I, the Final Boss of the Beta Server!

Chapter 141: You Must Ascend as a God in the Eyes of All

Night fell, and against the dim yellow sky, the brilliant stars gradually brightened.

Inside the palace, all was silent, and the passage of time seemed to freeze within the wan glow.

“So—”

“The Queen Helen of old, did she spend hundreds of years in such frozen time?”

Rast sat upright upon the iron throne, gently stretching out a hand to feel the twilight aura drift across his fingertips.

As the new vessel of the Death‑God Holy Grail—

At this moment, Rast was as Helen had been then: lord of this underworld, ruler of Paradise.

And this frozen dusk before him was the lingering breath of death upon the remnants of that ancient deity—and part of Rast’s power, fully under his command.

After three years, Rast had completed an initial fusion with the Holy Grail containing the Death‑God’s authority, able to wield that dominion to an extent.

That was the “edict of dominion over death.”

Such an edict did not act solely upon living beings.

Even stones, buildings, sculptures—apparently lifeless inorganic matter—still held the concepts of “birth” and “end.”

When all things reach their end, that marks their destined death.

The Death‑God’s edict is the decree upon that predetermined end.

It could directly strip the life of anything, forcing it to cross in an instant through birth, growth, aging, decay, demise—reaching termination at once—turning pristine furniture into rotting timber, a splendid palace into weathered dust.

Or it could freeze the flow of fate across things, suspending their life in a moment, locked forever like a specimen in a museum, preserved at its most beautiful state.

At this moment, the palace draped in frozen twilight embodied that power—

So no matter how much time passed outside, the palace in dusk remained pristine and flawless, untouched by dust… never aged, needing no repair, eternal.

Rast raised his gaze, peering through the glass dome above the throne toward the splendid starry sky overhead.

Not long ago,

That queen with ice‑blue hair had sat upon this cold throne beside him, gazing at the same sky…

Watching the stars shift, the sun and moon alternate, the seasons cycle… day after day, year after year.

So though she had lived an uncounted number of years, Helen’s heart stayed like that of a seventeen‑or‑eighteen‑year‑old girl.

Because from birth she had been imprisoned in this cage—a golden canary never having seen the world outside—how could she know the grandeur of snowy peaks or the soaring waves of the ocean?

Ten years or a hundred years… to her they were mere numbers, indistinguishable.

And compared to that time traveling outward with the attendant named Rast, that journey had been a dreamlike wonder the caged bird had never encountered.

She treasured those days as the gems of her lifetime, always longing, yearning, and hoping for that happy fairy‑tale ending.

That yearning and hope were so steadfast that even when the bubbles of the Nightworld burst… when Helen recalled the memories as Akxia, realized the cage and the youth’s travels were a fleeting illusion, she did not waver.

Just as she had spoken atop the dusk‑shrouded summit—

“Fairy‑tales are false, but love is real.”

Knowing the fairy‑tale’s falsehood, the performance’s artifice, realizing reality’s cold cruelty… yet understanding the full truth, she still strove and pursued her own happiness and hopes.

Like a moth drawn to flame, like a meteor piercing the sky.

Though knowing the end would shatter her, she still pressed toward that light without hesitation, throwing caution to the wind.

…

Suddenly, the air filled with sprightly emerald motes of light, pulling Rast from his deep reverie.

They formed an archaic line of text, clearly shaped from ephemeral light yet bearing an ineffable solemnity… like a divine edict written by gods overlooking the mortal world.

Looking at this archaic text,

Rast’s dark eyes, momentarily dazed, instantly returned to their usual calm.

Within the emerald text lingered a rich aura of abundance that briefly displaced the surrounding twilight glow.

It was a message from Noah.

And from this legendary Guardian of the Tomb… the first contact in three years.

The line of text soon faded as the emerald motes scattered.

Rast rose from the throne.

He faced the iron seat, closed his eyes, and slowly extended his hand.

Then, he urged forth from his chest the power of the Holy Grail, pulsing in time with his heart.

Upon the iron throne, light and shadow warped slowly.

At last, they formed a twisted emerald vortex of illusory light.

Rast did not hesitate; he took a step forward and entered the emerald vortex.

…

The world spun wildly.

Light contorted, as if the Milky Way had reversed and the stars fell.

In an instant, countless streams of brilliant star‑light surged across the night sky.

Within that flowing starlight, Rast saw scene after scene of fleeting, shattered visions—

They were the earliest era.

Ancient dragons, giants, high elves, vampires, winged races, demon‑wolves… countless mighty mythic species walked the earth.

They were born powerful; some like the high elves needed no runes or chants and could use blood‑magic from birth.

Some stood naturally at the apex of a high tier sequence, wielding mythical powers capable of summoning storms or ripping lightning.

Some—like the ancient dragons—by virtue of their bloodline rose to legend upon maturity without trials of death.

These ancient mythic species were gods of earth, masters of sky, the theme of that age.

Among them—

Humans were but insignificant supporting actors in that primeval era.

They had no fangs, no claws, no bloodline‑based magic eyes or psychic power… no innate link to the magic web. What was a simple spell for those races was for humans the fruit of lifelong labor to research and master.

Nor did they enjoy near‑eternal lifespan like the immortal races.

Human lifespan averaged mere decades. For many species, that was only childhood; adulthood was a lifetime.

