I, the Final Boss of the Beta Server!

Chapter 164: Survive, Hold On Until the Moment the Epic Ends

The sense of weakness diffused from the depths of the soul. The last remnant of Death God’s divine power, which had previously protected Rast within the Nether Abyss, was finally exhausted at this moment.

The curtain of night silently descended upon him. According to past experiences, this was a sign that the Night Traveler was about to completely exit the Nightworld.

However—

This process, which Rast had experienced countless times and should have long become accustomed to, was forcibly interrupted by some grand and overwhelming external force.

It was as if a blazing sun rose at the end of the dusky river.

The brilliant sunwheel eclipsed the radiance of the Holy Sword, shining at the end of the Zenith.

An unkempt elder stood right in front of Rast, facing the brilliance of the Sword of Zenith directly.

In the next moment—

The Holy Sword, which had fallen from the end of the sky with gravity as its bowstring, gradually came to a halt before the elder.

The Sword of Zenith, which had pierced through oceans and mountains, shattered the earth's crust, annihilated the Royal City of Paradise along with the entire Nether Abyss and even the legendary-tier Incarnation of Bounty—at this moment, was completely stopped by that aged elder alone, unable to advance even an inch further.

Immediately after.

On that Divine Punishment Sword, forged around a malleable crest equipment core and reinforced by high-intensity composite alloys—designed from the beginning to withstand any legendary-tier attack without damage—there suddenly appeared a crack.

Then, it shattered within the corona of that blazing sun, becoming part of the radiant sunlight.

Countless metal fragments spilled, transforming into dispersed silver-white specks of light, scattered amidst the rushing brilliance.

The devastating brilliance once again swept across the entire world. This was the final shockwave that burst forth after the Sword of Zenith shattered.

Within the scorching whirlpool of light, all elements in the Nether Abyss—be it the divine power of the Death God or every drop of flesh and blood—were completely vaporized, turning into hollow void.

This was the self-destruction mechanism specially configured by Ophelia and the Arcane Tower for weapons within the Forbidden Catalogue. Once the Sword of Zenith was damaged by external forces, its confidential structure would automatically trigger the self-destruction mechanism, never allowing the weapon to fall into others’ hands, nor be studied by potential enemies.

And what that elder’s intervention bought—was merely a few seconds of delay.

Yet, just these few seconds were enough.

A pitch-black dimensional rift flickered once more.

And when that annihilating destructive light struck again, the figures of the two had already vanished from within the Nether Abyss.

...

The world spun wildly. Distorted space surged and receded around him. Rast felt like a lone boat adrift in the endless ocean, traversing the rift between dimensions and the void of planes.

Yet, he—who should have been swept by the currents and torn apart by sudden void rifts and dimensional seams—was grasped by a broad and powerful hand.

It guided him through the dark abyss of dimensions, never losing direction.

When Rast’s consciousness revived once more, he felt a warm and moist wind brushing his skin... along with the sound of waves crashing against rocky shores.

What came into view was a splendid starry night sky.

This was a rocky beach along a coastline—

The “Fractured Coastline.”

The name of this place instantly surfaced in Rast’s mind.

He lay upon the fractured rocky coast, letting the salty, warm sea breeze wash over his entire body. His already tattered clothing, now mere scraps, fluttered loudly in the wind.

Rast’s vision gradually dimmed, coldness enveloped his entire body, dulling all his senses.

Even the depths of his soul were suffused with an indescribable weakness. It spread to his limbs and bones, dulling his perception of his body until it faded into the void.

Rast was no stranger to this feeling. It was the shadow of the Death God descending upon him... just like all those countless times he died before being devoured by the Iron Cross in the time loops of Deep Blue Port.

And this current state—was a naturally expected outcome.

After the bloom of the Flesh Flower, he had only barely survived thanks to “Desperate Plea,” which had an effect akin to the famed blade Siming, leaving just a sliver of flesh.

That he managed to endure until now was entirely due to the control over the Nether Abyss he gained from devouring the remnant soul of the Death God, allowing him to continue borrowing the Death God’s residual divine power—to resist the arrival of death.

But now, both the Death God's Star Cup and Divine Authority had been returned to Akxia and reabsorbed into the Present World’s timeline... and everything left behind by the Old Death God—whether Paradise or the entire Nether Abyss—had been buried by the brilliance of the Sword of Zenith. Rast’s final reliance was also completely turned into nothingness.

