The Mage Who Devours Disasters - Chapter 64

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 64.
Memories of the past swirled through my mind.
When the world was crumbling toward annihilation.
Humanity had been driven into corners, and despair reigned—not even a speck of hope remained.
It was when I declared that I would create the Philosopher’s Stone.
A mad plan to inscribe magical formations across the entire Earth and mobilize tens of thousands of people.
Everyone opposed it.
-Kim Jung-seok, stop this.
-What is the point of such meaningless effort?
-Use that time to hunt down one more demon beast instead.
Criticism and mockery poured down relentlessly.
It was a natural reaction.
The feasibility of my plan was nearly zero.
I couldn’t guarantee results, and failure would mean humanity’s last reserves of strength would vanish in vain.
But.
Only one person.
Only Aritolte stood by my side.
-Impossible? Limits?
He scoffed, his sword draped across his shoulder, drenched in blood.
-I despise such words more than anything in this world.
Aritolte abhorred limits.
He held the very word “impossible” in utter contempt, down to his very bones.
-Try it. If you set the board, I will carve the path forward.
-I believe in you, Kim Jung-seok.
It was no empty promise.
Though everyone else turned their backs and rejected my plan.
Aritolte took the lead and helped me without hesitation.
He gave his flesh and broke his bones to buy me time, so I could inscribe the magical formations at the world’s key strongholds.
He convinced people and brought them into the fold.
Without his blade.
Without his blind faith.
I could never have completed the Philosopher’s Stone.
I would never have dared attempt that final miracle—when I burst my own heart and obliterated the Earth and the Tower entirely.
I turned my head and opened a status window in the empty air.
Episode 4, Hall of Fame.
I lowered my gaze.
[5th Place: Aritolte]
[Score: 850 points]
His name remained firmly etched there still.
5th place.
The score was 850 points.
‘That’s far too high.’
It was distinctly different from my memories of the past.
Before the regression, Aritolte at this point in time was certainly strong, but he was absolutely not at a level to achieve such a score.
There exists such a thing as the limits of humanity.
Yet that score now, just like Yamamoto, had risen abnormally far beyond what it had been before.
Why?
Was it because I had twisted history?
Did the world’s very standards undergo upward leveling the moment I, an irregular outside all specifications, appeared?
Or perhaps.
‘Could he also be… an avatar?’
Like Yamamoto.
Could Aritolte have been drawing upon his true body’s divine essence?
By pretending to be an ordinary human while secretly consuming far more Nectar behind the scenes, could he have recorded this impossible score?
My mouth turned bitter.
It was far more acrid than when I discovered Plunum was merely an avatar’s shell.
Aritolte was more than a mere colleague to me.
He was the only one who understood me, the only one who believed in me to the very end.
“….”
I shook my head slowly.
I cast aside the idle thoughts.
Worrying about it here for a hundred days would yield no answers.
Assumptions are poison.
I would simply meet him directly and verify the truth.
Whether he was genuine, or merely a repugnant deity wearing stolen skin.
“Park Ji-hoon.”
“Yes, hyung!”
“Continue surveillance on Yamamoto. Tell Satoshi to gather only what information he can without overextending himself.”
“Understood, hyung. But where are you headed? Your complexion looks completely different.”
“I have matters to attend to.”
I rose from my seat.
Episode 4 on Earth had concluded.
The immediate threat had vanished, and what I needed to accomplish had reached its conclusion.
Now it was time to return to my primary duty.
The Tower of Gods.
Mountains of tasks awaited me there.
After sending Park Ji-hoon away, I activated the Ancient Protective Barrier.
Then I closed my eyes and focused my consciousness.
‘Log in.’
Ding!
[Logging into the Divine Land, ‘Asgard’.]
My vision flickered.
Kim Jung-seok’s body sank into deep slumber.
Beyond a dimension infinitely distant, upon the throne of the Tower of Gods’ 55th Floor.
Rag’s eyes opened wide, accompanied by tremendous divine power.
* * *
The fatigue brought from Earth was instantly washed away.
The clear, rich mana emanating from the crystal enveloped my entire body.
With each breath, a sensation of purification reaching deep into my lungs.
I rose slowly from the seat.
I stepped outside the Divine Temple.
From afar, the heavy sound of battle cries resonated through the air.
“Hah!”
“Maintain formation! Your focus is wavering!”
It came from the Training Ground.
I turned my steps toward the sound.
