Unexpectedly, the radiance was not instantly dissolved by nothingness.
Or rather, it was completely different from the falling moonlight—the moonlight condensed from love fell like rain, far too slowly to withstand the sharpness of nothingness.
But Don Quixote's wings were like true light, surging endlessly onward and arriving in an instant, impossible for the power of nothingness to erase.
The light of hope was continuously extinguished by nothingness.
The moment the light shield was exposed to the power of nothingness, it had already dimmed and become damaged. Yet it never completely collapsed, instead constantly repairing and regenerating itself.
Even if nothing remained, hope could never be completely extinguished. No matter how the rain of despair submerged the earth, there would still be a tiny, imperceptible spark left behind.
Or perhaps...
It was precisely because nothing remained that only hope was left in his hands. Apart from hope, he could no longer hold on to anything.
Just like Don Quixote... or rather, just like Heracles in the past.
Power, strength, wealth, life... Everything would be reduced to nothing beneath the erosion of time. Even the Herasul Empire would eventually shatter and fall apart.
Yet the Herasul Empire had risen once more--
It would be born, it would be destroyed. In the end, it would revive once more, like a fire that had died out only to flare up again.
Just as water flowed on after a blade cut through it.
Nothingness swallowed a wisp of light, but more light immediately rushed in to fill the gap. It was like a chainsaw cutting through steel bars, sending countless fragments of darkness and shattered light flying.
Behind the light shield, Sherlock gritted his teeth in silence. This was his first time participating in a battle of this scale, and he realized that there