As the pattern like a human body made of countless maggots gathered on the floor of the mysterious realm's structure—an expanse like a cosmos filled with stars and a golden glow, as if endless melted gold had been spilled over it—this scene could not be perceived by the mere eyes of a human, not even by the strongest man in the world, even if he bore the Legend Branch of a Mark or even a powerhouse.

Countless stars were scattered across the dark sky above, some forming constellations that looked alive, as if they were gazing back at the unseen. Others clustered together, shaping an eye-catching group with swirling gases forming a nebula that looked almost like a living expanse.

At the same time, the maggots finished shaping a body-like form—brown hair, crimson eyes, and a pale face—lying in the open space beside the two massive pillars of the mysterious structure.

And to the surprise of the heavens and the heavenly bodies, the body-like thing formed from the maggots turned into a flawless human form, one that could never exist here, one that could never be brought into this realm. It was nothing but a soul.

Just then, out of nowhere, another figure appeared beside the body-like shape as if it had been there from the beginning—a being with flawless skin, so striking that if he ever stepped into the living world, every woman would be stuck staring, even licking every part of him. However that was never going to happen.

This being had blue hair falling across his earlobes, pure blue eyes, blue brows, and wore a black robe covering his whole body. Leaning slightly against the pillar, he opened his arms from their crossed position and raised his hand above the body-like form. As he did, sparks of light burst from his palm, twisting and waving like a dragon as they wrapped around the form—before vanishing into nothingness.

Far from the realm, in a quiet forest near a towering wall, a completely crushed and half eaten human body lay inside a deep hole on the ground and was slowly healing. It was hardly even a body anymore—more like a pile of broken organs than something alive. The fingers, soaked in dried blood, twitched a little.

A sharp gust of wind passed through the place, as if nature itself didn't know how to react to what had happened here.

Ibaan's eyes snapped open under the blood-stained mask, [Saint of Dusk]. The mask vanished into the relic's space at once, revealing his badly hurt face—marked with countless cuts, dried blood, and hardly any sign that this was still Ibaan.

Most of the wounds had already healed, leaving only stains of blood behind. The pain, too, had almost faded.

Right then, a single thought formed in his mind.

'Huh?'

And in a staccato manner, his voice came out as he whispered, "How…? Am I alive? Didn't… I die?"

"Cough!"

He lifted his hand in front of his half-opened eyes, trying to check if he was actually alive or already in heaven or hell. He realised he could move without feeling a single bit of pain, and when he noticed the countless small, dead eyes in the red sky, a wave of excitement rushed through him.

He was alive. He hadn't died after everything he went through. By all logic, he should have vanished. He should have been gone. Yet somehow, in a strange way, he was still here, breathing.

Then another possible reason crossed his mind. Mr. Shepard had said he was protected by Saint Sanity—something even the Attainers couldn't suppress. They were far more dangerous and far stronger than these strange creatures.

So maybe he survived because of the Saint Sanity protection.

'Yes that's right.'

Accepting what was happening, he pushed himself up on his feet. Only then did he realise how deep he had been crushed by those three filthy creatures. If ten Ibaans stood on each other, only then would they reach the surface—and he was 178 centimetres tall, almost 5'10".

A cold shiver slipped down his spine as he thought about facing those hateful creatures again. How was he even supposed to survive?

His mind threw many questions at him, but none came with answers.

The smartest thing he could do now was simple—avoid those creatures at all cost, no matter what, reach the tower, and face the lord of those monsters instead.

But if the small creatures were already this cruel and dangerous… then what kind of terror was their lord going to be?

Just the thought alone made his heart shake, as if the coldest hand had grabbed it.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

'I should've just died. At least that would've been peaceful. Damn this protection.'

"Tsk!" He clicked his tongue the moment he realised what he had turned into.

He never cursed before, never liked it—and yet ever since he came to this world, the habit had sunk into him. Now he cursed without even thinking.

And honestly, there was nothing he could do about it. He had to curse. Yeah you heard it right , that was simply how he had become., he had to be abusive. .

His jaw dropped the moment he noticed his newly made sword—Utopian's Sword, or Utopian's Dusk—was nowhere around. And since he had already summoned it out of the relic, it shouldn't have vanished this easily.

The creatures must have left already.

With that thought, he rushed up the slope toward the surface.

'Where is it? Where is it?'

He scanned the whole place, but there was nothing—only herbs, shrubs, flowers, and trees.

Also the creatures were gone without a trace.

And when he looked at the wall, he saw a huge dent high above—right where the first strike had thrown him.

His eyes widened. He had survived. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Right away, his gaze dropped to the ground. His sword lay there, its red blade glowing softly under the light of the crimson demonic eye.

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