To the narrator’s unceasing voice, my eyes closed at their own accord, and I sank into the events described by Zer.

The emperor stood in his bath. As he watched the beings that had come for his soul, his blood-filled eyes narrowed in anger. Power boiled within him, so tremendous that his aura pulled his bath water up into the air, in defiance of gravity. The seltars had come into his home. Knowing that it was inevitable, Zer was ready for the encounter.

He always remained vigilant, be it on a battlefield or at a feast with envious rivals in the days of his youth. Even now, his hand was pulling from the foamy water that very Seraphim sword that kept him young, the sword paid by the lives of countless enemies, friends, and casualties.

But it was acquired too late.

This blade had extended his life to the point when his children had their own grandchildren, but it couldn’t cut through time to bring Eowa, the first and most beloved of all his wives, back from the dead. Trying to drown the grief of her loss, the emperor had amassed a large harem while fathering bastards throughout his empire and using his right of the first night at every opportunity.

He had one thousand children, but was any of them worthy of taking over the empire he’d built? Zer had long pondered this question.

Had any of them become a champion of all leagues? No.

Was any of them strong enough to keep all those local kings in line? No.

The lead seltar’s gaze emanated icy coldness, paralyzing anyone it fell upon. These beings were barely more than blurred outlines; no way to tell them apart, but the one who stepped forward had a white robe on, which meant good news for the dying person. Those honored to see this dress could leave this world proudly, for their soul belonged in the Hall of Peace.

But the man visited by the seltars didn’t want this lot.

“Your time has come, Zer. Give up that cursed sword and accept your destiny. The Hall of Peace awaits you.”

“Peace? It can wait a bit longer,” Zer winced at the seltar’s pompous speech. “By the way: don’t you know how many lives I’ve taken, you miserable being?”

“We know about each single one of them. But we also know that champions deserve rest and not suffering.”

“Suffering is my only remaining connection with her. Do you want to take it away from me?” Paying no attention to his clothes scattered around, Zer stepped out of the bath, his hand holding the massive blade still partially submerged in foam.

“If you disagree, then your only way is to the Hall of Wailing. And your weapon—I will take it from you anyway.”

Warriors seldom needed words. After saying out loud what had long burdened his soul, the emperor gave way to his battle rage. His blood boiled, and the smoldering ember of anger at his heart ignited a blaze of wrath. The surging wave activated his Steel Shirt, making his wet skin as hard as stone. The drops of water evaporated rapidly, enveloping Zer’s body in steam.

Zer attacked first. The thrust was a feint—these beings couldn’t be defeated head-on. However, the blow was so strong that if the seltar had ignored it, the Seraphim Sword would’ve opened his immortal shell woven from light and shadow, leaving his spirit no chance to survive.

The emperor bent down, spreading his arms like a crane spreading its wings, exactly when the enemies standing aside pointed their long, nailless fingers at him. A net formed by hundreds of sparkling threads flashed over Zer’s head—a dangerous top-level skill available to the air school adepts. The seltar who’d avoided Zer’s attack leaped back, gliding over the marble floor and leaving the Seraphim Sword to slice through the gray swirls of air. But the emperor fell to the floor and spun around, moving his blade horizontally.

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The sword severed the four seltars’ legs off right below the knees. Before the embodied spirits’ bodies collapsed, the stone bath exploded, creating a dust veil that quickly expanded, obstructing everyone’s view.

The emperor closed his eyes. The embodied seltars would be blind for a few more seconds, just as himself. Here, in the physical world, also known as the Dark World, these beings had to play by its rules. Although that wasn’t enough for him to defeat the omnipotent spirits, it still gave him a faint hope of surviving the battle.

The veil covered everyone present, but all of them had been through countless battles, developing a lot of skills. Even while temporarily blinded, they could use their mental vision to gauge the battlefield. One guardian released his spirit and saw the emperor run along the edge of the dusty cloud and dive behind the backs of his maimed enemies who were still holding the unused net. One seltar tried to throw it over Zer but he evaded.

