In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Beneath the crimson-stained sky, atop the shattered remains of the Papal Palace, a man stood alone.

His cloak, soaked with blood, hung heavily from his shoulders. His deep, dark red eyes surveyed the ruins of the Holy Capital.

It was Michael.

Scattered at his feet were the remnants of what was once called the Papal Palace. One half of the building had completely collapsed; the other half was engulfed in flames.

A spire, partially broken, crumbled amidst the smoke rising into the sky.

Fragments of once-holy stained glass sparkled as they scattered through the air.

Michael stood upon the very platform where the Pope had once addressed his faithful.

Now, the Pope lay unconscious, under the strict watch of Marcus and Nyangnyang.

All around, cannons roared and the earth trembled violently.

As Pamir's battering rams shattered the city walls, knights and magical beasts stormed in from the coast, clashing with the Holy Knights in a battlefield of madness.

The clanging of steel, the blasts of magic, the cries and screams of war—

In the center of it all, Michael stood in perfect stillness.

He stood atop the ruins, absorbing the divine power flowing in from every corner of the Holy Capital.

A strange aura swirled around him, a vortex of divine energy drawn to his presence.

This city had been designed from the ground up by the Light to gather and amplify divine power—a cradle of holy strength.

Holy symbols embedded throughout the city, relics aligned along the palace's core, the faith built over generations by priests, knights, and citizens alike—

Now, all that power flowed toward Michael.

From his fingertips, divine energy shimmered like mist.

At first, the streams of light were faint and thin, but they soon grew broader and more intense.

Like blood rushing through veins, the currents of light surged from every corner of the city, converging above the ruins of the palace.

"…Hoo."

Michael exhaled slowly.

When he spread his arms wide, the divine energy around him swelled and surged even more violently.

It was intoxicating.

This power—infused with prayer, faith, and countless years of belief and blessings—was originally meant for the Light.

And yet, Michael absorbed it all as if it were rightfully his.

Priests and Holy Knights across the city began to fall, stripped of the divine strength they once relied on.

"Light! Please…!"

"Have You abandoned us?!"

But their god did not answer.

The golden rooftops of the sacred temples began to darken and blacken.

The Allied Forces watched the once-proud zealots crumble, wearing smiles of grim satisfaction.

Michael's fingers trembled slightly.

"…So this is the power of the Light."

The force swirling around him grew stronger.

Divine energy was originally reserved only for those blessed by the gods.

But Michael held no faith.

He was no priest.

In fact, he had outright denied the Light.

Yet, the divine energy did not resist him.

On the contrary—it flowed into him as if he were its rightful master.

Holy sigils flared beneath his feet, glowing brilliantly… then cracked and shattered.

The entire city was changing, transformed by Michael's power.

His cloak fluttered in the wind, caught in the tide of immense power—

A scene so surreal, it looked like a painting come to life.

Moved by the sight, one elderly Holy Knight charged at him, howling.

He had not yet given up hope.

If he could just slay this heretic—if he could retrieve the Pope—the Holy Kingdom could be restored.

His radiant sword sliced through the air toward Michael.

But Michael didn't flinch.

The divine power was already his.

He raised a hand, and the divine energy that had sustained the capital for centuries twisted violently, like a living creature forming a cyclone around him.

The Holy Knight's armor began to crumple under the pressure.

His sacred sword shattered into pieces.

"Y-You… demon…"

The blessing he had once trusted—

The sacred power that had protected him—

No longer felt safe.

Michael looked down at him and spoke slowly:

"Your god is dead."

Elsewhere, knights riding magical beasts raided the Holy Capital, plundering freely.

They watched Michael's actions from a distance, awe in their eyes.

To them, he seemed like a man unmoved even in the face of unimaginable wealth—choosing instead to crush the last Holy Knight with his own hands.

"Truly… what a man. Not even flinching before all that treasure."

Of course, it wasn't that Michael lacked desire for wealth—

But if others chose to interpret it nobly, that worked just as well.

Another knight chimed in.

"Don't you know? That rising merchant group—Zirach Trading Company? It's supposedly owned by Crown Prince Michael himself."

The first knight nodded thoughtfully.

"Ah… that explains the boom. In Xerxes's capital, right?"

Images of the thriving city of Crassus came to mind.

Once nothing more than a barren frontier of plains and swamplands,

It had now become the capital of the most prosperous nation on the continent.

Just the thought of that transformation was enough to stir awe.

At the heart of Crassus, the capital of Xerxes, a beautifully balanced city layout was immediately evident.

A wide central road stretched out straight, lined on both sides with trees large and small, breathing green life into the city.

The streets were not mere dirt paths, but paved with polished stone and cobblestones, providing stable footing even for heavily loaded carts and wagons.

Drainage channels were expertly designed along the roadsides, and deep underground sewer systems swiftly purified waste and runoff.

