I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 113: The World Stands Still

There was no thunder when she vanished. No explosion. No divine scream.

Only silence.

The god was gone—unmade in the wake of a single, final strike. Sylvalen stood with the Spiritforge Blade still raised, silver flames slowly fading from its length, her body locked in stillness as though even she hadn't expected it to end so completely. The snow beneath her feet began to fall again, softly, gently, as if nature, too, had been holding its breath.

All around her, the world paused.

No one spoke.

Not even the wind.

They had just witnessed something they could not yet put into words.

A god—slain.

And not by divine decree.Not by the wrath of the heavens.But by the hand of a woman in a dress of moonlight flame, and a man who never even unsheathed his sword.

The first to speak—quietly, with breath still fogging from the cold—was Volmyr, the Dragon Prince. His eyes, sharp and ancient, remained locked on the clearing where Itzpapalotl had disintegrated into dust.

"She didn't scream," he said, voice low, gravelly. "Even at the end… she didn't resist the blade. It accepted her."

His tone wasn't proud. Nor was it envious.

It was reverent.

He looked at Isaac—not with challenge, but with an uneasy respect, as though he were seeing something he didn't believe could exist.

Standing nearby, Atheon remained frozen for a time. Golden sparks still flickered faintly in his hands—residual energy from a spell he never cast. He finally released it with a slow breath, the lightning around his shoulders fading like a sigh of defeat.

"I have divine blood," he muttered. "Son of the thunder god. Taught by storms. Raised by the light of Olympus…"

He trailed off.

Then looked at Isaac and narrowed his eyes—not in hatred, but in something far more dangerous:

Curiosity.

"You don't come from a throne. No divine name. No lineage. And yet you just played with a god's wrath like a child cradling a spark."

He took a step forward.

"What are you?"

Isaac didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The silence he returned said everything: You're not ready to understand.

On a nearby rise, Lira clutched her arms around herself. Her breathing was quick, almost panicked, but her eyes never left Isaac's back.

"He didn't even look like he was trying," she whispered, voice barely audible.

Next to her, a battle mage in heavy armor turned slowly. "Was he holding back the entire time?"

Lira swallowed hard. "No. Not just holding back. He… chose not to kill her. He let Sylvalen strike the final blow."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she said. "But I think… I think he wanted the world to remember her for it."

Around the mountain, whispers broke like ripples across a still pond.

"He didn't even activate a single ultimate skill."

"Did you see how fast he was? He stepped past her defenses like she was nothing."

"She was a god…"

"Was."

The Adventurer Guild's envoy, a silver-robed official from the central hall, stood stunned. He had brought three guards and a recording orb. The orb was shattered—unable to hold what it had tried to witness.

He fell to one knee without realizing it.

Not out of worship.

But because his legs could no longer support him.

He looked up at Isaac and Sylvalen—man and elf, flame and moon, conqueror and heir.

And in that moment, the first seeds of legend were planted.

Sylvalen slowly lowered the Spiritforge Blade.

The divine flame along its edge had faded, but the resonance remained. It wasn't just a weapon anymore. It sang to her. It pulsed with quiet pride.

And so did her heartbeat.

She turned her head toward Isaac.

He had taken a single step back, watching her—not with superiority, but with quiet approval. No words passed between them.

But in his gaze, she saw the truth:

He had never needed to fight for her.

He fought with her.

He chose to share the burden—and, more importantly, to share the victory.

She sheathed the blade with a long exhale. Her knees nearly buckled—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer weight of what she had just done.

Isaac stepped beside her, hands still at his sides. He didn't smile. He didn't offer her a hand. He simply stood beside her like an immovable wall of calm.

Finally, she spoke.

"I didn't know if I could do it."

"You could," he replied, voice like quiet flame. "And you did."

She looked down at her hands. "Do you think… she's really gone?"

Isaac nodded. "She passed in peace. You gave her that."

The others began to approach.

Not as challengers.

But as witnesses.

And for the first time, the world knelt not before a king or a god—but before two souls who chose each other.