Almor could not stop trembling as his mind was forced to witness the might of The Flow. It was not a conventional attack. There were no blades, no flames, no crushing fists-only truth. The raw, unfiltered truth of existence poured into him, tearing apart every illusion that had once anchored his sanity.

His consciousness was dragged into that boundless current that connected all things, where past and future intertwined, where self and other dissolved, where everything was one and one was everything.

His sanity began to unravel as he struggled to comprehend a realm in which individuality was nothing more than a fleeting ripple in an endless ocean. He saw lives merging and separating, stars igniting and fading, civilizations rising and collapsing in the span of a breath. He felt himself expanding, stretching across eternity, only to be crushed back into the fragile shell of his mortal frame.

Tears streamed from his eyes as his resistance crumbled. His trembling intensified until, at last, his body went limp.

The Royal Blutlinie still breathed.

But his mind was gone.

Martin had witnessed everything.

He could not stop the shudder that ran through him. He had experienced the Power of Fear firsthand, and despite being a battle-tested warrior, his will and spirit had been shattered, reducing him to a terrified child who could only think of fleeing. Yet the man with the red mask had faced an even greater illusion-one cast by a master of fear-and shattered it in a single heartbeat.

Then he had subjected Almor to something far worse.

"A King-Level powerhouse... perhaps even higher," Martin thought, his mind finally clearing now that Almor's oppressive aura no longer

clouded it. "Where did he come from?"

It was obvious this man did not belong to the Eternal Soul Kingdom. But Martin was equally certain he was not part of the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom either. No such figure had been reported among their forces in the Eighth Realm.

As Martin struggled to determine how to handle this unpredictable presence, the masked man turned toward him.

Martin's entire body stiffened.

"Sir, I thank you for your help," he said quickly, forcing steadiness into his voice. "I speak in the name of the Nirvana Crown Prince. You have rendered a great service to the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom, and we will properly reward your assistance."

His words were carefully chosen. In a single sentence, he established his connection to the leader of the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom's forces in the Eighth Realm and implied both gratitude and future benefits. It was a calculated move-respectful, but not submissive. Cain stared at him silently before speaking.

"My targets are the warriors of the Eternal Soul Kingdom. It benefits me for the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom to remain strong. I can spread my fame in the process."

Martin blinked.

The words did not feel directed at him. It was as if Cain were merely voicing his thoughts aloud, barely acknowledging his presence. The indifference was unsettling. To be dismissed so casually was humiliating, but Martin swallowed his pride. Survival came first.

"However," Cain continued, "my initial goal was to obtain information. And this is a perfect opportunity to gather it from both sides."

Martin's blood ran cold.

He attempted to move-to send a signal, to flee, to do anything-but before he could act, a finger bathed in white flames touched his

forehead.

The Eternum Flame surged into his soul.

In less than a heartbeat, Martin froze. His body, mind, and soul were locked in absolute stasis.

Cain placed his hand over Martin's head. His eyes glowed faintly as his consciousness pierced into the Royal Blutlinie's soul, searching through memories with surgical precision. He sought everything regarding the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom-its forces in the Eighth Realm, its strongholds, its commanders, and above all, the strength of the Nirvana Crown Prince.

As part of an invasion force, Martin's soul had been reinforced with numerous seals designed to prevent memory extraction. Any crude attempt to forcefully invade his mind would have triggered a self-destruction mechanism, killing him instantly and erasing valuable intelligence.

But Cain's approach was anything but crude.

Since forging his new body and refining the Royal Guards, he had gained profound insight into the nature of the soul. With delicate precision, he unraveled the seals one by one, bypassing safeguards without triggering them.

Memory after memory flowed into him.

When he reached the information regarding the Nirvana Crown Prince, Cain's eyes narrowed.

"A Peak Alpha Omega Overgod," he murmured softly.

The Crown Prince wielded the eighth fragment of the Ancestor's

Tomb Sacred Treasure scattered across the Seventh Realm, drastically enhancing his physical capabilities-elevating them beyond ordinary King-Level powerhouses. His body alone rivaled those who had taken a step into the Fourth Realm.

But that was not what truly caught Cain's attention.

In Martin's memories, he saw the Crown Prince forming a complex

seal with his hands. Reality itself trembled as a domain unfolded

around him.

"He has awakened his Ancestor Domain."

Ancestor Domains represented the pinnacle of the Ancestor Path. They allowed one to expand the authority of their Ancestor Drop,

seize control over a portion of reality, and amplify both their raw power and their Ancestor abilities. Within such a domain, one could unleash the destructive might of the Fourth Realm without fully

stepping into it.

Ordinarily, this revelation would have troubled Cain, as it would bring all sorts of problems.

But to his own surprise, he felt no anxiety.

Since donning the red mask, everything had become smoother. The pressure, the doubts, the unnecessary distractions-they had all been peeled away. What remained was clarity. Purpose.

It reminded him of the moment he had awakened the Power of Order, yet this sensation was purer, stronger, and untainted by corruption. He was not forcing control upon his mind and emotions. Instead, it felt as though he were remembering something ancient, something that had always been within him, and simply moving in harmony with

it.

It was strange.

But useful.

Carrying the essence of Order, but still able to use the might of

Chaos.

Once he had extracted all relevant information, Cain withdrew his

hand. Martin remained frozen in absolute stasis.

Cain then turned toward Almor.

The Royal Blutlinie lay on the ground, eyes vacant, body motionless.

His mind had been shattered beyond repair.

Cain raised his hand.

Almor's body twitched.

Invisible purple threads bathed in scarlet flames extended from Cain's

fingers, embedding themselves into the broken warrior's flesh and soul. With a subtle motion-like a puppeteer testing his strings-Cain

pulled.

Almor rose to his feet.

His posture shifted automatically into a battle stance, though no will

guided it.

Cain flicked his wrist.

In the next instant, Almor flashed forward.

His hand pierced through Martin's chest without hesitation.

Blood erupted from the wound as Almor ripped out Martin's still-beating heart.