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On the battlefield strewn with corpses, heroes would only glance at the dead, and the dead would cower and retreat.

At that time, they shouted excitedly amidst the raging waves of flames, drinking their own flesh and blood.

This deep-seated hatred has finally found a tangible outlet today.

The so-called gods of the abyss are nothing more than remnants of the previous generation.

Those despicable individuals, bowing down to their own desires and cowardice, unable to muster even the slightest thought of resistance, became the first to devour the food.

Today, however, through the changing of generations, they have become exalted gods through gluttony and enslavement.

And now, they dare to show their faces in front of him!

The spiral sword burst forth with a massive amount of flames, which then stretched inch by inch amidst the flames that entwined the blade, and the steel solidified into a new form within the flames.

The undead gripped the thick sword in his hand, and with a leap, his body was lifted up by a beam of light woven from lightning.

The palace, once shrouded in black mist, has been completely consumed by flames.

Like a rising star, it freely displays its own brilliance.

In an instant, his dazzling figure bridged the enormous chasm between them.

The greatsword swung down, and with a deafening roar, flames surged like giant waves, tearing through the shallow protection of the palm.

The curved blade churned and burned wildly within the body formed of black mud.

With a single strike, the Hand of God shattered and decayed completely.

It wailed in the silent sounds of pollution, and became fuel for the flames in the relentless burning of the first fire.

Under the suppression of the world's barriers, the will of the gods is completely unable to prevail here.

But the fear of the tassel dominated the remaining body, and it desperately wanted to escape, completely forgetting that it had once been a god who looked down on everything in the abyss.

The remaining mud splattered like stray dogs, rushing swiftly toward the spatial rift behind the shattered throne.

At the same time, the spatial rift is closing up inch by inch, and the originally broken spatial fragments are also appearing from the void and returning to the rift.

The immortal slightly raised his eyes, and his figure turned into a stream of fire and disappeared on the spot.

When it reappeared, it was already at the point where the crack had closed.

A piece of black mud, about the size of a palm, was forcibly cut off by a gauntlet burning with flames.

The shattered will contained within was consumed and burned by the First Flame amidst the howling.

"I should be thankful that I haven't found your method yet."

The immortal lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the festering lump of mud in his hand.

"You should remember my anger."

The flames were lifted up.

At this moment, the sun in the sky has lost its luster.

A brand new sun rises slowly, fueled by the black mud.

Under the undead's terrifyingly calm gaze, he slowly brought his hand closer to the spatial rift.

The crack was also distorted by the terrifying temperature, slowing down its recovery.

The blazing sun in his palm was slowly stuffed into the crack.

Just by being touched by the aura of that space for a moment, countless terrified screams squeezed into this space through the spatial rift.

The flame that existed from the beginning is also the reignited kingly fire.

It left behind a glimmer of its own in that dark world.

The fire will not go out until that abyssal sea is burned to ashes.

And this will also become a beacon for the undead to find it.

From then on, even on the other side of time, this beacon will forever be imprinted in the bones of those despicable people who call themselves gods.

Until the flames turned it into eternal firewood.

The spatial rift finally escaped the flames' interference. Under the influence of the Primordial Flame, it rapidly healed until it completely closed, severing the connection between the two planes.

The undead stood on the throne, looking down at the sword in his hand.

The remaining Abyss followers are hidden in the rubble beneath the throne.

His body had lost the ability to tremble, and he lay silent in the shadow of the towering throne.

Therese tried to sit up and say something.

He felt he should say something.

But what could he possibly say?

Even now, the true king has never even glanced at him directly.

Therese took a deep breath, trying to suppress his fear.

Under the suppression of the world's barrier, the Abyss Child's body could not remain intact for long, and he had to re-condense into a human body.

He was about to straighten up and shout at the true king.

The immortal tilted its head slightly.

He hung the spiral sword at his side and began to speak.

"Straight thrust."

Therese's mind went blank for a moment, followed by a terrifying whooshing sound.

The straight knife tore through the air and struck the man's chest directly.

Theresis jolted awake and drew her greatsword from the void with her right hand.

But the sword was already covered in wounds.

The girl's eyes regained their sparkle.

However, instead of the joy of victory, there was a slight shyness and nervousness.

At that moment, right behind the girl, the undead standing on the shattered throne turned his gaze toward Melantha.

"Swing upwards, then turn around to receive the strike."

Melantha decisively flipped the straight blade she was holding against the sword, and slashed it upwards across Theresis's palm, just as her teacher had described.

Therese couldn't dodge in time, and her little finger was cut off from her hand, which had already taken human form.

The girl turned and stepped forward again, getting closer to Theresis. The huge angle of her slash, created by her turning around, allowed the straight sword to slash at Theresis's waist with tremendous force after traveling a great distance.

Ding!Ding!

"Left dodge, step forward and draw the blade, step forward and slash diagonally, then thrust horizontally with the sword..."

One sentence after another uttered from the mouth of the immortal.

Melantha faithfully followed the instructions of the Undead and attacked Theresis time and time again.

At this moment, Theresis was no longer a figure in Melantha's eyes.

She felt as if she had returned to the past, to when she was still a child.

Melanie still remembers that afternoon.

The noblewoman placed five gold coins before the silent undead.

From then on, the Undead never lacked good firewood in Victoria's home.

After that, a diligent girl joined the Undying Man's family.

No matter how hard she tried, she would always be a step behind the teacher's instructions.

Because of her physical condition, she didn't have much strength in her hand when holding the straight knife.

The daily training always left her physically exhausted.

But those were indeed Melanie's happiest days.

She doesn't need to worry about whether she fits the traditional image of a wealthy young lady, nor does she need to restrain her behavior.

In front of her teacher, she could abandon all pretense of elegance and grace, and sit by the campfire to warm her hands, which had just been soaked by the rain.

You can also learn swordsmanship techniques that she never even considered.

This precious memory is the very source that enabled her to traverse the mirage of time and return here from the torment of a silent era.

Yesterday was relived, and Melanie was finally able to do everything her teacher had told her perfectly.

Thrust, slash, upward sweep, sidestep.

Every movement was as perfect as if the teacher was holding her hand and guiding her.

Therese barely managed to hold on amidst this fierce onslaught.

Finally, Melantha, amidst the Undead's powerful stomping strike, landed a blow right in the middle of the greatsword.

The already battered greatsword broke in two, leaving Theresis with only the broken sword in her hand. She could only retreat in a sorry state, abandoning the sword.

But just as he was about to stop and step back, his back struck a solid rock.

Therese's head slammed into the edge of the rock without warning.

His vision was a little blurry.

As the blade, reflecting the flames in his peripheral vision, flashed before his eyes, he momentarily mistook the figure before him for someone else.

Those were his blood relatives whom he had personally driven to the brink of despair.

If he hadn't explored the deep secrets himself, he wouldn't have been able to personally scoop up that handful of the thick, mysterious abyss.

Perhaps, things would be different?

Swish!

A cold glint flashed across his neck.

The head with Sarkaz features, under the suppression of the approaching True Primal Flame, could no longer dissipate into black mist.

Thick, black blood splattered onto the rubble behind him.