Familiar faces were there, drenched in sweat.
Seria and the Frost Tribe Elves.
And before them, standing like a colossal barrier, were the Ancient Warriors.
The Barbarian Four Brothers.
They were training in perfect synergy.
The yearning to grow stronger.
That fierce determination was palpable from a distance, radiating like heat.
The Barbarian Four Brothers were leading the training for Seria and the Elves.
They were veterans among veterans, having traversed countless battlefields across millennia.
Beings who had etched the essence of combat deep into their very bones.
“Your fingers are tensing on the bowstring! Control your breath!”
“Do not rely on mana! When the body crumbles, mana scatters!”
Turan’s voice thundered across the field.
The Elves rolled and fell ceaselessly, yet rose again and again.
Seria fired her arrows with even greater ferocity.
I wondered if this was what it meant to grow stronger by the day.
It was different from simply raising stats by consuming Nectar.
Intensive practical training.
They were etching the techniques of combat into their very beings.
Whoosh.
It was when I reached the entrance of the Training Ground.
Even though I had concealed my presence as I approached, Turan’s ears perked up.
He immediately halted the training.
“My Lord!”
Turan dropped to one knee.
At the signal of his voice, Seria, Kalak, Barkan, and Urk.
And dozens of Frost Tribe Elves prostrated themselves toward me in unison.
They bowed their heads to the ground where dust had yet to settle.
“Did you cough, Master!”
Seria’s voice rang out clearly.
I waved my hand lightly.
“Rise.”
I spoke matter-of-factly.
“Don’t mind it and continue your training.”
“We hear and obey!”
Turan sprang to his feet.
He turned his body back toward the Elves.
As my command fell, the air in the Training Ground grew heavier still.
The fact that I was watching made them even more tense.
“Reform the formation! Defense squad, forward!”
The intense sparring resumed.
Massive Barbarians pressed forward with weapons drawn, bearing down on the Elves.
Seria slipped into blind spots and drew her bowstring taut.
It was fierce.
I stood with my arms crossed, quietly observing their growth.
‘Satisfying.’
The shields that would protect my Territory, my own hands and feet, were being honed to razor sharpness.
But.
Crack.
I clenched my fist.
‘My body is restless.’
In Earth’s Demon Realm, pushing through the Incomprehensible difficulty, my body had been driven beyond its limits.
Especially.
[Skill ‘Heavenly Demon Sword Art’ has reached 3-Star!]
The Heavenly Demon Divine Art had grown rapidly as I carved through the depths of the Incomprehensible.
I had broken through the 3-Star barrier.
A miracle born from the ‘Staff of the Great Sage’ that increased proficiency gain by 200%, and the hidden trait ‘The Transcendent’.
I wanted to unleash it.
I wanted to test the limits of this power directly through confrontation.
…Turan.
The eldest of the Barbarian Four Brothers.
A monster who had reached 800 Strength despite being in an incomplete resurrected state.
The pressure emanating from his frame, towering even above the other Barbarians, was formidable.
I took a step forward.
“Turan.”
At my call, the Training Ground fell silent once more.
Turan lowered his greatsword and turned to face me.
“You called, my lord?”
“Would you cross blades with me?”
A direct proposition.
In that instant, Turan’s eyes widened noticeably.
His thick brows twitched.
Reluctance.
His old-fashioned loyalty forbade him from raising a blade against his lord.
“How could I possibly draw steel against you, my lord?”
He bowed his head, his refusal evident.
But I did not yield.
“That is an order.”
“….”
“Hone my martial skill. Give me your all.”
My resolute command broke through Turan’s stubbornness.
He nodded with a stern expression.
“…I accept your command.”
Turan stepped forward to face me with heavy footfalls.
Seria and the Elves held their breath and withdrew.
A soft metallic whisper.
I grasped the holy blade Abriel.
“Make your move first.”
I kicked off the ground.
Boom!
The Celestial Demon Shoes’ option activated, launching my body forward like a projectile.
The distance closed in an instant.
Celestial Demon Sword Technique, Third Form.
A devastating downward slash from above, as though cleaving space itself.
Clang!!
A metallic screech that nearly split the eardrums tore through the Training Ground.
Turan raised his massive greatsword horizontally, intercepting my blade.
“Ugh…!”
Turan’s feet sank deep into the earth.
Evenly matched.
Steel met steel, scattering sparks.
Yet I narrowed my eyes.