The sword descended slowly upon the seltar. Perhaps he would’ve had time to block it with his steel hand, but his material form was much slower than his spirit, and only belatedly did he realize that the blade embedding itself in his clavicle was cleaving him in two.

He gave no scream. His mouth just opened silently as if gasping for air.

From behind came a sharp, pain-filled howl, as though an entire pack of wolves were dying a terrible death. It was the four legless seltars.

It’s a lie that seltars feel no pain, the emperor gloated.

The unfolding scene was surreal. An outsider might’ve even thought that in this battle between the guardians of light and the first emperor of the Dark World, the latter actually could prevail. However, seltars were not regular human warriors.

Four glowing spears pierced the air all at once, like four magical rays, deciding the outcome, stripping the defiant mortal of any chance to escape.

One spear missed Zer. Two brushed against his stony skin as he’d deliberately turned, avoiding the otherworldly weapons. But he failed to evade the last spear that effortlessly pierced him. The impact was so tremendous it pinned him to the opposite wall like a butterfly.

“Just a man,” the haughty, annoyed voice of the white-robed guardian thundered. “You took too much pride in yourself. Your punishment will be proportionate to your transgression.”

From the dusty cloud, one by one, the surviving seltars emerged, heading toward the suspended Zer.

“I am... kha... the Emperor! Of the Dark World! Kha kha...” A bloody cough hindered his speech, but Zer, glaring at the approaching enemies, spat out more words: “I am the emperor... kha... Of seven seas... Kha kha... And the united... land.”

His face twisted in a grimace of suffering, but the fire of defiance still blazed in his eyes.

“It’s over,” the seltar boomed. “You had a choice, and you bear sole responsibility for its consequences.”

Zer’s heavy breathing and mind-clouding, agonizing pain had turned his smile into a demon’s bloodied grin. He knew what was coming. He had foreseen this outcome among other things.

He looked down at the spear protruding from his shoulder that emitted a painful white light. For the first time in his long life, he was afraid. His hand clutching the Seraphim Sword gave a treacherous shiver. Trying to dispel the despair, he thought of any chance of salvation, however tiny, that he might still be having. Anything was better than what awaited him upon death.

Just a little more, and the miserable flesh would let go of the heavy hilt, ending it all. Everything he had achieved, everything he’d worked so hard for no longer mattered.

“I’m the Emperor of the Dark World!” he growled again, like a cornered animal. Gathering his last strength, he opened a space pocket: a secret storage space no one but him could ever access. His fingers slipped off the bloodied hilt, dropping the Seraphim Sword into the abyss beyond the edge of reality that swallowed it.

“No! You! Bastard!”

The seltars were late to realize what was happening. By the time they darted toward the rift, it was already gone.

Looking at the guardians prostrated at his feet, Zer laughed like crazy. Even pinned to the wall by a spear, choking on his own blood and being just a step away from death, he was the winner. His enemies’ fingers were still reaching for the closed space pocket, and this spectacle was delightful.

“Kha kha... Go to hell... Ah-ha-kha-ha-kha-ha!”

With no more aid from the magic sword, his body began to disintegrate. His long-healed wounds opened again, his regenerated organs disappeared, but he laughed on. His shadow remained unbound.

His concubines, slaves, servants, and courtiers shrieked in terror. Over three hundred people who’d huddled in corners as soon as the fight began and watched it, not daring to move, were now fleeing the spot of the legendary warrior’s death.

Before long, the story of the battle in the imperial baths had traveled to the remotest backwoods of the Dark Continent, gaining epic scale and new details.

Zer’s death gave start to the long war for power fought by his vassal kings, counts, dukes, and numerous bastards. This war, known as benign, took far more lives than the red-eyed slayer and opened an era that was later named the Age of Chaos.