Chapter Four: The Battle of the Ages (Part Two)

Savasein did not answer his disciples’ questions. Instead, he reached out and opened the sealed box. Inside lay a shard of blue crystal, its radiance spilling outward in waves.

“What is this? Such a tiny object, and yet it emits such immense power?” Tardalin stared in disbelief at the crystal, barely larger than a fingernail.

“Incredible. It’s merely a fragment of crystal. Is this the holy relic you spoke of, Master—the one that proves the existence of the gods?” Yaton gazed in awe at the crystal Savasein held. Having seen countless technological wonders, it was clear to him that this was a natural crystal, wholly untouched by any artifice—a simple shard, and nothing more.

Savasein nodded. “Yes, this is indeed the relic that proves the gods exist. According to the High Priest, he acquired it during a ritual, when a small bird fell from the sky and struck him. This fragment was clenched in its beak.” Using his psychic power, Savasein lifted the crystal into his hand and set it to spinning slowly, displaying it for his students.

“When I first received it from the High Priest, it wasn’t radiant like this, nor did it exude any power. On a whim, I infused it with my psychic energy, and from that moment on, it glowed incessantly. The High Priest told me he had tried the same, but his energy vanished without a trace, as though cast into the void. Afterwards, he excitedly asked if I would become his disciple.” Savasein smiled faintly. “You know what happened next. But my certainty in the existence of the gods came from more than this. When I poured my power into the crystal, I felt as though my consciousness was transported to a golden sea, and in that ocean slumbered a vast and mighty presence.”

A brilliant light shone in Savasein’s eyes. “That must have been the sleeping gods. I could feel their affection and gentleness, a closeness that touched my very soul, as if I had returned to the womb itself. Just as I was about to lose myself, the crystal drew me back.”

He sighed. “Sadly, since that day, I have never been able to return to that state. No matter how much energy I pour into it, the gods do not answer. However, my own power has grown stronger under the crystal’s influence. The High Priest consoled me, saying it might be because this is just a fragment—if more pieces could be found, or a complete crystal, perhaps contact with the gods could be restored.”

After hearing their teacher’s story, both disciples fell into deep thought. Tardalin was the first to speak. “But Master, isn’t this all much too nebulous?”

Yaton added, “Indeed, Master. To choose such an uncertain path based on a single, unrepeatable experience—isn’t that too great a risk?”

“Ah, Yaton, Tardalin—until you have touched that grand consciousness, you cannot understand what I felt. And let me assure you: darkness is closing in on us all, and we are powerless to resist. Since the gods have chosen me for this mission, even if the path is uncertain, even if it leads nowhere, as long as the faintest hope remains, it is worth my life and every effort—for our shared future. What does it matter if I am the only sacrifice?” Savasein put away the floating crystal, returning it to its wooden box. He did not notice that, as he did so, the crystal flickered within.

Yaton and Tardalin exchanged a glance, then knelt on one knee before Savasein. “Honored Master, if this is your calling, allow us to follow in your footsteps. We will always stand by you, for the sake of our shared future. En Taro Savasein!” (“En Taro” is a formal phrase meaning ‘to honor you.’)

Savasein helped his disciples to their feet. “I am glad you still believe in me, glad that there are those to carry on after me. I trust our efforts will not be in vain, and that one day we will shatter the darkness and bring our people into the light.”

Thereafter, Savasein and his two disciples left the capital, journeying to all lands steeped in ancient legends, seeking sacred relics like the crystal fragment. Often, they returned empty-handed, though they managed to dispel many local superstitions and rumors. Yet Savasein never gave up; he was steadfast in his conviction that he would find hope.

Meanwhile, the Fanged King, having returned to his own domain, learned from a traitorous general how alluring his secret arts were to others. Delighted, he began spreading his wicked teachings far and wide.

Soon, dark currents surged within the Empire of Light. Though the empire forbade discussion, propagation, or practice of such evil arts, some desperate souls—those at the end of their rope—still took the first step into darkness. Seeing that prohibition alone was useless, the imperial military began training a formidable army of death-row prisoners, using them to suppress evil-doers at home.