At present, after losing all his temporary identities and external blessings from the Nightworld... he was nothing more than an ordinary man, seriously injured and at the end of his rope.

But at that moment—

Rast felt a light glowing from his left chest... illuminating the body that should have been empty and lifeless.

In his daze, Rast saw ripples—it was warm water, gentle sunlight.

He was bathing in a spring, the darkness in his vision dispelled by light, the coldness driven out by warmth.

The decline of Rast’s life force halted. The flickering flame of life, like a candle in the wind, no longer wavered. His wounds also began to heal slowly.

“Sisel... Leader?”

Rast lay on his back upon the fractured rocky beach, gazing at the pitch-black sky as he whispered softly.

Though he hadn’t seen the lion-like old man’s face clearly, just by seeing that blazing sun which even outshone the brilliance of the Sword of Zenith, Rast already knew the elder’s true identity.

“Sounds like this time, your address of ‘Leader’ carries a bit more sincerity.”

“And not like the first time we met at the Watchtower—mere courtesy, unwilling and perfunctory.”

Sisel’s voice carried a trace of teasing laughter.

At this moment, he didn’t sound like someone of great power and high position, but more like a peer chatting playfully with Rast.

“To earn your genuine recognition... that is the highest honor of all, for me as the leader of the Shoreguards.”

“Why did you do this?”

Ignoring Sisel’s teasing, Rast simply stared at the empty black sky and spoke calmly.

“I know your strength. Even among legends, it could be described as unfathomable... far beyond someone like Noah.”

“But you had already passed on the ‘Fool’s Library’ to Grey. That Fireseed no longer resides within your body.”

“Even if you can still use the power of the ‘Fool’s Library’ now, at most it is just remnants—embers left after the firewood has been burnt out, retaining only a faint trace of warmth... nothing more.”

“In such a situation, to force your way into the Nether Abyss and resist the ‘Sword of Zenith,’ to drag me back from annihilation in the Nether Abyss... is undoubtedly a blind and unwise choice.”

He looked at his battered body, many wounds revealing even the stark white of bone beneath mangled flesh, yet his voice remained calm: “The Divine Authority and power of the Death God have disappeared from this world. I am now a cripple.”

“Even if I was saved, in my current state, I would make no difference in the battles to come.”

Rast paused for a moment: “Instead of using the little you have left—the ever-dwindling embers—to save me...”

“Wouldn’t it be far more rational to use all that remains for the great battle ahead, or to preserve yourself? That would be the wisest choice after weighing cost and benefit.”

“You're right. That is indeed the optimal rational choice.”

Sisel showed no anger at Rast’s harsh questioning of his decision’s rationality.

He merely smiled and nodded.

“But just like the mechanical mode of survival you once insisted on—derived from that empty and broken Mental Image World of yours.”

“A mechanical evaluation of worth, based on gain and loss, even if correct... is still only correct.”

“In the end—”

“Even you felt regret, didn’t you?”

His voice dissipated into the violent sea winds of the Fractured Coastline.

“The power of hatred, that ever-consuming grudge and resentment... it will certainly push Grey to grow.”

“Teaching that once-innocent girl to be cautious, to hide her strength and identity, to remain forever guarded, to never hesitate to view others with the darkest suspicion...”

“In the end, this hatred and resentment will become her nourishment—”

“Becoming the strength that pushes her forward, that drives her to ascend to the top of the world.”

“But—”

Sisel’s words paused briefly: “To nourish with hatred, to take root in lies...”

“The fruits that grow from such soil—no matter how alluring and radiant—are still ultimately flowers blooming on the wrong path.”

“Feeding on her deep-seated hatred for you, Little Grey will one day grow powerful, ascend to the peak, and become a true legend...”

“But at the end of such a path, she will only become another ‘Gravekeeper’ like Noah—”

“Not a ‘Shoreguard.’”

“At the end of a path paved with absolute rationality and interest-based decisions, this is the inevitable conclusion.”

Sisel’s voice softened a little: “Everything you said just now was indeed the right choice.”

“But precisely because of that, you underestimated humanity... you forgot the brilliance that can erupt even from that feeble humanity.”

His gaze lowered slightly, meeting Rast’s eyes as the latter lay weak and unable to sit up, and the smile on his face became clearer.

“Am I right?”

“Child of the new era...”

“Future Shoreguard?”

Sisel’s words drifted through the damp sea breeze.

