Snow roared, striking without hesitation.
For the first time in history... a human had laid eyes on the Cosmos’ true form.
In stark contrast to its towering, monstrous shell, the real Cosmos was eerily human-like—barely two meters tall, with a twisted frame and unnaturally long limbs.
It looked... almost ordinary.
Its long hair fell over its face, but Snow could still make out the raw fear carved into its features.
The Cosmos instantly tried to flee, its body flaring with chaotic aura in an attempt to drive him back.
But Snow dodged with ease, coating his blade in the last reserves of his aura.
"One-Sword Style: Supreme art..."
Concentrating every element and every scrap of his strength, Snow’s body vanished for a heartbeat, and time itself seemed to halt.
When he reappeared, he was already behind the Cosmos.
For an instant, it seemed as though he hadn’t done anything ..
And the Cosmos believed that lie.
But without warning, the world before it inverted, and its upper half slid away from the rest of its body, collapsing to the dirt.
A single strike that transcended time itself, tearing apart everything in its path in the span of a heartbeat.
Snow had cleaved the Cosmos clean in two, its upper body toppling from the rest, staining the ground beneath.
It began to scream at once—howling in manic, grief-stricken wails—but Snow appeared before it in a flash, driving his sword into its mouth and forcing it into submission.
"Your real body is far weaker than your former shell. No wonder you hid it in the fog—so no one would ever know just how pathetic you truly are."
It was said that the Cosmos was one of the Nightmare Lords of the SS+ rank... but in truth, that was a lie.
The reality was far less impressive—it was merely a nightmare creature that had been gifted an SS+ class ability.
Its actual self... was pitiful. But almost impossible to find.
No one had ever defeated it before. Its other form could not be touched, and so the world had trembled at its name for years unchallenged.
"I lost... and lost... and lost again," Snow murmured, exhaling at last.
"But today... I won."
Gathering what little strength remained, the Hero of Humanity prepared to end the wretched nightmare once and for all—
—when his enhanced senses screamed a warning from nowhere, forcing him to whirl around toward another monster targeting his neck.
They were far from the battlefield now ..
Which was why Snow had never expected the accursed Ludwig to appear before him, swinging his massive scythe straight at his throat.
With no time to spare, Snow was forced to redirect his blade—pulling it away from the Cosmos at the last instant to intercept Ludwig’s scythe.
Steel met steel with a deafening clash, Snow barely deflecting the weapon so that it whooshed past his head by a hair’s breadth.
He immediately stepped back, ready to reengage ..
But to his surprise, Ludwig didn’t even bother to attack him again.
Instead, the Hollow scooped up half of his mother’s remains and bolted away without a word.
It seemed he’d heard her final wail and rushed here, abandoning everything else.
Snow’s mind swirled with questions at the Hollow’s sudden appearance.
Does this mean Ghost and the others—?!
The thought chilled him to the bone... but he forced it aside.
Summoning what strength he had left, Snow lunged after the fleeing Hollow.
"You’re not going anywhere."
Ludwig wasn’t in his best shape—beneath his plague-black garb, blood poured freely, proof that his previous battle had been far from easy.
This was the perfect chance to kill him.
Snow sought to crush him in a single, overwhelming strike—
But the instant he tried to unleash the Warlord Form again, a ripping agony tore through his entire body.
That brief hesitation was all Ludwig needed.
He vanished from sight, using some unknown skill that rendered Snow completely unable to track him.
"Damn it! Have I already reached my limit?!"
Now, the Warlord Form was nothing but a living hell—every extra second in it threatened to shred his very soul.
Still, Snow endured, relying on his enhanced senses to search for Ludwig... but it was useless.
The Hollow was gone—taking the last remnants of his mother’s body with him.
As for the Cosmos... Snow had left it on the brink of death, but he hadn’t dealt the killing blow.
Whether it would live or die—he had no answer, and that uncertainty burned him with frustration. The source of thɪs content is novel·fire·net
"They all run from me in the end... haha... what a pathetic sight I am."
Snow’s words dripped with bitter self-mockery, but he didn’t stand idle.
Gripping Vermithor’s Blade, he channeled holy power into his battered body and began dragging himself back toward the battlefield where his allies fought.
"The battle’s not over yet... I have to return."
But despite his words, his pace was sluggish—reduced to nothing more than a walk.
From the very start, he had fought against the Cosmos’ impenetrable form and the Nightmare Army for hours, draining himself to the brink.
Now, his only hope of returning to fighting condition lay in Vermithor’s healing power, praying it would restore him enough to fight again.
"I wonder what happened to the others..."
Ghost, Dawn, Selina... all of them.
"I doubt anything could take Dawn down... but the others... Ghost..."
Snow drew in a sharp breath, forcing himself onward.
"I have to go back... I have to help them."
Step by step, he closed the distance.
He wanted to give more—what he had achieved so far was nowhere near enough.
He wanted to prove something—both to himself and to everyone else.
He wanted to shed his weakness... to change his fate.
He didn’t want to be cast aside.
He wanted to stand at the very front—right where he was meant to be.
There, where people like Frey Starlight stood.
Snow no longer wished to linger in the shadows.
A blazing fire had ignited in his chest, fueled every time he’d been thrown aside.
He had never understood this feeling—only that it was far from pleasant.
It hurt him every single time.
Chains still coiled around him like snakes, and he had yet to find the key to break them.
He had no choice but to keep moving forward.
"Even knowing full well you’re nothing but a filthy, deformed monster... you still try to play the hero?"
The voice came like a devil’s whisper in his ear.
Snow froze mid-step, shock and hatred twisting his face.
Slowly, with eyes wide open, he turned.
"Tell me, runaway son... do you see yourself as a hero?"
From nothing, the man appeared, walking toward him at a measured pace.
A well-built figure, with long reddish hair and tanned skin...
Reading glasses balanced on one side over his right eye...
And the same simple, fatherly clothes as always.
In that unexpected moment, Snow came face-to-face with the man he had searched for so long.
He was certain—this was no hallucination.
Not another illusion born of the fog.
The man before him was real.
Real enough to look exactly as Snow remembered him from his childhood.
The orphanage director.
The man responsible for the Yosefka tragedy.
The Hollow... Smough.