Chapter 44: The Divine Plan: Forging One’s Own Power

Drops of blood fell in circles, and the black wound on Valentina’s shoulder deepened.

As her composure wavered, Ileia warned in a cold voice,

“Focus, Valentina.”

Swish!

The dagger sliced through her flesh, a cold, sharp sensation spreading through her body.

Even amidst the din of battle, the frantic beating of her heart was clearly audible.

Blood trickled down her fingertips and splattered on the ground.

Her vision blurred, her heart pounded.

Everything felt as if it were tilting, collapsing.

“Or you will die by my hand. Today.”

Ileia’s voice was unwavering,

his eyes as cold and resolute as the deep night sky.

His words were no bluff.

Valentina gasped, looking down at her wound.

Her body trembled,

not just from the pain,

but from the memory of her mother, suddenly resurfacing.

It was the same.

Back then, too, she bled like this. Back then, too, her mother held her close.

‘Cynatria, don’t cry.’

Why?

Why now?

“Ugh!”

Valentina gripped her sword tighter,

but her hand trembled.

For a moment, Ileia’s face overlapped with her mother’s.

“Stop it!”

She bit her lip,

her composure crumbling.

Fear, guilt, and rage consumed her.

Ileia sensed the shift.

Her gaze wavered.

This was different.

Valentina was always unwavering.

But now…

“Valentina?”

The moment he saw the crimson tears streaming from her eyes,

Ileia knew.

This was seriously f*cked up.

Rumble!!

Black aura erupted from Valentina’s body,

the core of her power, a harbinger of her own destruction.

The greatsword in her hand vibrated, pulsing with a red aura.

“Raaaagh!!!”

Valentina swung her sword in a frenzy.

Ileia dodged, but her attack was more than a simple swing.

A massive shockwave ripped through the air.

The force of the blow tore through the ground, cracking the earth beneath their feet, sending dust swirling into the air.

A manifestation of immense power, tearing through space.

A magnificent, brutal, and unstoppable rampage.

Valentina charged, a whirlwind of destruction.

Her swordsmanship tore through the wind, distorting space itself.

“Haa!”

Ileia barely parried her attack, raising his sword in defense.

But Valentina didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.

Her eyes were clouded, unseeing.

Only the instinct to swing her sword, to strike at the enemy before her, remained.

“Valentina, snap out of it!”

Ileia shouted,

but she didn’t hear.

Clang!

Their swords collided,

a shockwave erupting outwards.

Ileia staggered, unable to withstand the force.

She was too strong.

No longer the strength of a dragon, but something…otherworldly.

Bang!

He was sent flying.

Ileia rolled across the ground,

his body numb.

He gasped for air, his vision swimming.

And in that moment,

“…Ah.”

Valentina’s hand faltered.

Before her eyes,

the image of Ileia, flung away,

overlapped with her mother’s final moments.

“Ah…”

Her hand trembled.

A voice echoed in her mind, a deafening shriek,

‘You must act for your entire life, Cynatria.’

‘The one who killed the Dragon King cannot cry.’

“Stop.”

She had to swing her sword.

She had to cut down the enemy.

But why?

Why did she remember that day?

Why did the person before her look like her mother?

Why, why…

Why was she about to kill her mother again?

“No.”

Valentina gripped her sword tightly.

But her strength faded.

Her eyes wavered, her body trembled.

Her carefully crafted archaic speech pattern crumbled.

“No, no, no!”

A burning sensation consumed her mind.

The air was heavy, suffocating.

Her hands shook.

She couldn’t bear it.

Once again,

she was about to kill.

‘The one who killed the Dragon King cannot cry.’

“No!”

Valentina flung her sword away.

And ran.

Like a storm, like blood, like a shadow.

Her footsteps echoed in the darkness.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

Gasping for breath, her vision blurred,

she didn’t know where she was going.

Only one thing was certain…

She couldn’t stay there.

Consumed by terror, she fled,

unaware of what she was running towards, or what she was running from.

She just…ran.

And on the battlefield, left behind,

lay a single figure, gasping for breath.

Ileia slowly pushed himself up,

taking a deep breath.

He was covered in blood.

