image [https://i.imgur.com/BeU93QV.png]

In his haste, Alexisz strode past the palace guards without so much as a glance, towering over them as if they were mere children.

They did not stop him—nor did they dare to try.

Had he been an intruder, even ten of them, armed to the teeth, would have struggled to hold him back.

Their only real chance lay in sheer numbers and flawless coordination, and even then, it would have been a battle of desperation rather than victory.

But there was no need for conflict.

They knew him well, and familiarity often bred leniency.

With nothing more than a brief exchange of wary, knowing glances, they allowed him through.

image [https://i.imgur.com/SZ75QTr.png]

Yet, despite their rigid discipline, the sentinels could not help themselves. Their heads tilted upward challenging the ceilings, as he passed, their eyes flickering with disbelief and embarrassment. Their flushed faces burned so fiercely they might have been mistaken for men drowning in their own mortification.

Simply put—Alexisz was naked.

His rebirth had been completed, yes…

His clothes, however, had not finished their refabrication process yet.

And so, the man—a warrior of legend, now stormed through the palace halls in all his unadorned glory, heedless of the stares boring into his broad, battle-hardened frame.

The good news? By the time he reached the King’s chamber, he was fully clothed.

The items had regenerated, embracing him in slick denim leggings of deep-ocean blue. Red, very expensive-looking, sneakers on his feet. And his chest was covered in a simple, white tank top.

This was the attire he was wearing on his way home from the gym. Before the Sakura-Isekai-Reincarnation ability awakened and turned over his NPC-like life.

None of them fit him anymore, by the way. His attire was creaking and ripping with every hurried move.

His oversized body had long forgotten the embrace of the fabrics that entwined themselves with his very being.

Now, for the other, not-so-good, news? Every single guard he passed had now developed an inferiority complex that would haunt them for the rest of their days.

With clothes that barely clung to his massive frame, Alexisz crashed into the towering redwood doors of the royal palace, their golden details almost shattering against the impact.

The King jolted at the sudden disturbance, instinctively rising from his seat. His hand shot toward the hilt of his holy sword, his body primed for battle. But the moment his eyes fell upon Alexisz’s face, the tension in his grip loosened.

He hesitated, preparing to scold the warrior for his reckless entrance. Yet, as his gaze swept over Alexisz more carefully, the reprimand died on his tongue.

His eyes widened.

His breath hitched.

Shock—no, terror—twisted his features into something unrecognizable, an expression foreign to a man who had ruled Prospera with unwavering composure.

Because he, the sovereign of this great kingdom, was the one who sent Alexisz—his most formidable soldier—on this mission.

A mission to track down the Demon King.

And now Alexisz had returned.

Clad in these otherworldly garments; a symbol that the man had been slain...

Sakura Phoenix

Terror enters the palace

A storm is coming

----------------------------------------

Elsewhere, at that very moment, a shadow lounged upon a tiny boat, swaying lazily across the water’s surface.

image [https://i.imgur.com/1QzsNYj.png]

With slow, deliberate movements, the figure readied a fishing pole, the intent clear in every motion.

The action seemed simple, almost casual, yet there was an undeniable weight to the moment—an unassuming stick against the endless abyss.

Far from the shore, deeper within the water’s embrace than any casual sailor would dare venture, the loner seemed less like a man and more like a ghost—adrift in a world so distant, it might as well have been a different plane of existence entirely.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

It was none other than Aetherion—the mountain himself. A lone colossus upon the sea. An adventurer so formidable that only one true challenge remained in the world: OnyX.

They were destined to dance together against fate.

That much was certain.

But the universe has its own sense of irony, for OnyX had two great weaknesses. And at this very moment, she was locked in an intense battle with one of them—her absolutely atrocious sense of direction.

But back to Aetherion.

You see, the truth is; we know only bits and pieces—his towering presence, his impossible strength, and the staggering feats he has achieved since his arrival in the Prospera Kingdom. Beyond that? He remains an enigma, a force of nature wrapped in mystery.

A… unique individual.

His presence? Overwhelming! As if the collective gaze of all the world’s wildlife—across the endless span of time—had fixed itself upon you, peering not just at you, but through you, straight into the depths of your soul.

His attire? A mere formality he could never indulge in—there simply wasn’t any that could fit him. Instead, his entire form was adorned with intricate tattoos, swirling patterns of blue, red, and yellow mixing and pulsing with a cosmic elegance.

His power? The real deal! Not much is revealed about his combat techniques, but that's because he defeats his foes too fast to be examined.

Is there anything else we know about him?

Hmm...

Ah! His skin!

