He did not care about the means, only the result. As the traits increased, these new "traits" were too stubborn, too hard—like three unpolished rough stones.
He had not come to this world to rule it, nor to save it. He had come to use the entire world as a giant grindstone. The laws of this world, Heaven's order, Hell's chaos, and the cycle of life and death in the human realm were all natural forms of tempering.
His original plan had been to use these powers to grind those three stubborn stones to dust and knead them into his flesh and bones. Such an opportunity was hard to come by. Although Lighthouse had many choices, most worlds were too weak to do the job.
Some worlds were too powerful and would grind him to pieces instead. This world was just right. It bore traces of God, had angels and demons at war, and possessed the cycle of life and death.
It was like a whetstone tailored specifically for him.
Ever since coming to this world, he had been sharpening himself.
He let Hell's darkness erode his arrogance. Arrogance was a piece of iron that needed blazing fire to refine it.
Hell's darkness was that fire, burning away the useless parts and leaving behind pure sharpness. The demons purged by demon hunters and the souls struggling in the darkness were all fuel.
He watched them burn. In truth, he did not hate them at all, nor did he pity them. They were merely tools, like the countless tools he had used before.
The deaths of demon hunters, the establishment of the guild, and humanity's chances of survival constantly tempered the trait of "hypocrisy."
He watched them bleed, watched them fall, watched them unknowingly pave the way for him. Every drop