He returned to the docunts stacked before him, flipping through ancient texts, obscure diagrams, and forgotten histories—searching for even a single clue about the Origin.
What it was.
Where it might be.
And the deeper he read, the more certain he beca…
The answers were not simple.
Two days passed, and the general situation seems to be becoming clear as more than 60% of the crimson domain seems to have been lost and beco land filled with the dreadful aura of the abyss.
Just as the soldiers at the outpost were trying to recover from the relentless battles, sothing unexpected happened.
Three auras descended from the sky—vast, overwhelming, and suffocating. They did not attack. They did not speak. Yet their re presence was enough to make the entire outpost tremble. The air grew heavy, space seed to tighten, and countless soldiers felt their knees weaken under the crushing pressure.
Even though these newcors weren't intentionally releasing their power, it felt as if an invisible mountain had fallen upon the outpost.
Apollo, who had been deep in thought in one of the outpost halls, instantly sensed them. His brows tightened as he stepped outside, the oppressive atmosphere hitting him like a wave.
With calm steps, he walked out into the open, his eyes locking onto the three figures floating above the outpost—each of them radiating a power far beyond ordinary eternal gods.
Apollo looked at the three and tried to gauge their strength. The three were clearly swordsn with terrifying strength. Two among them seed to have half-stepped to a transcendent level and seed to be stronger than the abyssal leader he defeated.
The last one… Apollo's pupils constricted.
He couldn't read him.
No matter how he probed, no matter how he layered his senses, the old man's aura remained completely unreachable—calm, silent, concealed beneath an unfathomable veil. That could only an one thing:
A true transcendent.
Yet sothing else caught Apollo's attention. Their sword rule wasn't the only thing that set them apart. He also sensed strong bloodline fluctuations flowing through their bodies—ancient, noble, and powerful. They weren't simply swordsn. Not even close.
Among the three, the old man took a single step forward. His greyish eyes were calm, almost serene, but when they t Apollo's, the world seed to quieten.
"We ca here to take you," he said, his voice neither loud nor forceful, yet it carried absolute certainty. "Please follow us."
Apollo's expression changed; he didn't know anyone here, so why would soone be coming for him?
'Could it be the Sovereign Realm entity noticed Him?' The sudden thought suddenly ca to him, as only such a being could notice him.
He looked up again at the three swordsn, attempting to glean aning behind their arrival. But no matter how he turned the matter around in his mind, there was no clear solution. The gap between their realms was vast—too vast for him to guess intentions.
Still… eting soone at a higher level might finally give him answers.
Maybe even sothing about the Origin.
After a brief silence, Apollo exhaled lightly and nodded.
"Alright," he said, steady and calm. "Let's go."
Apollo gave a final nod to the outpost commander, a quiet gesture of reassurance. Then he lifted into the air and drifted toward the three visitors, their combined pressure making the very air feel heavy.
The mont he arrived before them, the old man with the unreadable aura lifted a single finger.
Space trembled.
A thin, razor-fine crack split open in front of them—silent at first, then widening into a stable rift of swirling silver darkness. Even the fabric of reality bent respectfully before this man's will.
"Follow," the old man said simply.
Without wasting a breath, he stepped inside. The other two half-step Transcendents followed.
Apollo took one last glance at the outpost behind him—soldiers staring wide-eyed, commander stiff with shock—and then stepped forward into the rift.
Space folded shut behind them with a whisper.
Upon entering this space portal, he felt the difference in how mysterious the application of space rules was and couldn't help looking at the transcendent old man.
'So this is it…'
The Space Rule he wielded had undeniably reached the fourth layer.
Not the shallow, newly stepped-into realm—but the peak of the fourth layer, so refined that it stood only a single step away from the legendary fifth.
Apollo understood what that ant.
After the third layer, every advance in a rule was no longer linear. Upon reaching the fourth layer, even the smallest improvent represented a terrifying leap in authority. The gap between the early stage of the fourth layer and its peak was not asured in re multiples—but in hundreds of tis.
It was the difference between barely touching transcendence… and standing at its very threshold.
As space bent and flowed effortlessly under the old man's control, Apollo felt a rare stir of solemn respect rise within him.
Not only was he a powerful transcendent swordsman, but he also understood space rule. He was definitely a powerhouse even among transcendent masters.
They travelled through space for so ti and finally arrived at their destination.
"We're here."
Space tore apart before them.
In the next instant, they stepped out of the rift—and Apollo froze.
They had left the Crimson Domain but not the Empyrean sword realm. Yet the place they arrived at felt utterly detached from the world.
Before him stretched an unbelievable, extraordinary realm, one that seed to exist for swords alone. Sword laws and rules saturated the air so densely it was almost tangible. Every breath carried sharpness. Every trace of space trembled faintly, as if countless blades had once carved their will into reality itself.
It was as though all sword paths converged here.
As if every sword—past, present, and future—had once passed through this place… or had originated from it.
Apollo's Eternal Sword Rule stirred violently within him, resonating without restraint. It was no longer a gentle hum but a deep, instinctive pull, like a wanderer recognizing its birthplace.
"Welco to Creation Sword Sanctuary."
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