Chapter 563: Sought out by the Great World

His tone became full of disdain. “People like that? They’re the worst kind. The ones who wear masks even in solitude. The ones who will change their principles the moment the wind shifts. They lack conviction. They lack the spine to stand firm when everything turns against them.”

He walked towards the window watching the grasses sway away gently from the drifting wind. “And though they reached the eighth floor—a place meant only for those of rare will and rare talent—I know deep down that they won’t achieve anything great. Not because they weren’t strong, but because they weren’t anchored. They’ll drift through life, making choices based on what sounds right instead of what they truly believe. They’ll falter when it matters most.”

He glanced back at Max, his expression unreadable. “That’s why I said I don’t like your truth, but I respect it. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t hide. That makes you dangerous—but it also makes you real. And that’s what this trial is all about.”

With those words, Max’s body began to glow in gentle blue light.

Ragnar then turned to Max, his voice low but powerful, filled with something deeper than mere warning. “This world is heading toward something it cannot yet comprehend, Max. A time of peril, of cracks spreading through the very fabric of peace and reality. In such times, the world doesn’t just need strength. It needs anchors. It needs those who will not bend in the storm.”

He added. “Heroes, yes—but not just those who smile and save. It needs monsters willing to bear the weight of impossible choices. Geniuses who stand above the masses. Who can defy the natural order of things. And that’s where you and many others come in.”

He stepped forward, his eyes meeting Max’s as the light grew brighter. “But know this… I hope, with everything I’ve seen and everything I’ve known, that a day never comes when the choice I gave you today becomes reality. Because if that day does come… if you are truly willing to burn the world to save what you love—then you won’t be the savior they hoped for. You won’t be the guardian of order. You’ll become the very chaos they feared.”

His voice dropped into a whisper, heavy with meaning. “Be strong, Max Morgan. But above all… be wise.”

The glow engulfed Max completely then, and with a final shimmer of light, he vanished from the hut, leaving behind the quiet creak of wood and the sigh of a dying fire.

***

Max found himself standing in a magical place. He took in a slow breath, his eyes scanning the dreamlike landscape around him.

The sky above was a tapestry of infinite stars, each glowing with a brilliance that felt closer than it should have been, as if the heavens had bent just to shine for this place.

Beneath his feet, the earth glowed faintly with natural luminance—soft grasses swaying gently in the cool breeze, tiny blue and green plants pulsing with a gentle light.

The entire ground shimmered faintly with ether, as if the world itself was alive with spirit and ancient wisdom.

‘This gives the feeling of the spirit dimension I have but somewhat of a lower quality.’ Max mused.

And then came the voice—deep, wise, and carried by the wind with strange resonance. “Someone finally got past Ragnar?”

Max turned toward the voice and saw a tall, robed middle-aged man approaching. His presence was quiet but undeniable. Long strands of bluish-black hair flowed down his back like rippling silk, and in his hands floated wisps of actual spirits—gentle, ghostly beings in various forms, some shaped like birds, others like fish or dragons, their translucent bodies glowing with shifting colors.

Despite their ethereal nature, they didn’t seem restless or dangerous. They clung to the man calmly, as though drawn by his very essence.

“Young man,” the middle-aged man said as he stepped beside Max, his voice calm and ageless, “you must have many questions.”

His expression was one of serene wisdom, a man who had seen the rise and fall of countless eras. “Let us walk. I shall answer what I can,” he added, already beginning to move down a winding path that trailed through the glowing forest.

Max, still silent and processing the surreal beauty of this place, nodded and stepped forward, falling into stride beside the man who, without a doubt, had to be the final guardian—the last of the Three Supreme Masters of the Black Dragon Palace.

The man gently stroked one of the softly glowing spirits floating near his shoulder, his expression distant yet warm, like someone reminiscing about a long-forgotten melody.

Max watched him, every step they took through the starlit grass feeling like they were walking across time itself.

“What is the trial of this floor? Or should I ask what the last three floors are all about?” Max finally asked, his voice low but firm. The questions had been stirring within him ever since he spoke with the elven woman and Ragnar. Something about their words had planted a heavy weight in his chest.

This wasn’t just about power anymore. He could feel it.

Kane didn’t answer immediately. He simply smiled at a spirit drifting near his palm, then slowly said, “You can call me Kane, if you will. As for your question…” He paused, watching a wisp swirl upward toward the stars. “Let’s say these trials—no, the entire Nine Dragons Painting itself—is a failsafe.”

“Failsafe?” Max frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Failsafe for what?”

“For many things,” Kane replied, still watching the spirit disappear into the sky. His answer was vague, but there was a gravity behind his tone that silenced Max momentarily.

But Max wasn’t done.

“Then… what is the Mark of Divinity?” he asked, the question finally leaving his lips with the weight of all his confusion and curiosity behind it.

Kane walked for a moment longer before finally answering. “The Mark of Divinity…” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s a mark bestowed only upon those whose existence has caught the attention of fate. A mark for those whose actions will destined to affect all and everything.”

His eyes shifted to Max—calm, unreadable, ancient. “It’s a mark given to those whose fate has grand plans. Those chosen by the great fabric of existence. Those sought out by the great world itself. The Mark does not promise greatness—it signals potential. A terrifying, boundless potential.”

Kane turned back to the starlit path, his tone quiet but clear. “For us—the creators of this place, and those who protect it—it is an indication that the one who bears the Mark of Divinity may not be the one we long awaited, but… he might still change everything. He might still carry the weight of eras. He might still burn paths no one dares walk.”

Max walked in silence beside Kane, his mind stirring with thoughts that refused to settle. The stars above twinkled gently, but even their calm rhythm couldn’t quiet the storm in his head.

Kane’s explanation echoed in his mind like a soft drumbeat: “Those chosen by fate. A terrifying, boundless potential.”

That alone had been enough to make Max’s chest tighten. But then he recalled Ragnar’s heavy warning—the way the man had said, “perilous situation…” and the elven woman’s final words: “Time is running out.”

Those were not just casual remarks. They carried urgency, weight, perhaps even fear.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!