A Life of Vast Disparity

End of Time.

Ian was checking the requirements for his new class advancement.

Meanwhile.

Zarathos's will and true spirit had not been completely annihilated, either. Anyone familiar with Ian knew that every opponent he defeated and absorbed would ultimately be [enslaved] by him.

For all eternity, they would be reduced to Ian's vassals.

He really was the most typical kind of Dimension Demon God, more traditional than traditional itself. So, as a matter of course, Zarathos naturally became part of Ian's dimension as well.

He had not truly perished.

In fact, he regained clarity very quickly.

And the moment his consciousness returned, Zarathos thought he was still dreaming. No, not dreaming—an illusion, a trap, one of the Chronos Monarch's tricks.

He frantically comforted himself, telling himself he would definitely open his eyes again and find that he was still standing at the End of Time, still possessing that invincible body.

Still able to keep fighting.

Except.

Reality was always cruel.

Zarathos did open his eyes.

Then he froze. Before him was not the dark void of the End of Time, not a battlefield piled with ruins, not the Chronos Monarch's vortex-like eyes.

It was only a street.

An ordinary modern city street.

Sunlight poured down from overhead, warm and bright. Neat rows of shops lined both sides of the street—cafés, bookstores, supermarkets, and a strange storefront that looked like it sold some kind of religious goods.

The shop signs were written in all sorts of languages. Some he could understand, and some he could not understand at all. People came and went along the street, bustling and lively, filled with the air of everyday life.

"Damn it! Where is this?!"

Zarathos lowered his head and looked at himself.

He saw two hands.

Those two hands were small and slender, without