His skin was porcelain-perfect!

No, really—it wasn’t a metaphor. It was literal.

Because Aetherion was none human.

He was a towering porcelain golem, a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship—both delicate and indestructible. A walking enigma, sculpted into legend, his very existence defying the natural order.

He was sharp—his entire body was sharp! Every edge, every ridge carved with meticulous precision, like the perfect fusion of artistry and lethality.

His form?

That of a Sky Ruler—a dragon meant to reign over the winds, a celestial beast of impossible grandeur.

Yet, where such creatures stretched forty meters in majesty, Aetherion stood at a mere four.

A fragment of the titan he was impersonating.

Even so, he was a force beyond reckoning.

These Rulers command the wind. Their bodies long and sleek, an elegant perfection of serpentine grace, crowned by wings so grand they could eclipse the heavens.

Aetherion, however, was different. Though his were crafted, they were small, his maker had chosen function over grandeur, sacrificing extravagance for deadly precision.

Yet, despite their humble size, there was no denying it—Aetherion was still amazing when it came to flight. His wings may not have been grand, but in the skies above the kingdoms?

He has yet to be bested.

You see, the aerial beasts I just mentioned... They usually don't come with human-like shapes or forms. No sharp hands, no long legs—such features were unnecessary for beings meant to battle the cloudy velocity of the skies.

Their forms were streamlined, built for the sole purpose of cutting through the wind with unmatched agility and speed. Every curve, every feature was designed to complement the forces of nature, not mimic those of the earthbound.

Aetherion, however, was an anomaly. Though shaped like a dragon, his body bore the traces of something more terrestrial—sharp, angular, and far from the serpentine grace of his kin. His design was that of a creature made for battle after all.

And now...

He simply awaited the sea.

His fishing rod twitched, its delicate line vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with the water’s natural rhythm. Small ripples formed, expanding outward in slow circles from the boat.

But it was no fish that had taken the bait. No. It was far worse.

An earthquake—raw, primal, and fueled by the uncontrollable power of the Demon King. The very ground trembled, and the sea, once calm, seemed to recoil in fear.

Aetherion’s gaze shifted to the horizon, his porcelain face unreadable. Though he had not witnessed her ascension—had not felt the full brunt of the Demon King’s rise—he did not need to be there. The Ocean spoke all he needed to know.

The Demon King had ascended. And with it, a power that would ripple across the world, leaving devastation in its wake.

He had retracted the silk, drawing the line taut as he settled himself onto the boat. With a quiet grace, he held the rod—his fingers wrapped around it with care and delicacy, as if it were something far more precious than a simple tool.

He waited, the rhythm of his stillness almost meditative, all while maintaining a steady gaze on the fading sun. Its golden hues melted into the horizon, casting a warm, melancholic light across the sea. His focus never wavered; his eyes locked with the sun's descent, as if the world itself paused in that moment—waiting for something unknown, just as he did.

The wait was minimal.

Almost as soon as the bait settled into the depths, the fishing rod twitched—a subtle tremor at first, as though the very ocean itself had whispered a warning.

It was not the unnatural earthquake stirred by a certain Demon that shook the rod. No, it was the force Aetherion had been hunting for, a presence from the depths, stirring to life beneath the calm waters. The ocean had spoken, and now something ancient, powerful, and unknowable was answering.

It was a serpentine Glass Dragon, a creature of shimmering beauty and deadly grace, its body undulating like liquid silver beneath the waves. It ruled the ocean with a loud terror, striking down any who dared to sail these waters with swift and merciless fury.

The beast had earned its name, its place of dominance—the rightful ruler of the seas: Jörmungandr.

The very ocean around it seemed to bend and ripple in reverence, acknowledging the dragon’s untold power. Its scales glistened like shards of glass, catching the fading sunlight and reflecting them in dazzling patterns across the water’s surface.

In an instant, the serpent leapt from the depths, its massive form rising out of the water like a force of nature. It lunged at the bait with brutal speed, its jaws snapping down—taking half of Aetherion’s tiny boat alongside the fishing wire in one powerful strike.

And as the serpent hung midair, suspended between ocean and sky, their eyes met.

In that moment, time itself seemed to stop, as if the world had held its breath. Aetherion’s gaze locked with Jörmungandr’s glowing, ancient eyes, both creatures recognizing something primal in one another...

The golem's reaction was minimal.

Was it because he was an object, crafted without emotion and speech?

Or was it because his victory was already sealed—an inevitability no beast could alter?

The calm ocean stills

Its lawful tyrant displeased

The battle begins

image [https://i.imgur.com/kzQumGD.png]