The Harvest of Five Hundred Thousand Years

"Five hundred thousand years."

Within the Emerald World, in that dim space, Arthur's consciousness stirred, and he returned once more to the real world.

Before he knew it, five hundred thousand years had passed since the great battle of old.

In those five hundred thousand years, many things in this world had changed, but many things had remained the same.

For example, Arthur looked much as he had five hundred thousand years ago, still bearing the appearance of the elven youth he had once been.

He stood there, handsome and refined, his gaze gentle. Like the most perfect elven noble, he possessed an invisible aura that made everyone who saw him feel an instinctive awe and sense that he was extraordinary.

At that moment, simply by standing there, he seemed to transform the land around him.

He alone was the most beautiful sight of all.

And yet, in the end, things had changed.

Standing in that space, Arthur sighed softly, letting out a quiet breath.

The aura around him continued to rise, climbing toward ever greater heights until it reached an entirely new peak.

He had surpassed his former self, surpassed the Eighth Tier, and reached an even more terrifying level.

If a Saint had been standing before him at that moment and sensed his aura, they would surely have been astonished—shaken, even.

The same would have been true of Eighth-Tier Saints like the Mother of Emerald.

At that moment, power coiled around Arthur. It surged through him, coursing back and forth until it gradually reached its peak and formed a flawless ring.

A sense of harmony descended and emerged around Arthur, as if he were a complete Origin World, possessing the terrifying power to create anything and sweep all things aside.

It was no exaggeration to say that with