"Without a doubt, this is your victory."
Artosh spoke his words of surrender with complete satisfaction.
Before him, the radiance of the strongest still erupted without end like a mountain torrent bursting its banks, raising raging tides that threatened to swallow everything around them and scattering all the surrounding planetary rings with destructive force.
Even the Elf Corridor erupting within the Star Core paled somewhat in comparison. Unlike its simple outpouring of energy, this power, imbued with a clear intent to bring all things to an end, was plainly superior in its application.
Then, before the descending Slash Emperor, the so-called strongest power cleared the entire distance between Roland and Artosh like a subject obeying a command, not daring to step beyond its bounds.
Only the wounds beside that blank Promised Land, where even thousands of converging waves could not break through the lingering force of the sword's slash, revealed that this was not voluntary, but submission forced upon it by cruel reality.
Artosh's body had been severed at the waist by that strike. His lower half still stood where it had been, while his upper half had already slid down.
Although retaining a corpse after such an attack was something to rejoice over, Artosh felt only a trace of melancholy.
This was not proof that he had successfully resisted the strike, but proof of that Demonic Sword's greed.
Lying in this world that Slash Emperor had already supplanted, Artosh could clearly feel his Divine Core, his composition, and even his concept being devoured bit by bit.
His body had presumably been deliberately preserved to achieve something like a perfect completion. Otherwise, not even fragments of him should have remained.
At the thought of what this act meant, Artosh lost his earlier composure and excitement, leaving only bitter guilt.
During