In the Name of Salvation

Servia was a counterfeit without talent.

She knew this.

Had always known.

The emerald of Clawphire could shine only within the bounds of Clawphire.

She was not the world's favored child.

Nor did fate grace her with its touch.

Surviving in ruin, wandering in solitude, her skeletal form clung wretchedly to the earth, burdened by suffering and misfortune.

It was only upon meeting Xu Xi that she stumbled onto the path of a witch.

Such was Servia.

Never knowing where her own road lay, she merely chased the light, a moth drawn to its glow, staggering clumsily behind Xu Xi.

She followed his teachings, learned his witchcraft.

Servia wished to continue like this forever—but she could not. The gentle light that had guided her had long since vanished without a sound.

The road ahead...

She would have to walk alone.

At the moment of ascending to the Fifth Circle, Servia chose and embraced her own path.

No life, for she was a departed soul.

No death, for she was a survivor clinging to existence.

Servia's path rejected both the beauty of life and the ugliness of death.

Only the purity of the soul remained.

"Servia, to reclaim the light requires more courage than enduring the darkness."

"I see that courage in your soul."

"It is beautiful. I admire it."

Servia had nothing.

Yet someone affirmed her soul, declaring it more radiant than the tales of saints in legends—

A soul that sang of courage, kindness, and resilience.

And so, Servia forged her own path.

A path woven with courage and conviction, yet also laced with fear and hesitation.

A rugged, painful road, one only the brave Servia could tread—a path of salvation, upheld by her fragile soul.

Amidst the chaos, countless planes and worlds shimmered like stars against the gray, undulating void of disordered time and space, where all things fell silent and all phenomena cycled endlessly.

That scene was dark and bleak.

Some living souls drowned in despair, while the dead found no passage to the afterlife.

Yet the counterfeit warrior raised her blade, unleashing a "holy light" brighter than any true thing—

Warm and radiant.

It severed all the suffering she witnessed in the mortal world.

"Witch Lord, I will not disappoint you..." In a world shrouded in darkness and pain, Servia saw not a glimmer of light—so she chose to become the light herself.

One woman. One sword. One tower.

While pursuing the endless Netherworld, she also saved those who suffered, just as the world of witches once had.

Gradually, Servia saved countless worlds.

Gradually, Servia grew ever stronger.

Through the long passage of time,

Through the accumulation of years,

That fragile soul only grew more noble.

She reached the end of miracles, unifying the dual concepts of life and death, ascending to the Seventh Circle—a realm countless souls dreamed of attaining.

Grasping the "Sacred Sword" gifted by Xu Xi,

Radiating the "holy light" of her soul made manifest,

She stepped alone into the endless Netherworld.

...

Within the endless Netherworld lay vast planes of souls.

Each layer, each realm, rivaled the scale of the living world.

Chaotic, overlapping, intertwined.

Servia moved with purpose. Upon entering, she followed the familiar aura of the witch world, tearing through the void in pursuit.

At last,

She beheld her homeland—now unfamiliar, yet still bearing traces of what she once knew.

Memories of the past, fragments of joy, surged forth, stirring her stagnant thoughts.

"Father... Mother..."

"Hansen... Mina..."

"Witch Lord..."

Tears fell silently.

The warrior who had saved countless worlds could only gaze upon the ruins of her homeland, powerless to change a thing.

But there was still something she could do.

Something only she, the survivor, could accomplish.

In the silent darkness of the old witch world, the clear ring of a drawn blade echoed. In an instant, the laws of order twisted and shattered, torn apart by the Sacred Sword.

The power to save the world.

The courage that would not die.

It lifted her, propelled her, raising that sacred and noble soul to a state beyond all miracles of the world.

"The aura of the Mother World? Impossible!"

Before Servia, the void twisted into a blurred humanoid figure, its voice laced with disbelief as it spoke of her true origin.

"No, this cannot be!"

"The Mother World has already become my plane—how could there—"

The shrill voice cut off abruptly.

As if realizing something,

The Immortal One froze. The weight of its existence, built upon countless truths, pondered and recalled in a manner beyond mortal comprehension.

That simple act alone caused entire swathes of space to collapse.

"So... one of the escapees from back then."

"A relative of those old fools?"

"Or perhaps—"

Feigning sudden understanding, its expression twisted with mockery:

"One of the insects that fool risked his life to protect."

BOOM!!

The sky fell. The earth split.

The world trembled with the warrior's fury.

With a single knight's blade, Servia forced the Immortal One back—pressing it endlessly into the distant ends of the world.

"Keh... kehkeh..."

"Kehkehkeh..."

The weight of her sword was crushing. The terror of her existence undeniable.

Yet even as the Immortal One struggled under her assault, it sneered, recounting the past between strikes.

"Siblings?"

"Close friends?"

"Or... husband and wife?"

"I miscalculated."

"To think a bug I crushed on a whim would bring a newly ascended Seventh Circle to my doorstep."

"What a pity you didn't see how he screamed when he died."

The power of the Netherworld's laws surged, countering the warrior's light. The world paled. Time and space shattered. A storm of annihilation ravaged all within.

This was the power of fated death—

The force that would bring even the departed to their final end.

Even an undying Seventh Circle could perish before such an attack.

The Immortal One's mockery deepened. A mere newly ascended Seventh Circle could never match its centuries of accumulation.

This was the difference!

The undying demon laughed wildly, pressing its assault as it reveled in tales of world-ending slaughter—boasting how the sacrifice of billions had been a small price for its ascension.

With every word, Servia's blade trembled.

"I will kill you."

"No matter the cost... I will kill you!!!"

Her voice was hoarse, raw with fury.

Servia's face was a portrait of anguish, but her eyes burned with rage. Her body bled. Her teeth clenched. Every fiber of her being screamed with wrath.

The voices of the dead echoed in her ears.

Every word.

Every syllable.

Became kindling for the fire of her soul.

Her parents: "Kill you... kill you... protect... Servia..."

Hansen and Mina: "Lady Servia... you truly are kind."

Xu Xi: "Servia... you are my warrior."

The dead could not rest. The living lived in fear.

And the architect of it all stood before her, mocking their suffering, describing in vivid detail how Xu Xi had burned—body and soul—into nothingness.

Pain.

A heart torn asunder.

Grief and fury became the foundation of her path.

"I will kill you!!!"

Her eyes bled. Her voice broke.

And thus, the radiant edge that severed the entire old world of sorcery reverberated through the battlefield on the brink of annihilation.