I Will Reverse the Laws of the World

The path of salvation.

Long and arduous.

Yet Servia walked it without pause.

Whenever she thought of giving up, whenever the cold loneliness gnawed at her, whenever thunder roared and lightning split the sky—

Her fingers would instinctively tighten around the hilt of her sword.

Yearning for that illusory reunion.

To strive for it, to become the light itself.

Over time, the grand mission of salvation became etched into the soul of the hero, merging with her very truth.

It was a brilliance so radiant that even the Undying Monarch of the Endless Netherworld would stagger in awe.

It was light.

It was courage.

It was the gratitude of countless lives, worlds, and planes.

A radiance too beautiful to behold.

"H-How…?!"

The Immortal One looked down in shock, staring at the "Holy Sword" impaling its body, confusion twisting its features.

But soon.

That shock twisted into mockery.

The Immortal One prepared to strike back.

A Seventh-Circle Wizard governed life, death, and fate—unless overruled by a higher authority, such as the Root of Death from the Endless Netherworld, no harm could truly touch it.

"Mindless insect…!!"

The power to rewrite laws surged once more, rippling through the world and beyond.

The Immortal One tore free from the blade’s restraint.

And the battle between it and Servia reignited.

Cold yet warm "blossoms" bloomed across the sky of the soul plane, where law clashed against law, where the undying waged war beyond life and death.

Planes crumbled. Chaos rewrote itself.

The battlefield drowned in the blood of the immortal.

Two Seventh-Circle Towers emerged from the void, gathering immeasurable light and heat, unleashing ruinous beams of runic energy that forcibly erased legions of the undead.

"Something’s wrong."

Time passed.

The Immortal One, once certain of victory, now sensed an anomaly in its body—its expression twisted in horror.

"My essence… how could—"

"Shing!"

A blade forged from the will to save worlds, carrying the gratitude of countless realms, struck at the perfect moment—erasing the very concept of the Immortal One’s existence.

A path the Immortal One had never foreseen.

A miracle deemed impossible.

Yet now.

The hero, in the form of her sword, delivered the final blow.

"Wizard… did I…"

"Did I win…?"

Servia fell from the sky, crashing onto the shattered earth of the Netherworld.

Her face was weary, her body drenched in blood.

No one answered her. The only sound was the mournful wail of the spectral wind.

Loneliness crept into her heart.

Tears welled in her eyes once more.

But the hero was strong. She swallowed her sorrow, rose in silence, and stood again.

Gazing up at the Netherworld’s sky, she felt countless watching eyes lurking within the suffocating despair of death.

They were the rulers of other soul planes within the Endless Netherworld.

Among them, beings far beyond Seventh-Circle Wizards.

Those hailed as Eighth-Circle—or even Ninth-Circle—the pinnacle of existence.

"Wizard…"

"I think… I’ve become as willful as you."

"I can’t… turn away from suffering worlds anymore…"

Staggering to her feet, Servia accepted the "inheritance" of the fallen Immortal One—the authority over this soul plane of the Wizard’s world.

Only then did the watching gazes withdraw.

The hero sought no dominion, but she knew—if she refused, another Immortal One would seize this plane.

"I need… time…"

Dragging her battered body forward, Servia smiled bitterly.

Her own thoughts frightened her.

She wanted to purge the Undying Monarchs of the Endless Netherworld, to rewrite its laws, to ensure no world would suffer as the Wizard’s world had.

"If the Wizard knew… they’d scold me…"

"But now…"

"They can’t stop me…"

Silence.

Then, the sound of falling tears.

To become an Immortal One, one must walk the path of soul and truth.

Eternal life.

Undying existence.

These were the privileges of the immortal.

Yet endless time eroded their desires and humanity. All they craved now was greater power, higher ascension.

Self-enlightenment proved too arduous.

So, the Immortals chose a shortcut—seizing control of the soul planes within the Endless Netherworld.

Through them, they communed with the Netherworld’s ancient mysteries.

Time birthed laws within the Netherworld, imposing limits on the Immortals.

They could not freely corrupt the living worlds.

They could not claim unlimited soul planes.

Thus, a fragile order was maintained.

But how could the Netherworld’s nascent instincts truly restrain the Immortals?

Even the Netherworld itself was a calamity—merely drifting near other worlds would bring ruin.

In her journeys across planes, Servia had witnessed too much suffering.

And so, she resolved to change it all—to correct this twisted world at its root.

She would overturn all creation!

……

"Audacious! How dare you?!"

"Kill her!"

"Let this plane be shattered if we must!"

After years of silence, the hero known as "Servia Clawphire" launched her assault on the other soul planes, erasing one Immortal after another.

At first, the Immortals watched indifferently.

They assumed she sought the Netherworld’s authority.

The strong naturally claimed more planes—so none intervened.

But as time passed, the truth became undeniable.

Servia’s slaughter never ceased. Even after seizing the maximum number of soul planes allowed by the Netherworld’s laws, she continued her relentless purge.

Naturally, her defiance provoked retaliation.

Seventh-Circle Immortals united, joined by Eighth-Circle overlords, to hunt her for eternity.

Yet the outcome defied expectations.

Somehow, her slaughter of Immortals still aligned with her truth of salvation.

The hero fought on, growing stronger with each battle, retreating when necessary—until, against all odds, she ascended to the Eighth-Circle.

Her blade grew heavier, each strike carrying the weight of entire worlds—heavy enough to erase even the eternal.

"Have you ever heard… the weeping of worlds?"

With those words, her sword cleaved through a fragment of the Endless Netherworld.

Some faltered. Some grew curious.

Even the Ninth-Circle, the so-called Creators, descended to challenge her.

But Servia no longer fled.

She burned herself as kindling, igniting the flames of salvation.

"Muscle Enhancement!"

"Agility Boost!"

No profound spells.

Just two of the most basic, zero-circle incantations.

Yet her drawn blade moved faster than time, struck harder than space itself—converging the will of countless living worlds to carve an undying light into the Endless Netherworld.