FATE: The Man with Divine Keys

Sinister heads emerged one by one from the dense jungle, their golden vertical pupils shining conspicuously in the pitch-black night, fixated on Arkhan and Karl with a glint of brutality and greed.

"T-This..."

Large beads of cold sweat rolled down Karl's forehead as he tightly gripped his sword, finding no comfort.

He was already hopeless when dueled the previous wyvern, and now, got surrounded by at least a dozen of them, with all escape routes sealed off. Even if he had wings, there was no way out of this!

Was he about to lose the life he had fought so hard to reclaim?

Karl couldn't help but despair even more than before.

"Are you scared?" 

A calm voice came from beside him, momentarily startling Karl. He turned to see Arkhan, still wearing an indifferent expression.

"No... I'm not..."

"Fear is normal; there's no need to be ashamed..." Arkhan replied without turning his head. "Humans are small beings in a world filled with countless threats, especially in this kind of world. It's precisely because of this lack of security that we continue to improve ourselves. Fear and worry are what drive us humans to keep moving forward."

Perhaps Arkhan's composure gave Karl some courage, for he took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you for your guidance. I will always remember these words."

Karl's resolve grew stronger. This black-haired and black-eyed youth was undoubtedly an ancient god with great wisdom. Only those gods who had lived for countless ages could view humanity from such a perspective and speak such profound truths.

If Arkhan knew what was going on in the old knight's mind at this moment, he would probably feel helpless.

"Rest assured, as long as I'm here, I will ensure your safety."

As Arkhan spoke those words, the crimson spear dissolved into shards of light, and an even deeper darkness than the night itself gathered in his hands. Overwhelming negative emotions swept in all directions like a storm.

The indescribable fear seized the hearts of the wyverns, freezing them in place as if they had encountered a mortal enemy, trembling in fear.

The old knight collapsed to the ground. If it weren't for Arkhan's reinforcement of his vitality with the Abyss Flower earlier, he might have suffered a heart attack and died on the spot.

It was an indescribable feeling as if millions of voices were whispering the vilest curses and dirtiest words in his ear in an instant.

Even the most resolute knight and the devout believer would appear utterly insignificant in the face of this tide of evil that gathered all the world's sins.

Fortunately, this sensation lasted only for a moment. After the withdrawal of this malevolent tide, the old knight took a few deep breaths as if he had just been pulled from drowning.

He looked at the youth's back with eyes full of reverence and suddenly noticed a peculiar weapon in his hand, which he hadn't seen before.

It looked somewhat like a sword, but it was too slender, with slight structural differences. If a sturdy knight held it, it would seem like a child's toy.

Karl nearly slapped himself for having such blasphemous thoughts about a divine being! This was utterly disrespectful!

However, Karl couldn't resist his curiosity and stole another glance at the black sword. For some reason, he felt that it possessed a strange charm, tempting him to get closer.

—If only he could get his hands on it and examine it...

—If he could steal it...

Even Karl himself didn't notice that his eyes were filled with greed.

"Don't look at it, unless you want to turn into a monster."

The familiar voice echoed in Karl's ears, causing him to startle as though abruptly awoken from a dream. He instinctively took a few steps backward, his eyes filled with an unshakeable fear.

If it hadn't been for Arkhan's timely reminder just now, he might have already succumbed to becoming a creature ruled by desire!

Such evil; this was not a weapon that should exist in the world!

Arkhan examined the katana in his hand. The entire blade was black, shrouded in an ominous aura, as if it had recorded all the negative emotions of the world. Just by gazing upon it, it could unknowingly strip away one's intellect, reducing them to primal monsters.

Of course, as the wielder, these powers did not affect him.

This was the Twelfth Divine Key, forged from the Core of the Herrscher of Corruption, known as Jizo Mitama.

As Karl had suspected, this was a weapon that should never have existed in the world.

Humanity, robbed of reason by fear, had committed unforgivable sins, and the birth of this Divine Key was the result of countless people's hatred. Despite millennia of sealing, it hadn't been reduced or vanished but had instead accumulated enough hatred to consume the world.

Arkhan, who had only wanted to test the power of Jizo Mitama, couldn't help but tremble momentarily.

He realized with absolute clarity that he had just unleashed a monster with the most potent power of 'corruption', and if he didn't restrain it, someday, this entity would undoubtedly unleash another cataclysmic wave of destruction.

Thousands of years of hatred and the sins of countless people were not something to be taken lightly.

'It seems I can't casually bring out this Divine Key in the future...' Arkhan silently contemplated, 'But for now...'

He surveyed the surrounding wyverns, channeling a continuous flow of magical energy into Jizo Mitama. On the slender sword, a flame darker than the night began to burn.

The Phantasmal Species from the Age of Gods possessed keen senses. After sensing impending danger, the wyverns wasted no time in flapping their wings and flying far away from the black-haired youth.

But, just like Karl's life-and-death situation earlier, what they were doing was utterly futile.

*Slash!*

Black flames, accompanied by eerie wails, erupted from the sword, instantly engulfing the bodies of the wyverns. No matter how vigorously they flapped their wings or writhed on the ground, the flames refused to extinguish.

It was no ordinary fire; it was a 'corruption' that targeted 'life' itself.

The wyverns wailed in agony. Their once-proud vitality had now become the source of their suffering, plunging them into a profound and constant pain, corrupting their senses.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the black flames gradually subsided. The wyverns' bodies miraculously remained intact, showing no signs of burns. However, anyone who saw them now would subconsciously think of 'death.'

Their 'lives' had been completely and utterly 'corrupted'.