What defined power? Authority? Worthiness?
How truly powerful could a mortal man become? Was there a limit to the strength that could be derived from unspoken loyalty, from the undying trust of others? How much weight could a king bear before his shoulders gave way, crushed beneath the sheer burden of his title?
How heavy was a single life when its value was measured against the heavens? And how close to divinity could a mortal soul ascend before the light consumed it?
The strange world Caine had stumbled into was far darker and more intricate than he could have imagined. Its depths defied comprehension, and its scope stretched so vast that even the likes of Zao—an entity of unparalleled wisdom—would frown upon beholding its entirety.
Yet, for all its vastness, this world was a masterpiece of structure. It radiated an order so meticulous that it seemed unnatural, as if designed by an intelligence beyond mortal understanding.
Every element was measured, controlled, and recorded. The land was divided into villages, built to accommodate mortal existence.
These villages, in turn, fell under the dominion of cities, which were governed by kingdoms.
The kings of these realms were elected or re-elected annually, a tradition that ensured no ruler lingered too long upon the throne.
Above the kingdoms stood empires, whose emperors bent their knees to even greater powers—the Sovereignties. But even these supreme entities answered to a single force: The Church.
The White Star Church reigned as the absolute authority over this world, its influence unchallenged. At its head stood a singular man, a being whose very existence bore the weight of the world—a titan cloaked in mortal flesh.
This figure of absolution and control, known as the Pope, presided over a dominion so complete that even Caine, an anomaly among anomalies, could not help but marvel at its reach.
***
In a grand hall of impossible majesty, two figures occupied the space. The floor was an endless expanse of blue marble, its polished surface reflecting the faint light from the tall stained-glass windows. The ceiling arched high above, carved from white stone, its intricate details lost in the shadows cast by the bright moonlight spilling into the chamber.
One figure sat upon a throne, radiating a light so brilliant it obscured every feature of its form. The other lay prostrate on the ground, trembling.
Reiner, a soldier sworn to serve, pressed his face to the cold marble floor. His body quaked as sweat soaked his back, his breaths shallow and uneven. Tears gathered at the corners of his tightly shut eyes, threatening to spill over.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves from the forests beyond the hall's towering windows. The dark blue skies above the capital seemed to bow to the moon's luminous reign, its rays cascading through the stained glass to illuminate the scene below.
Reiner dared not move. He dared not speak. Yet, even in the absence of physical force, his very soul felt laid bare under the Pope's gaze.
Upon the throne, the radiant being sat unmoving, a star of golden light so overwhelming that no mortal could discern its true form. The air in the hall was void of qi, devoid of any discernible energy. Yet Reiner's hairs stood on end, his stomach churned, and his heart slammed violently against his ribs.
The sheer presence of the Pope was suffocating. It wasn't pressure in the physical sense—it was the overwhelming weight of infinity itself. Reiner felt as if he were an ant before a boundless cosmos, his fragile mind fracturing under the strain.
Countless voices echoed within his head, a maddening cacophony that threatened to drive him to the brink of insanity. He teetered on the edge, seconds away from ending his own life to escape the unbearable intensity.
"Reiner."
The Pope's voice rang out, calm and serene, yet as absolute as a force of nature. The sound shattered the chaos in Reiner's mind, bringing a momentary reprieve. His thoughts stilled, and he exhaled a shaky breath, his body trembling as he regained his composure.
No matter how many times he stood before this being, Reiner knew he would never grow accustomed to the experience.
"Yes, Your Holiness," he croaked, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. Clearing his throat, he continued, "My men and I ventured into the southern regions, specifically to the central relay village where the youth was first spotted. Unfortunately…"
His words were laced with hesitation and apprehension, but he pressed on, recounting the tale of his failures in painstaking detail. He left nothing out, for he knew that lying—or even omitting a single truth—was futile. The Pope's gaze was all-seeing, his knowledge absolute.
Minutes bled into hours as Reiner delivered his report. When he finally finished, his voice was hoarse, and his body felt drained.
"I see. Interesting," the Pope said, his tone unchanging, as if untouched by emotion. "Now, listen carefully to my next words."
Reiner's heart pounded as he nodded rapidly, his ears straining to catch every syllable.
"I want you to…"
The orders that followed sent a chill through Reiner's very soul. Each word struck him like a hammer, the magnitude of the commands threatening to crush him. By the time the Pope's voice fell silent, Reiner's face was pale, his body trembling anew.
The scope of what was to come was beyond anything he had imagined.
***
In a simple room far removed from the grandeur of the hall, a young man sat in silent meditation.
The walls were painted white, and the room was sparsely furnished—a single bed, a desk, and a cultivation mat. Above the bed, a veiled and disguised Caine hovered cross-legged in the air, his blue eyes closed in deep concentration.
Through the open window, the sounds of the Holy Capital drifted in. Voices, shouts, and laughter blended together, forming an urban symphony that filled the air. For reasons he couldn't fully explain, Caine had always found comfort in the liveliness of cities. They felt warm, alive—human.
'This so-called Pope truly is extraordinary…'
Caine had not yet met the Pope, but his experiences over the past few days had left a lasting impression.
To test the waters of this new world, Caine had made an audacious request: rare resources in exchange for the freedom of captives. These resources were treasures even in the Five Brilliant Sky World, yet within an hour, they had been delivered to him without question.
The efficiency was staggering. But more than that, there was something about the Church itself that unnerved him.
Caine could sense an immense force radiating from it—an energy that wasn't qi, nor any power he recognized. Yet it was tangible, oppressive, like a guillotine poised above his neck or an all-seeing eye that scrutinized his every move.
Despite the unease, Caine couldn't deny that things had gone in his favor. Thanks to the Pope's compliance, he now had access to resources that allowed him to begin cultivating earlier than anticipated—a crucial advantage in this unpredictable world.
He opened his eyes, determination gleaming within their blue depths.
'This is no trial. This is real. And if I die here, there's no coming back.'
Taking a steadying breath, he began.
'Let's start.'