Cain remained focused on the statue of the Samsara Lord for several minutes, his gaze unwavering as he tried to pierce deeper into its nature. He extended his perception again and again, searching for hidden power, lingering will, or so concealed chanism embedded within the stone. Yet no matter how thoroughly he examined it, there was nothing beyond the familiar aura he had already sensed.
Confusion flickered in his eyes.
Cain already knew that the influence of the Samsara Lord had spread into the Crimson World. The Neo-Demon Core within his heart was proof of that fact. However, from everything he had learned so far, it seed that the Samsara Lord adopted a very detached approach.
He influenced worlds through the Neo-Demon Core and the Samsara Arsenal, yet never truly played a direct hand in the events that unfolded across the universe.
From what Cain understood, there had been no sign of the Samsara Lord making any direct move during the Great War that had taken place billions of years ago.
"He helps those he considers worthy, but it is up to those warriors to determine the fate of their hos—not him."
That was the conclusion Cain had reached regarding the Samsara Lord’s behavior. Strangely enough, he found it fair. After all, struggle itself was a fundantal part of growth. Without it, evolution of both strength and will would be aningless.
Not wanting to waste too much ti trying to comprehend a figure that existed on a plane of existence he could not yet even asure, Cain turned away from the statue. Once more, he moved through the ancient city, carefully retracing his steps to see if he had missed anything of importance.
He found nothing.
As he continued analyzing the nature of Origin Island, an idea slowly began to take shape in his mind.
"This place ca from sowhere else... from a location where the laws and rules are so mighty that even those at the peak of the Third Realm could barely harm it."
It was a place where beings like the Samsara Lord were not only recognized but worshipped.
Although there were still missing pieces in Cain’s theory, he felt fairly certain that he was on the right path. As for where this island had originally co from, that remained a mystery. Still, one image continued to surface in his thoughts—the structure he had seen within the mories of the Ancestor of the Root.
The tower.
Given the similarities between the design of the Crimson World and that distant place, claiming there was so form of connection did not seem far-fetched.
Unfortunately, none of these hypotheses helped Cain deal with the imdiate dangers of Origin Island. Still, it was information he would not forget. Sothing about it felt important, as though it would play a critical role in the future.
In the end, the only thing Cain could do was move forward.
He closed his eyes briefly, then activated the Power of Chaos, allowing it to guide him toward the core of the island.
---
Deep within Origin Island’s inner circle, there existed a vast garden.
The mont one entered it, the atmosphere changed completely. The place felt like a sanctuary of peace and harmony, with every elent arranged in perfect balance. Everything ford a natural circle, from the terrain to the vegetation itself, creating a flawless ecosystem that felt untouched by conflict.
At the very center of the garden stood a shrine.
It was forged entirely from the trees and leaves provided by Origin Island, its structure blending seamlessly with its surroundings. Inside the shrine stood eight figures, each bearing the sa distinctive violet eyes and white hair. Their expressions were solemn as they gazed at the figure bound at the center.
Obsidian chains of energy wrapped tightly around the man’s body, sealing him completely. His eyes were blank, unfocused, making it clear that he was trapped in a deep coma.
The identity of the man was unmistakable.
It was Bradly.
Just as the group was about to speak, a new presence appeared. Instantly, all eight figures bowed their heads.
The newcor shared their violet eyes, but his hair was black. The gaze behind his eyes carried a depth of age and ancient authority—sothing impossible to possess unless one had lived for an extraordinarily long ti. He wore a dark, flowing robe layered with intricate fabric, giving him a regal yet ominous presence. His long black hair frad his face, and his expression was calm, stern, and resolute.
"Leader," the eight figures said in unison.
The man gave them a solemn nod before stepping forward and placing a finger gently against Bradly’s forehead.
Imdiately, the Neo-Angel’s body began to tremble.
Streams of knowledge surged outward, flowing into the minds of all those present. Every secret Bradly had fought so desperately to protect was accessed with a single touch. As the information spread, the expressions of the violet-eyed figures grew increasingly grave.
Those who had entered Origin Island numbered in the dozens, and so of them were incredibly powerful—powerful enough to face them even if they unleashed their strongest forms.
When the process ended, the group turned their gaze toward the distance.
A beam of obsidian energy streaked across the sky and descended toward the shrine, condensing into a humanoid form. As they recognized Ideonus, their expressions grew even more solemn.
Atena had failed to defeat her opponent, though she had not suffered a major defeat. On the other hand, Ideonus had been forced to trigger their race’s life-saving ability, which revealed just how dangerous the encounter had been.
The leader released a deep sigh as he fully grasped the state of their ho.
"Ahhh... once more, they ca," he said quietly. "Those from the realm below us are aiming at the King."
The eyes of the violet-eyed warriors sharpened instantly.
"The mission of the Masked Race is to ensure the safety of the island until the King awakens," the leader continued, his voice filled with iron will and purpose. "And that is exactly what we will do."
He looked at the warriors before him, his presence dominating the shrine.
"Let us move. No matter who they are, we will expel all invaders. They can either leave our ho... or they can be pulverized."
Without wasting a single second, the warriors of the Masked Race bowed deeply toward their leader before vanishing into the distance.
As for the leader himself, he raised his hand.
The very next mont, the sky above the entire island began to tremble.
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