Good fortune did not last. Five centuries later, the flaws in the Fanged King’s secret arts became apparent. The evil within twisted practitioners’ minds, making them bloodthirsty and ruthless.

Believing the Fanged King’s teachings to blame, the empire mustered all its armies and the latest weaponry for an all-out assault on the Blood Empire. With their strengthened soldiers and weapons known as “nuclear arms,” they broke through the Blood Empire’s capital.

The Fanged King sat upon his throne. Twisted by dark power, he had grown ears, a nose, and mouth, his appearance now grotesquely different from other men—one reason he no longer showed himself in public. Now, he cradled a goblet of blood-wine, watching with amusement as the imperial army stormed his palace.

“Fanged King, you have lost. Surrender the true secret art, or I swear you will beg for death before the end!” The commander, wielding a sword aglow with crimson light, approached the Fanged King step by step.

“Heh. Who would have thought that the so-called God-blessed Empire of Light would abandon its faith and walk the same path as I? How laughable.” The Fanged King smiled, sipping his wine.

“Silence, fiend! We are not you—we do not slaughter innocents. Power itself is not evil or good. Surrender the true secret art, and we might spare your life.”

Laughing, the Fanged King flung aside his goblet, splattering blood across the commander’s robe. “How ridiculous! There is no secret art you seek—only your own delusions!”

He seized the commander’s cloak, brushed a hand across the man’s red-rimmed eyes, and whispered, “Soon enough, you will be just like me—reveling in slaughter, addicted to its ecstasy. Admit it. There is no turning back. Rage, fear—the end comes for all...”

A crimson blade pierced the Fanged King’s body. The commander, eyes burning scarlet, left the throne room, and soon the entire palace was consumed by fire.

Just as the Fanged King predicted, the Empire of Light—having never obtained the “true” secret art—fell into unprecedented crisis. After slaying all their prisoners, the victorious army that had once conquered the Blood Empire became the first spark in the empire’s own destruction.

Chaos spread; evil flourished. The conquest of the Blood Empire brought not peace, but fear and rebellion. The empire fractured, life became cheap, and countless innocents joined the carnage just to protect their kin. In the end, all was lost.

Mushroom clouds rose across the planet’s surface, brilliant flashes of death devouring life after life. Savasein knew then: pointless suffering and sorrow could not save his people. Darkness had fallen upon the world.

For five centuries, he watched as the empire marched toward ruin. He and his disciples scoured the planet, always returning empty-handed. As the world outside grew ever more hostile, he was forced to return to the God-blessed Lands—the Empire of Light’s final remnant.

Another five centuries passed. The Empire of Light was utterly gone; order had departed, and chaos and evil reigned. The survivors hid in the wilds and forests, no longer forming communities.

Those driven mad by the secret arts slaughtered each other into silence. Civilization regressed—distrust flourished, and wild beasts twisted by radiation grew fiercer, making survival ever more difficult.

Savasein led his disciples to dwell in the Pillar Mountains. For a thousand years, they had wandered the planet with no trace of hope—only to find it, at last, in the place of divine miracles. Fate’s irony was profound.

After meticulously searching every inch of the Pillar Mountains, guided by the crystal fragment, Savasein discovered a hidden cave. There, he found a crystal a meter tall.

The instant they beheld it, Savasein and his companions wept with joy. This was the hope of their people—at last, it was found.

The years that followed were devoted to study. Through this crystal, Yaton and Tardalin also experienced that mighty consciousness—the wisdom of their master undeniable.

Time lost meaning in the mountains. One day, Savasein, elated, announced he had found a way to use the crystal.

He named it the Khaydarin Relic, and it was indeed mysteriously linked to the great gods. With it, he could strengthen the psychic bond among his people, connecting them all. By linking every mind, they could draw upon the power of the divine realm itself, purifying inner darkness, strengthening their psychic abilities, and perhaps even awakening the sleeping gods. This new path of cultivation, he named the Way of Khalai.

At last, hope had been found. They left the Pillar Mountains, and for a thousand years traversed the scarred lands. By spreading the Way of Khalai, more and more people gathered, their hearts united, their understanding deepened. Evil and chaos gradually faded. A new dawn was at hand.