The recoil transmitted through my wrists.
His greatsword was trembling.
No, he wasn’t trembling.
‘He’s holding back his strength.’
He was deliberately restraining his power.
Fearful of inflicting even a scratch upon me, he was suppressing that insane 800-point strength from within.
I twisted Abriel and flicked his greatsword aside.
Turan retreated two steps backward.
I spoke coldly.
“I told you to fight with everything you have. Do I look like some fragile glass that shatters from a single blow?”
“My lord, but….”
“Strike.”
I unleashed my killing intent.
“If you do not, you will be the one carved to pieces.”
At my warning, Turan’s eyes transformed.
His yellow, beast-like pupils blazed with ferocity.
The sealed instincts of an Ancient Warrior.
The savage nature of a Barbarian, honed solely for slaughter and combat, awakened.
Rummmmmble!
The fighting spirit erupting from Turan’s body tore through the very air.
“…Forgive my insolence.”
His voice transformed into a bestial growl.
Boom!
This time, he lunged forward first.
Fast.
A speed that rendered his massive frame irrelevant.
My vision darkened completely.
A greatsword the size of a house came crashing down upon my head.
Overwhelming and destructive swordsmanship.
Claaaaaang!
I crossed Abriel in an X-formation to block.
A shockwave erupted outward.
My feet slid backward across the ground.
The Heavenly Demon Armor shrieked under the strain.
‘Not bad.’
My lips curled upward in a vicious grin.
This was exhilarating.
This was thrilling.
If Aritolte saw me like this, his jaw would drop to the floor.
After all, I was the one who always claimed to despise sweaty combat and avoided close-quarters fighting.
Clang! Boom! Screeeech!
Blade clashed against blade dozens of times.
Flames cascaded down like rain.
Turan’s assault was relentless.
A breathtaking barrage of strikes.
I redirected his force through the ethereal trajectories of the Heavenly Demon Sword Technique, then thrust through the opening I carved.
But Turan deflected the attack without flinching and pressed forward again.
A true duel with a beast.
That was when it happened.
Uuuuuuuuung—!
Abriel, held in my grasp, suddenly emitted a bizarre resonance.
“…What?”
“Hah…!”
An intensely brilliant light erupted from the blade itself, so dazzling I had to shield my eyes.
Blue and crimson intertwined—an otherworldly radiance.
I hastily withdrew the sword and retreated.
Turan also ceased his assault and created distance.
Whoooosh!
Abriel slipped from my hand and ascended into the void.
It began to vibrate, generating a pillar of light of its own accord.
‘Evolution…!’
I sensed it immediately.
The Holy Sword was elevating its own rank.
The reason became clear.
Likely.
The entities consumed from the Incomprehensible difficulty.
Abriel had not fully digested the remnants of the Incomprehensible in one instance, holding them within itself.
But why now, of all moments.
‘Could it be tempered through this duel with Turan?’
Had Turan’s blade honed the Holy Sword Abriel like a blacksmith’s hammer?
Ding!
[The tempering of the Holy Sword Abriel is complete.]
[The Holy Sword Abriel has completely purified and absorbed the demonic essence of the Incomprehensible.]
[The Holy Sword Abriel evolves.]
[It transcends the rank of Archangel.]
[It is reborn as a Power!]
Rumble rumble rumble!
Light exploded.
The form of Abriel, suspended in the void, transformed.
Upon the noble cross-shaped blade, intricate golden patterns were inscribed.
The edge of the sword grew far sharper, and the holy power radiating from it became immeasurably heavier than before.
It had been tempered as the sword of a Power—one who governs the world and safeguards dominion.
Whoosh.
Abriel, having completed her evolution, fell back into my hand.
The moment I gripped the blade, the immense power coursing through my palm drew a sharp gasp from me.
‘Insane.’
I barely suppressed the laughter threatening to burst forth.
That was when it happened.
Whirrrrr!
A lightning-swift tempest tore through the sky above the Training Ground.
The artificial sun’s light vanished, and a colossal shadow plummeted into the center of the arena.
It was Heimdall, the God of Typhoons.
He opened his mouth with majestic bearing.
“My apostle god, Rag, hear me. You must prepare for the Divine Banquet of the Deities….”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Heimdall’s gaze had fixed upon the Holy Blade Abriel.
“…An Archangel?”
His voice dripped with bewilderment.
He stared intently at Abriel, now evolved, and me with an expression of utter shock.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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