Cytortia faced the very embodiment of existential balance, and a singular question surfaced.

“Why now? Why do you come here now?”

The WORLD sighed.

“Lost Divine is not something I can ignore. Arcane is a creation from those whose inspiration grasped the core of the Multiverse’s existence. Its enforcement is conceptually universal. With that kind of power involve, a deal is a deal. Even I am not exempt from it. The Divine Core is a perfection of nature, gifted to the gods. By volunteering to destroy it, you symbolize the realization of imperfection within yourself, and stagnancy of perfection. It is the first stride toward growth to your raw potential and True Magic.”

The WORLD shrugged and threw out his arms.

“Congratulation, Cytortia Tianshang, you are the second non-Mayaa throughout entire existence to earn my respect. Your request, my child? What is it?”

Cytortia had no hesitation.

“Give me a power to save them all.”

The WORLD sighed.

“Kiddo, hard to break it for you, but it is impossible to save them all now. The golden-hour vanish hours ago. Not your fault, mind you. You and Breaker are too harsh on yourself. That Orwell-kid is too much of an opponent for zero-casualties battle.”

Satholia blinked.

“But you are all-powerful!”

“So is Satholia,” WORLD said. “Sure, we are all-powerful—so powerful it makes everything else a joke. But my existence is like a dough. Some power can bend it. Few can act as topping. But tear too hard and the whole things will break. Insanity like time-travel will break my fabric completely. Resurrection of an already dissipated soul act the same way. Those shit might be possible in a lower insignificant speck of a plane, but in Phantasia and other areas with high friction between Malice and Center Force it is downright impossible. Those two forces are a handful to meditate, don’t give them more opportunities.”

“Then what can you do?” Satholia yelled out-loud.

“Many things,” the WORLD replied. “But I will give you the best — I will point you to the best option.”

Cytortia nodded.

“Attentive listener? Excellent. I love enthusiastic student. First, your buddy — Breaker — he is your best shot at getting out of this alive. His prediction ability of his will only grow stronger, and you needed that to win your future battles, but don’t depend on it. Remember this. This is very important. Until SHE fixes that guy, avoid forcing him into the frontline. Reality is not ready for that kind of monster.”

“She? Satholia?”

The WORLD showed his hand, tattooed with silver-white seal.

“Not even close, that brat is the only person in the multiverse with complete protection from Center Force’s and Malice’s surveillance. Satholia don’t even know she exists, or else she will already order a recruitment. Even Multiverse Consciousness — the Astral realm or the Astral Consiousness— cannot access her information. She is a VIP.”

“Who?”

“Restricted information,” the WORLD groaned. “The boy will understand the moment they met. And he will explain when he has no choice, but until his back is against the wall, don’t expect him to confess.”

Cytortia’s mouth hung open.

“I think this conversation is like… 4th dimension.”

“Yes, all of this event will happen. The instant both halves of [All Creation] united is the endgame. The Malice will throw every Primordial your way like a rabid animal the moment they lost two biggest pieces to Satholia. You need to prepare for that eventuality.”

The 4th dimensional related migraine started creeping up her brain.

“Fine, what must I do to win?”

“You are already doing it. Currently, the table is flipping,” the WORLD relaxed. “Your territory is secure.”

“That easy?”

“Be grateful kid,” the WORLD narrated. “You are lucky your True Magic is the direct antithesis to Orwell Mehest’s entire Ponzi scheme.”

“WHAT?”

Cytortia jerked up from raw shock and fell down from exhaustion. Still, she couldn’t believe the words from the embodiment of reality itself.

“How can my ability fair against Orwell? He creates a zombie army of heaven’s sake!”

“No, Orwell extracts the fragment of residual information from the Multiverse Consciousness/Astral Realm and mods them into familiars. This ritual only lend him greater tool to perform that on a massive scale, but the basic of his technique is still vulnerable to your True Magic. Its unnatural aberration versus natural optimization.”

Cytortia blinked.

“[Sage Force] is an ability to enhance Natural Hierarchy of all things,” she stated. “How did that counter Orwell?”

The WORLD smiled.

“Yes, that is [Sage Force] most basic ability, but True Magic is unique because of its depth. Think carefully. Do your [Sage Force] converted herb into a man-eating plant? The answer is no. Your True Magic grows a simple grass to reach its maximum conceptual potential. That is the secret of [Sage Force]—your first legend. Satholia herself showed it to you when you first met in Lightwell.”

“Lightwell?”

“You don’t remember the corrupted waterfall getting purified in a matter of seconds into its purest state? Satholia’s True Magic is ridiculous, but it still requires a pre-existing blueprint. And what she used to defeat the Paracis Corrupter is YOUR power. A Legend you are subconsciously deploying at this very moment.”

