tried to hasten the refinement process as much as he could.

"This is your chance to be the sect master…. Do it well, and I'll be able to fight without worries about whom to pass the Cult down to after my death.

And perhaps, I'll even pass this blade down to you after my death."

Soron concluded, as for now he decided to bet on Leo to keep the Cult safe.

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