Though phrased as a question, the meaning in his voice was not inquiry, but certainty.

Hearing the elder’s voice, a faint smile also curled across Rast’s pale face.

“So, Leader Sisel had already guessed my origins... and knew the truth of everything.”

“I was still planning to use an excuse like ‘Copy Eye’ to try and muddle through.”

“Of course.”

Sisel sat down on a rock, lowering himself to the same level as Rast, who lacked even the strength to rise.

He chuckled casually: “If, as the bearer of the ‘Fool’s Library,’ I couldn’t recognize someone who holds the same Nightblade as I do when standing before me—”

“Then my near-thousand years as a Shoreguard would have been lived in vain.”

“The special weapon you used earlier—the one that annihilated Noah’s Incarnation of Bounty, which you yourself called the ‘Sword of Zenith’—that must be a product of future technology... I can be sure, such a thing has never appeared in the past.”

“Combined with your identical ‘Fool’s Library’ Nightblade... it’s not a hard conclusion to reach: a traveler through time.”

The elder slightly raised his gaze, looking into the depths of the ocean, that pitch-black sea surface: “The future Shoreguards... will face circumstances even harsher than ours, harsher than those of the Shoreguards of the Sixth Era.”

“Perhaps... no one will walk alongside you anymore.”

"After all..."

He glanced at Rast, then let out a soft chuckle. "You don’t look like someone who grew up with the company of companions, or under the shelter and guidance of elders."

"Your way of survival has always been like a lone wolf... roaming the endless wilderness, walking alone toward the goal in your heart without needing anyone beside you."

"But—"

"That’s the future, not today."

He slowly stood up from the reef and straightened his back.

Those aged eyes, however, revealed the sharpness of a young hawk soaring the sky, overlooking its territory with sovereign dominance.

"No matter what the future holds, no matter what the Shoreguards become, I know only one thing at this moment—"

"Whether it’s Little Grey or you, Rast, you are both my juniors, both people I must protect."

"Just as, back when I was still weak—"

"My teacher, the former Shoreguard... did those same things for me."

He gazed at the distant pitch-black sky, his voice drifting in the sea breeze like a monologue.

"Remember, as the successor of the 'Fool’s Library,' as the leader of the Shoreguards... beyond being a machine that is always right and always rational, you are also a living human being."

"You will never walk alone..."

"So don’t leave behind regret, and don’t let that little one be blinded by hatred."

"Live on... hold on until the legendary epic reaches its conclusion, until everything ends."

"And then, say goodbye to her with your own voice."

Rast leaned against the reef, silently listening to the elder’s words in the wind.

His right hand unconsciously touched his chest, feeling the heartbeat once again becoming strong and powerful, along with the warmth that slowly spread from within.

Including the hundreds of years of time loops in Deep Blue Port, this was the third time Rast experienced this inexplicable sensation.

The first time was in the hell of the Day Prison, when he reached the sunlit border town of Canaan for the first time from the abyss of despair, and met Xiao Ai amidst the mellow sound of bagpipes.

The second time was at the end of Deep Blue Port, amidst the tide about to be devoured by the Iron Cross, the girl with chestnut long hair, radiant like the morning star... the rapier wielder named Shiltina.

And the third time, was right now.

Rast had always believed his soul was strong enough, strong enough to plan everything, arrange everything... he never trusted anyone, never needed anyone’s help. For hundreds of years, Rast had been alone, long used to surviving like a lone wolf.

But in Rast’s journey, there would always be some people who barged into his life unreasonably.

Then, like a mother hen protecting her chicks, they would decide on their own to guard him behind them, even though Rast believed himself strong enough to need no one’s protection.

That heart, which had wandered the empty Crimson Wasteland for hundreds of years, long sealed and dead like a wooden fish, was suddenly struck by a heavy hammer...

Dust fell away, and the heart roared to life.

As if his lifeblood reconnected with the world, Rast once again felt the joys and sorrows of this world... as though he was no longer the wandering spirit that emerged from the hell named Deep Blue Port.

In the Mental Image World of that Crimson Wasteland, traces of Green Shoots began to sprout...

Just like that ineffable warmth filling his heart.

"In the end... can you tell me one thing?"

The sea breeze lifted Sisel’s white hair.

In that moment, his gaze turned misty. Though his face was aged and carved with sharp, statue-like lines, his eyes looked impossibly warm.

"The world of the future, and humanity’s future civilization..."

"What... has it become?"