The WORLD relaxed and told Cytortia the title of her undefeatable territory—a land that never succumbed to corruption or despair.

“[Tir Na Saol]—The Land of Life. A sacred territory that reverse all things back to it prime condition under the mixture of temporal and natural manipulation. Under the sacred sky, wounds heal, entropy and corruption reverses, curses and aberrations return to its unmarred form. For someone utilizing modified soul like Orwell, sending troops into [Tir Na Saol] is like throwing them into lava. Orwell Mehest as existence had no power under your Legend.”

…

In the Wind-quarter, a ring of light emerged from Cytortia’s body. It expanded and steadily engulfed everything in the area.

Hikma and Madam were first to bathe in the light — the golden-green light singing songs of vitality and restoration. Fatigues washed away like ink stain meeting detergent. Hikma’s vision cleared and strength gradually filled his empty vessel. His torn and dirty clothes even repaired itself.

“Cy,” Hikma gaped at his glowing flesh. “What is this?”

…

“Help him,” a man yelled. “He is about to die.”

“I am sorry,” one nurse in the infirmaries cried. “I have no Mana left.”

The make-sift hospital ward the resistance made for themselves was a hell. Injured personal wrapped in bloodied bandage laid prone on the littered ground surrounded by nurses who ran out of Mana age ago. The room was sticky with the miasma of death and the smell of bloods from rows and rows of patients barely hanging to life on first-aid kits and forlorn hope.

Then [Tir Na Soal] blessed them.

“My Mana…” the nurse couldn’t believe her replenishing power. Her stamina was returning as if time was slowly rewinding.

Suddenly, the unconscious man they were treating groaned. To the audience’s surprise, his wound was gradually healing. And it wasn’t just him. In the dispirited wards, bodies moved. Wounded men sat up, watching their wound repaired itself. Several men in critical condition breathed with life. The pain in their body was real and proved that they lived — something that didn’t exist a second ago.

“What is happening?” a man muttered as the gentle light healed the cuts and bruise through his body.

“Who cares!?” One of the newly recovering soldiers gasped and shouted at the nurses. “Hey, your Mana is being restore, right?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Then what are you waiting for! Start healing the injures!” The man ran to his sword. “We still need to hold the front-lines!”

With despair defeated, hope quickly returned to the infirmary.

…

In Horizon Dawn’s Black Mercy, two patients wrapped in bandages slept side by side on the same bed. Normally, Cytortia would place them in a separate bed, but it was too much hustle to walk constantly between their individual room during regular monitoring.

Both girls bathed under the light of [Tir Na Soal] for sometimes. One of them groaned as her muscled knitted themselves back together. She fought to the pain and opened her eyes, crying with pain all the way through.

“Shut up,” another exhausted voice said. “Your moaning is interrupting my sleep.”

Luxinna Latoria painfully turned her head to see Melody Solarmaria lying beside her.

“Shut up, dairy cow! You are the reason I am stuck here,” Luxinna complained. “Why do you pick a fight with that monster?”

Melody tried to snipe back, but the pained from her reassembling arms reduced the snide remark into a yelp of pain.

Both would recover briefly. Until then, the knockout duo would continue bonding in that bed.

…

The light kept expanding into the battlefield.

Aleksei Martynov tumbled to the ground. His gun fell from his hand. Skeletons he was fighting took a step closer to finish him. They stretched out their claws, their bony jaw hung open wide to consume every drop of the Russian’s life-force.

Then Cytortia’s world enveloped them.

In that new battlefield, the skeletons staggered and jittered like their nervous system was getting encroach. Dark shadow floated from their boney frame and dissipating into a white mist. The skeleton swarms shivered before falling into a pile of clean, pristine bone.

Aleksi stood up and witnessed the greatest reversal in his lifetime. The enemy’s army was imploding before of them. Bones and skeleton clattered in pieces as the light exorcise the darkness from them. His retreating compatriot were now charging, wounds fell from their body and vitality refilled their limbs. The ragtag army started hacking at the falling the skeleton in an unstoppable vigor. The Mana dehydrated mages screamed with a desire to live as they charged, hurling bombardment spells with their newly recovered Mana.

In the distant, the attacking Blood Golem and Earth Constructed started flailing as the Amalgam holding them together slowly converted back into the pure souls. A dozens shelling from the reinvigorated mages quickly brought them down.

Martynov gazed in yonder at his charging comrades and felt the warmest of light rejuvenating him. His eyes took notice at the blacken wall and street being purity back to its beautiful state. The building remained in ruin, but the ruin was no longer black with blood and soot—it was glimmering and shinning like the day the builder finished polishing it.