Even rainwater flowed naturally into the drains, preventing puddles from forming on the streets.

What amazed visitors most, however, was how humans and magical beasts lived and worked side by side.

Once feared as monsters, magical beasts were now integral to the labor force of the Xerxs Kingdom.

Each contributed to the city's growth in their own unique way.

Large, powerful beasts hauled stone and steel at construction sites, using their massive bodies to help build walls and bridges.

Beasts with mystical abilities were employed in factories, performing tasks suited to their strengths.

In agriculture, their roles were especially vital—magical beasts were assigned to villages to plow fields, manage rice paddies, and oversee reservoirs.

Thanks to them, Crassus's farmlands remained productive and stable, regardless of weather or climate.

Another key to the city's rapid development was its efficient industrial infrastructure.

Unlike most territories that relied on guilds and individual artisans, Crassus boasted several large-scale factories capable of mass production.

In its forges, weapons and shields were not handmade one by one.

Instead, the manufacturing process was broken down into steps and systematized for mass output.

Tanneries processed leather in bulk.

Weaving factories spun thread and wove fabric through mechanized systems.

As a result, productivity soared, and goods produced in Crassus began to spread across the continent, turning the city into a hub of commerce.

Merchants from every region bustled about, selling local specialties.

Nomads traded rare herbs and exotic hides, engaging in lively exchanges with city dwellers.

Music played by street performers and spontaneous shows added vibrance to the atmosphere.

Crassus had evolved beyond a commercial city—it had become a thriving center of culture and art.

One knight, watching it all, couldn't help but think of the estate he would one day inherit from his father.

"We can't stay stagnant like this. We need to find a way to move forward—somehow."

Nearby, an agent from Xerxes' intelligence division, acting on Michael's orders to stir up sentiments, noticed the knight's pensive expression and smiled inwardly.

At that moment, Karl was descending into the depths.

"It should be around here…" he muttered, brow furrowed.

He stood in what had once been the most sacred sanctuary of the Holy Kingdom.

But now, the sight before him was devastation.

The ceiling and walls had collapsed, choking the air with dust.

Massive pillars that once supported the sanctum lay broken on the ground, and the golden ornaments symbolizing divine power had been scorched black, buried in the rubble.

Cracks ran through the stone walls, and the holy relics—once vessels of sacred power—were shattered and inert.

"What in the world happened here?"

At the heart of the sanctuary, the Sealing Stone had been utterly destroyed.

There was no trace left of the divine soul that had once resided there.

The floor, once glowing with holy light, was now darkened and dead.

Alfred crossed the ruined sanctuary and descended the stairs behind the temple.

There lay the Catacombs, a place the Holy Kingdom had kept meticulously hidden.

Only the Pope and the highest-ranking clergy had ever entered here.

It was said to be where the most powerful divine souls on the continent were kept.

But the deeper he went, the heavier and damper the air became.

The floor was littered with shattered holy oil vials and torn scriptures.

Bloodstains, long dried, clung to the walls.

The rows of sacred statues lining the hallway had been beheaded or horribly defaced.

The magical lamps that once emitted a warm glow were all broken—now, only deep darkness remained.

Karl stopped walking.

He had reached the deepest chamber of the catacombs—

The last sanctuary where the soul of the Light had once been sealed.

But it, too, had been completely destroyed.

The intricately carved walls had been blown apart.

The center of the great sanctuary showed signs of a massive force tearing through it.

It looked as if something had exploded from within, completely ripping off the roof.

"Could this damage have been caused by the recent assault?"

Karl immediately shook his head.

This place, the vault of the divine soul, would not have fallen so easily.

He began to concentrate, scanning his surroundings with sharpened senses.

Everything pointed to one possibility—

Something had burst out from within.

The sealing stones that had held the divine soul in place were shattered into fragments.

Faint, ominous traces of an unknown energy lingered in the air.

And at the altar in the center—

The golden crystal that had once sealed the soul of the Light lay broken into scattered shards.

Karl's eyes quivered.

The soul of the Light had escaped.

"The bastard caught on and fled."

He immediately raised his hand.

To track the soul's trail, he summoned his power.

From his shadow, countless tendrils began to spread, slithering into the darkness and wrapping around the entire underground network.

"Find it."

With that command, the tendrils surged upward toward the surface.

Meanwhile, Michael, still absorbing the Light's power across the Holy Capital, suddenly paused.

He had felt it—his grandfather's presence, somewhere deep beneath the city.

"Did something happen to him…?"

His grandfather had gone alone into the underground to find and destroy the soul of the Light.

Because it was a disembodied soul—a mere thoughtform—Michael hadn't thought much of letting him go alone.

Perhaps that had been a mistake.

He immediately stopped absorbing the power and began to move.

If something had happened to his grandfather,

he would never forgive himself.