Primus had lost much of the edge he had once had. He still had the same lofty, imposing frame. But it lacked all the substance. It was hard to tell if he was even truly a man anymore.
He had the wide shoulders, but his aura was delicate. He had the fierce eyes, but his eyes were soft. He had the large hands, but his spear almost seemed to droop in his hands as though alluding to something else entirely.
After the death of a wife, the Primordial Yin should surely dissipate. This didn’t have to happen immediately, especially if there was a substantial distance—whether in space or time—but given how long it had been since Ryu’s great grandmother had fallen, it was only natural that it should have.
This meant that all this time, Primus was using some sort of special method to keep it alive.
On the face of it, this was commendable. Maybe he was hoping that there would be some sort of method to revive her through it alone, or maybe it could help someone that could pinpoint the location of her reincarnation, or wherever it was she might be.
But after seeing this, Ryu was pretty sure that it was another reason entirely.
He had kept it for no reason other than in case he would need to use it in this way—to fuel his ego and reach the level he thought he deserved to.
Primus was someone that was endlessly prideful, but not prideful in the way Ryu thought a man should be. It was a disgusting, selfish sort of pride—the sort of pride that made a man stand by and watch idly as his entire family was massacred.
When Ryu heard Primus’ reasons for doing so, he had already decided in his heart that he would slaughter this man one day. He remembered it all vividly, and he remembered the helplessness on his grandfather’s face.
Patriarch Tatsuya was a man who was stoic to a fault. Even during his last moments with Ryu, he had always been like that. So sharp, so focused, so unbothered by the world.
The cracks to his armor were more subtle than anyone could grasp… unless you have the Number One Ranked Heavenly Pupils in all of Existence.
When Ryu saw his grandfather, he saw a man who was holding onto his childhood’s vision of his father—the man he thought Primus had always been… and yet watching the sandcastle sprinkle through his fingers, vanishing never to return.
A memory lost entirely to time.
His grandfather hadn’t wanted to believe it. Such a reason for things just felt ridiculous on its face.
Primus didn’t want to act because he didn’t want to bully the weak? Because he was too prideful to lift his finger against those he could easily kill? That was his reason?
Ryu didn’t even know how to wrap his head around that even today. Personally, he never really cared whether someone was weak or not. If they pissed him off, he killed them.
By Primus’ logic, he should be letting the Martial Gods live.
That twisted pride, that arrogance that bent one’s will beyond reason… it was something that Ryu had always hated… something he hated more than his soul could even put into words.
And now, seeing Primus like this, tainting the memory of his great grandmother just for the chance to stand on this stage…
Ryu’s expression went completely placid. As though a stone-cold vision of the past and future fused onto the face of a man who could gaze into the birth of the world without the slightest hint of change to his expression, he stood there unmoving.
The words Ryu had spoken not long ago still hung in the air. As though the words themselves were resonating with the Heavens, they echoed continuously. But maybe that was precisely because they were.
In a Childe of Order state, even Ryu’s breath synced with the world, let alone his words.
Primus looked down from the skies above, his expression not changing.
Ryu didn’t expect it to. A man with that much pride in his bones didn’t really care about the opinions of others, much like Ryu didn’t care.
Primus didn’t care to explain himself, nor did Ryu care to explain his words either. Both were entirely indifferent to the thoughts running through the other’s head.
But the main difference was that one stood here under power that wasn’t his own—a power he borrowed from his wife to take a step he simply couldn’t fast enough.
As for the other… he protected his wife to his back, his gaze unbothered as it faced off against the world.
“Ryu… you need to move…”
The voice of Fading Star echoed in the distance. Heavy chains painted from a brush of Primus’ spear hung around her much like they did everyone else.
Ryu’s gaze slowly shifted from Primus to his master. She looked beaten, but there was a light of hope in her eyes. It was the look of a broken woman—one that was willing to give up anything if it meant getting revenge against the Phoenix Sky God.
The world shook, and the figures that Ryu had actually been waiting for started appearing.
The World of Phoenixes.
The World of Dragons.
The World of Qilins.
The World of Griffins.
The World of Fey.
The World of Devas.
The World of Demons.
The World of Fiends.
They hadn’t coordinated at all. It was just that they had all sensed the shift at the very same time.
They didn’t know why, but Ryu’s Fate was particularly volatile right now, hanging on by a thread. Even Ryu’s enemies were confused, but the more this happened, the more Ryu was certain.
“This battle is mine. It’s not yet time for a little boy like you to reach the pinnacle.”
That familiar voice echoed, ambiguous as though being stretched across the bounds of time.
And then a figure appeared, rising up from the depths of Sacrum as though they had always been there.
The army ahead bristled.
The Phoenix Sky God had finally appeared.
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