Martynov reached down for his gun, checked the magazine and charged with a war cry.

Overhead, Hikma flew into battle. His stamina restored. The boy danced in the air and bought the monstrous construct in the distant down with a humongous [Holy Force].

Began, the Horizon Dawn’s grand comeback had.

…

Shyme Enma woke up in a wreck inside the Fire-quarter. Chamomile sat beside her, traumatized by their battle with Wayward. Shyme quickly piece the event together. Hex must have translocated them to safety at his last moment.

“Vice-Captain,” Shyme asked. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. Chamomile was in blinks of tears.

Shyme dropped her act.

“Listen to me, Chamomile!” Shyme screamed. “Hex is gone! The Royal-knights are dead! You are the only one left! It is your job to remain strong for them! If you cry to the ground and give up like this, Orwell won!”

Chamomile punched Shyme in the face. The moves caught her by surprise and sent her tumbling on her behind. Shyme looked at the Royal-knights’ Vice-Captain, stunned at the transgression. Shyme’s beautiful face stung. It was the first time she got punched like that.

“DO YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!”

Chamomile screamed. Shyme watched on, overwhelmed at the massive outburst.

“CHAMOMILE THIS! CHAMOMILE THAT! DO YOU THINK I AM A SUPERHUMAN! I AM ONLY A VICE-CAPTIAN OF A UNIT OF 300 PEOPLE! DO YOU EXPECT ME TO HOLD THROUGH IN EVERY CRISIS! LOOK AROUND US! THIS IS THE FIRE-QUARTER! THE WATER-QUARTER IS DESTROYED! EARTH-QUARTER IS IN RUIN! ORWELL LIKELY HAD A PALACE BY NOW! I AM SICK OF BABYSITTING YOU SPOIL KIDS! DON’T YOU REALIZE THIS BATTLE IS OVER!?”

Shyme sat in a stunned silence. She suddenly realized she was not the only one listening to the outburst of Chamomile. Her massive meltdown had drawn the attention of some straggling force remaining in Fire-quarter. A party of nobles Orwell let out of the Central-palace heard the demoralizing outburst. A familiar one-arm mage who came to investigate the sudden translocation took a decent hit in his fumbling morale with that speech. A teenage girl sobbed at the harsh reality slamming on them.

“Vice-Captain Chamomile,” one noble sighed in despair.

…

Hikma’s communicator hymned to life.

“Rem,” Hikma answered.

“This is Cytortia’s command before her Lost Divine,” Rem’s voice was stern. “Do you remember the image I show you from my first vision all those months ago?”

“Who can’t!?” Hikma yelled, reducing another hoard of undead into ash with a shower of fire. “You pin that thing on the wall and study it for months.”

“Good, light up that symbol to the sky,” Rem ordered. “Time finally arrives to announce the symbol of hope to the world. That is our code of arms gifted to us by destiny, Hikma. The banners representing our seven Constitutions. Hoist it high in the sky. Show Orwell and all who suffer that the black-pill will not go unchallenged. Shoot that light higher than our ego as a testament to our impossible ambition. Make sure all gods and men witnesses our declaration of war.”

Rem cut off the communication, and Hikma conjured up the [Conceptual Seal] for [Light].

“[Signal]”

Hikma let that light rocketed to the heaven and painted a shining symbol in the sky.

…

Shyme Enma realized the world changed that second.

After the breakdown of Chamomile, when the morale of all present finally hit rock bottom, a symbol of hope lighted in the sky. The entirety of defeated survivors of Venistalis witnessed the first-time ever the symbol of Satholia’s agent roared. No one understood its meaning. None knew who raised this banner. Not a single mind expected that one sigil to emerge again.

They would soon discover it wasn’t a coincidence or mere happenstance. The shining hope in the sky would appear again and again to bring miracle and justice, striking awe and fear to all holding malice and contempt.

A sigil of a figure embracing the sun blazed above the sky of Venistalis. Below it is an expanding emerald of [Tir Na Soal]. The context behind that flare still eluded the straggling survivor, but like children witnessing the firework, it imprinted the image of awe and wonders into them. A scant thought heretical to all commonsense sneaked into their mind.

Maybe they could survive, despite the odds.

Chamomile looked doubtfully at the light in the sky. She couldn’t afford to believe. Her wish got crushed far too severe to afford hope.

As for Shyme, seeing that symbol reminded her of a certain moment she first befriend a shy girl who can’t stop herself from helping others.

“Cytortia,” Shyme whispered, sensing her friend in that emerald sphere. “What is happening?”

Then she noticed a broken stele in her Storage Ring.