One year, two years, three years... ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years...
Time surged onward, never to return.
For nearly all living beings, the legends of the Saints had existed since the primordial beginning—a span of time measured in hundreds of billions of years. The Saints watched civilizations rise and perish, universes cycle through rebirth. Beneath the radiance of the Saints, the entire multiverse had always remained at peace.
Without question, after a great destruction, a long stretch of history had been utterly reshaped.
There was no longer any slumber of the Saints, nor any long Dark Age. It was as though nothing had ever happened; even if one searched through time itself, not the slightest trace could be found.
The once-prolonged Dark Age was like nothing more than an empty dream, a fantasy.
As for those beings who had not perished in that battle due to the altar's protection, they had naturally been woven into history.
This was the law of space-time.
Past, present, future—under natural conditions, the "present" carried the greatest weight.
Of course, without the altar's protection, for any life that had yet to comprehend the step of severing the past and cutting off the future, the destruction of the past was fatal. They could never have endured until time was reshaped.
But no matter what, to all living beings, that great battle—which had not even been recorded by the years—had never happened at all.
Only a few legends concerning that battle circulated through the world.
And in the years that followed, neither the Dao Lord's envoys, nor the Four Divine Lords, the eight stowaways, or the two visitors from alien dimensions ever revealed the slightest trace, as if they had never existed at all.
Only those who knew the truth understood what kind of