Path To Godhood Begins With Marrying Wife And Gaining SSS Rank Skill Chapter 344:The Majestic Wonder

The flutist did not answer imdiately, instead allowing the tune to linger as the wind carried it outward, slipping past the edge of the cliff and vanishing into the darkened land below, where the remnants of light and shadow were still clashing faintly in the distance, before he finally lowered the flute slightly and spoke in a soft, almost gentle voice that sohow made the fear grow thicker.

"I only adjusted the rhythm of his body," he said calmly, his eyes half-lidded as he looked at the man on the ground, "his blood, his breath, and his intent simply stopped agreeing with each other."

The fallen man's fingers twitched, his eyes rolling back as cold sweat poured down his face, while the others exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier greed now tainted by a creeping dread that gnawed at their confidence.

"You bastard…" one of them muttered, clenching his fists while dark energy flickered weakly around his body, though even he could feel that sothing was wrong, that the usual flow of power within him felt sluggish and unresponsive, as if it was being suppressed by an unseen hand.

The flutist lifted the instrunt again and took a single step forward, the sound of his foot touching stone echoing far louder than it should have, making several of the n flinch instinctively as their instincts scread danger.

"I warned you," he said, his tone still even, still composed, "this is not the ti, and that power down there is not sothing you touch just because your greed tells you to."

He turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the distant dark mass swirling near the ruined city, his eyes narrowing for the briefest mont as if he were asuring sothing far beyond what the others could perceive, before he continued.

"That light you see is not ordinary, and the man standing at its center is not soone you provoke while blind, wounded, and drunk on ambition."

One of the n laughed nervously, though the sound cracked halfway through, betraying his fear.

"So what," he said, forcing bravado into his voice, "we just walk away after everything we've done?"

The flute paused midair, and the sudden silence felt heavier than the music itself, pressing down on their ears until even the wind seed to hold its breath.

"You walk away," the flutist replied slowly, turning his head just enough for his eyes to et theirs one by one, "because surviving to sche another day is better than dying like idiots who mistook a feast for a trap."

The man on the ground let out a weak, broken cough, his body finally going limp as if all strength had been drained from him, and this sight alone was enough to shatter whatever resolve remained among the group, as several of them lowered their heads, their shoulders slumping under the weight of reality.

Silence stretched again, long and uncomfortable, until one by one the n began to step back, their movents cautious and reluctant, yet no longer defiant, as they slowly retreated from the edge of the cliff, casting uneasy glances at the flutist as if afraid he might strike them down at any mont.

Only after they had put so distance between themselves and the cliff did the flutist finally lift the flute to his lips once more and play a short, quiet tune, a lody that seed to dissolve into the night like mist, as he looked toward the distant battlefield with a thoughtful expression.

"So," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible, "you really have grown into sothing troubleso."

Far away, the sky still glowed faintly, and the echoes of divine light and collapsing darkness continued to roll across the land, while the man with the flute stood alone on the cliff, watching patiently, already planning for a future that stretched far beyond this single night.

....

He did not know how long it had been, but it felt calm and strangely peaceful, as if ti itself had slowed down around him. A faint ripple passed across his face, and his eyelids slowly opened.

What greeted him was an unfamiliar ceiling made of thick, pale tentacles that curved and twisted above him like living pillars. They pulsed faintly, as if breathing, and soft light flowed through their veins. The air was warm and slightly damp, carrying a strange but not unpleasant scent. Everything felt alien, yet safe.

For a mont, Ethan felt disconnected from his own body. His thoughts were slow, scattered, and distant. Then his instincts kicked in.

He jolted upright.

"Woowww! What's going on?" he shouted, his voice echoing strangely through the space.

"Where am I? What happened to the monster I was fighting!"

His voice bounced off the tent walls and returned to him in fragnts. As he looked around in confusion, he noticed several figures moving nearby.

The first was Claira.

"Ethaannn!" she cried as she rushed toward him and threw herself into his arms. Her body trembled as she clung to him tightly. "Thank God you are awake. I was so worried."

Ethan wrapped his arms around her at once, gently patting her back and resting his chin against her head.

"I'm fine," he said softly. "I'm alright."

He could feel how tense she was, so he stayed still for a mont, letting her calm down. After reassuring her again, he slowly looked past her shoulder.

Not far away stood Rathlos with his arms crossed, Randall standing beside him with a tired smile, Duke Phillips leaning on his cane, and even Ray peeking out from behind them with wide, curious eyes.

Ethan released Claira gently and walked toward the group, his steps still a little unsteady.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

Ray straightened and answered clearly, "Father, you have slept for one and a half months."

"What?" Ethan at first wanted to ask why Ray was here but in the midst his eyes widened instantly. His mouth fell open in shock.

"One and a half months?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his face filled with disbelief. "I don't rember exerting myself so much," he muttered.

"You didn't exert yourself?" Rathlos repeated, frowning deeply. His tone was heavy, and everyone's lips twitched slightly.

"You slamd down those gigantic pillars," Duke Phillips snorted, shaking his head. "And you are saying you didn't exert yourself?"

"What pillars?" Ethan asked, confused. His brows furrowed as he tried to recall the last monts before he lost consciousness.

"It's those, my Lord," Randall said, raising his hand and pointing outward.

Ethan followed his gesture and stepped out from between the tentacles.

The mont he saw the scene outside, his breath caught in his throat.

Dozens of massive pillars of pure light stretched from the ground into the heavens, forming a vast circular prison around the city walls.

They shone with a sacred glow, covered in faint runes and patterns that slowly rotated. Inside this holy barrier, a thick black mass churned violently, trapped and unable to escape. The contrast between light and darkness made the entire place feel like a divine sanctuary forged by the gods themselves.

Ethan stared in silence.

Then the mories of the final battle ca rushing back into his mind like a flood. The light. The pain. The resolve. The judgnt.

Even now, with his current realm and all his trump cards, Ethan could not believe he had created sothing like this.

He swallowed hard and whispered, his voice filled with disbelief and awe,

"Just what in the na of God did I do?"