— — — — — —
Haya Susano Wo No Mikoto — an immensely powerful god who ruled over storms, his divinity intertwined with steel and metal — was one of the most powerful among the gods.
And today... he was dead. Completely obliterated by Ryo's cosmos, which was now approaching the peak of the Sixth Sense. His body had been reduced to atoms.
Such a pathetic ending...
...
On the other hand, Sita and the black-robed monk both had surrendered.
But to be honest, Ryo didn't feel particularly happy about it.
"Ryo Yagami, what exactly just happened?"
Sita, sealed by Athena, looked like she'd rather die just to get some answers. She turned to Ryo and asked outright.
Standing on the mountain path, watching Athena and Asherah restore the terrain, Ryo turned to glance at her. After thinking for a moment, he replied, "How should I put it…"
"It was probably an accident."
"Accident?" Sita blinked, confused.
Ryo turned his head away again, his back to her.
"I tried to 'help' Aisha," he said quietly. "And that triggered her Authority—Charm or Curse. It has a passive Grand Luck, and because of it, Fairy's Corridor got activated on its own."
"I don't know the exact mechanism, but Aisha's power went wild. It forced open the passageways of the Netherworld, yanking you all out and dumping you right in front of me."
"Then, while I was caught off guard, the same runaway passage flung Aisha away to safety."
"In other words, her Authority made sure she escaped the future where I sealed her. That's the gist of it."
"Huh?" Sita's mouth fell open, stunned.
Standing nearby, Luo Hao couldn't help but interject.
"I once tried to attack Aisha too," she said. "But my case was different. I was suddenly teleported to a battlefield between two gods—nearly died right then and there."
"Guess her Authority figured it wouldn't help to teleport gods to fight me, huh?" Ryo muttered, his tone oddly complicated.
Luo Hao shook her head. "No, you've got it wrong. That Authority doesn't think. It has no will of its own. It just boosts Aisha's luck to absurd levels."
"Luck, huh?" Ryo looked over at Sita and the black-robed Monk.
"Yeah, real lucky," the Monk said dryly, forcing a laugh through his curse seal.
So they were basically dragged here by Aisha's luck to take the hit meant for her?
Susanoo really had died for nothing. And now, the poor monk had already decided to abandon the name of Buddha. Ryo Yagami had won, and if he clung to that name any longer, the Myth itself would turn on him. So, with great pain, he let it go — the name he had spread so fervently.
Sita's face twisted as she realized the truth. Anyone would be miserable knowing they'd been caught in this mess just because some "lucky saint" needed an escape route.
But it was too late. She was a prisoner now, and complaining wouldn't change that.
She sighed, looking at Ryo. "Now that you've slain the Great Sage… do you plan to deal with Prince Rama next?"
"Oh?"
Ryo raised a brow, turning his gaze to her. "And what exactly are you planning to do?"
Sita opened her mouth, hesitated, and finally sighed. "My name is Sita. In myth, I am the wife of Prince Rama."
"Oh? So you're thinking of killing your husband?" Ryo's eyes lit with amusement.
But Sita shook her head. "I despise that man, yes… but not enough to want him dead."
"Then what do you want?" Ryo asked.
Sita was silent for a long moment. Finally, she said softly, "I just… want to free that weary man from his suffering."
She knew Rama no longer wished to be the King of the End—he just wanted to sleep forever instead of being forced by fate.
"Interesting."
Ryo narrowed his eyes slightly, gauging her tone. Then, with calm detachment, he said, "In that case, tell me where Rama sleeps—and how to break his seal. I'll give him his freedom for you."
Sita's lips trembled, but in the end, she only sighed. "Thank you for your mercy."
---
Tokyo.
Standing atop the glittering waves, Guinevere looked around with bright, hopeful eyes, searching desperately.
Beside her stood the honey-haired Valkyrie, Lancelot du Lac, who frowned.
"The energy here is overwhelming," Guinevere murmured, "yet there's no sign of our lord. Why?"
"The sea, the earth—nothing. No trace of him anywhere. Why?"
Guinevere's anxious voice trembled, but then a sudden intuition made her look up toward the sky.
There, within a gust of divine wind, a figure appeared—masked, wrapped in white cloth, radiating holy presence.
"Wind King!" Guinevere exclaimed, joy blooming in her face. "You serve our lord—have you awakened as well?"
The Wind King didn't answer. He only glanced at his two old comrades, nodded slightly, and then pointed toward the sky.
"Your meaning is…"
Guinevere's eyes widened. She followed his gesture upward, past the blazing sunlight and the clouds, to where she saw it—
A floating island suspended in space.
"Ah… there! That's it! That's where our king sleeps!"
"So he slumbers in the void of space," Lancelot murmured, awed. "No wonder we couldn't find him anywhere."
Then, with a solemn expression, she summoned her white horse and extended a hand to Guinevere.
"Come. We'll need a proper mount to reach such a place."
"Aye." Guinevere grasped her hand and climbed onto the horse.
Once she settled, Lancelot took the reins and called to the masked figure, "Wind King, let's go greet our lord."
With that, she spurred the horse forward.
The white horse neighed and rose, galloping through the air toward the sky.
The Wind King lifted his head, controlling the storm to follow after them in silence.
They soared higher and higher—past the clouds, through the atmosphere—until they reached what humans called orbital altitude.
There, the two gods and their ancient companion finally beheld it: a small floating island.
It wasn't large; gentle hills and plains dotted its barren surface. There were no plants, no life, just bare rock and soil.
At the island's center stood a single sword, plunged upright into the ground.
It was roughly a meter long, double-edged, weathered and rust-stained, yet emanating an undeniable divinity.
The Divine Sword of Salvation.
The true body of the King of the End—Rama, the seventh avatar of Vishnu.
A blade born from the union of god-forged weapons and Rama himself.
The ultimate steel that had slaughtered every Rakshasa in existence—the invincible sword that once purified the world.
.
.
.