NOVEL NEXT Chapter 145: System Error...
[WARNING!]
[SYSTEM OVERLOAD!]
[YOU HAVE USED UNVERIFIED SKILLS...]
[REWRITING...]
[ERROR...$#!@%!#^@21325Y17L15EX12019913@!#%A314N@$%!]
The text burst through his vision, symbols and code not meant for human eyes flickering with such speed and violence that even the system seemed to scream. And then it hit him. A force, violent and internal, yanked from within his core, like his own body had turned into a black hole trying to devour him from the inside out.
Sylvaris staggered, his hands clawing at his chest, eyes wide with panic, breath short and jagged. What is going on with me...? The thought was weak, cracked like the rest of him, and he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. I don't feel... myself anymore. All of this power, all of this energy, life, death, whatever the fuck this is... it's not me... or is it? The pain blurred his vision... Just what the hell is going on with me...?
[You have killed a powerful demi-god being...]
[Calculating achievement...]
[Impossible achievement has been completed... ?????]
[ERROR...]
[...............]
His body began to overheat; not the kind of burn that came from battle, not from exertion or blood loss, but something deeper, something wrong, like his very core was being set ablaze from within. The pain was unspeakable—his heart didn't just ache, it felt like it was being clawed out of his chest, and then set on fire while it still beat.
He clenched his teeth, his breath faltered, his fingers dug into the cracked earth beneath him as the pain surged. Is this the system's doing...? he thought, but even that seemed irrelevant now. Because the pain wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was what he saw when he opened his eyes. The realm around him—once vast, divine, structured—was breaking apart.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the sky and ground alike, shining with blinding white light, so bright it seared the eyes and carved shapes into the void. It wasn't light meant to illuminate. It was the kind that destroyed. The kind that erased. The entire realm trembled, groaned, began to crumble from within, and Sylvaris stood in the middle of it all, wounded, burning, and alone.
And there was no path forward; No gate... No exit... Only collapse.
Meanwhile, outside the trial realm, the sky had begun to bleed. Crimson poured across the heavens like paint spilled by a mad artist, wild and chaotic, staining the clouds in shades of blood and fire.
Those who knew what it symbolized fell to their knees without hesitation, their faces pale, their eyes brimming with tears and terror. They did not speak. They did not pray. They simply watched the sky in silence, already mourning what had been lost. And then, as if the world itself drew a final breath, the red gave way to gold.
The clouds shimmered, the sky turned radiant, divine, beautiful beyond description. And those who didn't understand, who had never studied the sacred warnings, never heard the stories passed in whispers, gazed up in awe, mesmerized by the celestial glow. Some cried from joy. Some raised their hands toward the light. None of them knew what it meant. None of them saw the truth in the gold. That it was not a celebration... It was a funeral... The sky had turned golden to honor a goddess who had just died.
The king stood off to the side, silent, unmoving, yet his mind raced with a storm of thoughts—one after another, spiraling from Sylvaris, to the goddess of heroes, to the kingdom he ruled and the future that now hung in the balance. He was not thinking of humanity.
He was not concerned with the cries of other races or the collapse of divine order. What mattered to him was singular: power. His power. And how to keep it intact in the face of what had just shaken the world.
The death of a goddess, the birth of something neither human nor god, and the possibility that Sylvaris might walk out of that realm alive. If he did, there would be no more time to hide behind indecision. The king would have to choose. Would he shield the boy who carried blood that could unmake empires? Or would he imprison him, declare him a threat, and hand him over to the Holy Church to be silenced for good? It was not a question of right or wrong. It was survival. And the king had always chosen survival.
"Father... is brother okay?" The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the heavy silence like a blade. Arathor turned his head slowly, his expression ashen, worn thin by the weight of everything collapsing around him.
He looked to the left, then to the right, then up at the broken sky above, as if hoping for an answer that would never come. In truth, he didn't know. He didn't know if Sylvaris was alive, or if the realm had swallowed him whole. And in this moment, he wasn't thinking of his son with the heart of a father. No, his thoughts were darker, colder.
If Sylvaris returned, he would bring ruin with him. That much was clear. The church would call it heresy. The nobles would call it rebellion. His own bloodline—his legacy—could be wiped out. He didn't want to lose it all, not over one son. Even if the thought ached somewhere deep inside his chest, he knew what he had to hope for now.
"He's okay... don't worry." He placed a hand on her head, gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and turned away. His gaze fell on the group of women huddled together by the shattered mana screen—Sylvaris's women.
They were on their knees, unmoving, eyes locked on the blacked-out image that had once shown the trial. Tears ran freely down their cheeks, but their faces were blank, lost in a pain too deep for words. That silence screamed louder than any cry. Sylvaris had been their fire, their reason to breathe, and if he was gone... so were they.
Even Lilith, cold and sharp as she was, felt something stir in her chest—a pain she didn't know how to name. Aureve stood beside Arathor, her knuckles white, her lips trembling, her world crumbling beneath her feet. She didn't speak. She couldn't. The grief had silenced her completely.
It all looked to be over.
Sylvaris had died.
And none of them would ever see him again.