Most humans in their lives never touched the realm of the extraordinary.

According to the normal course of development, humanity should have remained weak forever… able only to survive as a subordinate race, clinging on as vassals of powerful species, never becoming the protagonists of any era.

But—

In those years, an unnamed, dull-witted human emerged.

He believed that every kind of enemy in the world, every perilous situation, every difficult problem, had corresponding knowledge—and from that knowledge, skills and tools that could be used to counter them.

However, the knowledge a single person could memorize in a lifetime, the techniques they could master, and the tools they could prepare, were all limited.

So, to fight back against dragons, elves, vampires, and other innately powerful races with the frailty of humanity… he wove a power that only the dull-witted humans could use.

Humans may not have fangs or claws, nor strong bloodline talents or long lifespans.

But the transmission of knowledge, the inheritance of the flame of civilization… was a treasure only weak humans could truly appreciate and use to overcome mighty foes.

Even in the beginning, the knowledge passed on may have been nothing more than simple summaries of experience—such as hunting techniques, or methods of making fire.

But as long as that knowledge could be passed down generation after generation, over time, with the advancement of civilization…

Then one day—

What began as a fragile sprout could grow into a towering tree, encompassing all things in the world.

And the faintest sparks could ignite a wildfire, setting the entire world ablaze.

And so—

Little by little.

Countless years later, the age of myth came to an end.

Ancient dragons, high elves, demon-wolves, giants, vampires… those mythic races all faded from the stage of history.

And humans became the sole protagonists of this era.

However—

At the same time, the unnamed man who once lit the fire of civilization also foresaw its twilight, the inevitable end that every era must reach.

It was a doomsday that could not be resisted or reversed with the knowledge and civilization of that time’s fool.

And so—

That first, foolish unnamed one… founded an organization called the “Gravekeepers”, and left the fire he had ignited in their safekeeping.

He chose to believe in the power of passing on the flame, placing hope in the future generations.

Just as those humble as dust humans had once ended the era of mythic beings and become the sole protagonists of history.

Even dull-witted humans, so long as they relied on the fire left behind and inherited it through generations—accumulating civilization through one era after another—would one day possess the strength to oppose the gods.

Until they could find a way to overcome the end of the era and reverse the destiny of “civilization must end.”

This was the original purpose behind the founding of the Gravekeepers—

To serve as witnesses and recorders, chronicling the development and accumulation of every era’s civilization, so the sparks of different ages and epochs might be preserved…

Until one day, they become a blaze strong enough to burn fate itself, and rebel against the destiny of “civilization’s end.”

Every Gravekeeper… upon joining the organization, harbored this very ideal.

Naturally, that included Noah.

The Noah who had just joined the Gravekeepers for the first time.

And later—

After countless turns of the eras, the endless cycle of rise and fall…

A vile thief stole that fire from within the Gravekeepers.

And from that moment—

Just like in the ancient legend, the one called Prometheus who stole fire.

The flames that dispel darkness were once again kindled in the mortal world.

…

“Seems these past three years haven’t been wasted.”

An aged voice sounded from the distance.

Rast opened his eyes and saw a courtyard full of green, fertile, and vibrant life, with a dim yellow ocean far beyond.

Rast knew he now stood deep within the remnants of that ancient deity—the Death God.

Not far away from him, the gardener-like elder Noah was watching him with calm eyes.

“Your Grace, Noah?”

Rast revealed a slight confusion at the right time. “I think I just saw some vague images.”

“That was my Domain.”

Noah spoke slowly, his tone flat but carrying an indescribable gravity.

“The Nightblade—or what your era calls ‘Abilities’… are the manifestations of a person’s inner landscape.”

“What scenery lies within the heartscape of an extraordinary being, determines the nature of their ability.”

“And the ‘Domain’ is what results when an ability reaches transcendence—it too is a manifestation of the inner landscape.”

“However, the scope of a Domain’s effect is vastly different from that of ordinary abilities… using a Domain means your inner world can erode reality, replacing the real world around you with your own imagined scenery.”

“Normally, only legendary powerhouses have the mental depth to awaken their own Domain… which is why the Domain is one of the hallmarks of a legend. Many who have just ascended to legendary status don’t even possess one yet.”

“What you saw just now must have been part of my Domain’s manifested landscape.”

“Of course, these things are still far beyond your reach—”

“After this incident is over, once you’ve truly inherited the Death God’s remains and joined the Gravekeepers… I’ll guide you through your training in Domains.”

As he spoke, the gardener-like elder lowered his gaze, observing Rast.

A moment later, he finally nodded in satisfaction.

“The Death God’s Holy Grail has already fused with you to a basic degree.”

“It seems, bringing you into the Gravekeepers was the right decision.”

“With your current compatibility and resonance with the Holy Grail… you already qualify to inherit the Death God’s remains.”

“In that case—”

“We can begin the next phase of the plan.”

Noah’s gaze drifted away from Rast, toward the far-off yellow ocean, where waves endlessly rose and fell.

That was the end of the Nether Abyss—the place where Akxia now slept.

Within those aged eyes, a strange light flickered.

“In ten days, you shall open the ‘Holy Rite’ as the King of the Underworld.”

“With Helen, the blood-descendant of the god, the entire Paradise, and all the dead within it as sacrifice… seize complete control of that divine corpse.”

“Before the eyes of all, become the new Death God.”