Each breath sent a searing pain through his lungs.

But he was alive.

He slowly looked up at the sky.

The crimson sky above the battlefield

was a somber hue.

“I survived…”

Ileia wiped his face with a bloodied hand,

and chuckled dryly.

“I still have a long way to go.”

Ileia realized, more profoundly than ever, the importance of practice.

His voice was quiet, filled with exhaustion and regret.

Even though he was aware of his survival,

he felt no joy of victory, no relief of survival.

Just… exhaustion.

His body was heavy, his heart beat slowly, sluggishly.

Ileia had survived.

But was this truly a ‘victory’?

He closed his eyes, slowly collecting his thoughts.

Replaying the battle in his mind.

Valentina.

She lost control.

Consumed by her emotions, swallowed by rage and madness.

And in the end, she ran.

But running didn’t mean Valentina had lost the fight.

In fact, he was almost overwhelmed at the end.

‘I should have stopped her, or reasoned with her, or done something… but I did nothing.’

She couldn’t stop herself.

The compulsion to strike him down,

and the terror of doing so, clashed, shattering her resolve.

Ileia gritted his teeth.

If he could have stopped her,

he wouldn’t have driven her deeper into despair.

‘In the end, I’ve only ever fought with cheats.’

Ileia looked down at his hand, still gripping the dagger.

It trembled.

Even after the battle, the remnants of the fight lingered.

It was his first true life-or-death struggle, after all.

Blood, sweat, and regret.

‘I’m still just…someone who relies on unfair advantages.’

Valentina honed her swordsmanship.

She mastered magic.

She trained in combat.

But Ileia was lacking.

‘Knowing only how to win battles is meaningless.’

‘Being good at only cutting down enemies doesn’t make you strong.’

Ileia didn’t desire a simple victory.

He wanted the power to end this war.

Not mere combat prowess, but absolute control.

Valentina is alive.

She will return.

Will Ileia repeat the same mistakes then?

No.

He couldn’t.

Ileia opened his eyes.

A cold, clear gaze returned to the world.

‘I have to become stronger. Not just a fighter, but a perfect being.’

Without a single weakness.

Without a single mistake.

Without a single regret.

He had to train again.

He had to hone himself further.

He had to become stronger, more perfect.

He realized, more profoundly than ever, how far he still had to go.

‘The Saintess’s plan… to become a god.’

He will achieve it, within this month.

Without killing Valentina.

“…Haa.”

Even as he dragged his battered body, his thoughts continued to churn.

What had he accomplished?

He failed to stop Valentina.

He failed to persuade her.

He failed to subdue her.

He merely…endured.

Was that enough?

He slowly looked down at his sword.

His dagger still gleamed,

but his fingertips trembled ever so slightly.

He wasn’t perfect yet.

No, he had never been perfect.

He could only borrow the power of a god, mimic their will.

He fought on the battlefield, but always with unfair advantages.

Authority.

Divinity.

Magic.

Everything moved within the ‘divine plan,’

and he simply ‘fought as he was told.’

But that wasn’t enough.

What if, in a crucial moment, the gods don’t intervene?

He suddenly imagined

Valentina’s return,

her true rampage,

the moment she truly turns her blade against herself.

Will he be powerless then, too?

No.

No.

That couldn’t happen.

He slowly inhaled.

He had to be strong.

An unbreakable strength.

A power beyond anyone’s reach.

He wasn’t complete yet.

If he wanted to become a god,

if he wanted to possess the will of a god,

if he wanted to reign as a god—

he had to train harder.

It wasn’t simply about increasing his power.

He had to achieve ‘perfection.’

He didn’t desire mere combat prowess.

He didn’t desire a simple victory.

He desired absolute dominion.

The power to control everything.

The power to completely dominate the battlefield.

A power no one could defy.

His fights so far…

were fought in the name of God.

Not his power, but God’s.

He now had to forge his own power.

To walk the path towards godhood…

he needed his own authority, not borrowed from anyone.

The path towards becoming a god.

The Saintess’s plan.

The final piece of that puzzle.

He would do anything to achieve it.

“And since I have to protect the students, might as well…”

He’d embark on some special training.