The Evolution Of A Goblin To The Peak

Chapter 1230: Fighting the Calamity: The Door, the Past, and the Truth IV

Corpses were strewn across the ground, their lifeless bodies trampled as the enemies continued their merciless slaughter. Blood soaked into the earth, and the air reeked of death.

Souta’s expression darkened.

Then, suddenly, a figure stood before him.

It was a towering man with long, flowing crimson hair that writhed like living flames. A pair of blazing red eyes glared from beneath a set of curved horns protruding from his head. A thick beard and mustache framed his stern face, giving him an imposing presence.

A member of the Vajra Race.

Souta’s height barely reached the man’s stomach.

’What? This guy...? Don’t tell me...’ Souta slowly lifted his head, meeting the man’s gaze.

”There’s no need to be surprised,” the man said, his voice heavy and resolute. ”I’m looking straight at you.”

’So he really can see me...’ Souta’s mind tightened. This is exactly why probing memories is dangerous. There’s always a chance of brushing against higher beings.

”You’re observing this through a memory,” the man continued. He paused, then turned his head, his sharp gaze sweeping across the battlefield. After a moment, his eyes settled on a young woman standing in the distance.

Souta followed his line of sight and his breath caught.

It was Saya.

”So it’s her,” the man murmured. ”It seems she’ll survive this calamity after all. That’s good.”

He turned back to Souta, his expression hardening.

”Never search through someone’s memories like this again,” he warned. ”If you do, you may encounter something far worse than me an entity that should never be perceived.”

”I didn’t even search Saya’s memories,” Souta replied, giving a small shrug. ”This happened without my knowledge.”

”I see...”

Sincovun slowly lifted his gaze toward the sky, toward something that should not have been there, yet undeniably was. The darkness above churned unevenly, as if reality itself were struggling to maintain its shape.

”You cannot clearly perceive the enemy, can you?” he said. ”That is not a flaw in your senses. That is their nature.”

His voice grew quieter, as though the world itself were listening.

”They do not move in ways that can be followed. They do not exist in forms that can be grasped. Your eyes fail not because they are weak but because the enemy rejects being perceived.”

Souta felt a dull pressure behind his eyes, as if his thoughts were being gently pushed aside.

”You cannot predict their actions,” Sincovun continued. ”Cause and effect fracture in their presence. And their true names...”

He paused, his jaw tightening.

”Those who attempt to utter them invite decay of the mind, of fate, and of the soul.”

A faint distortion rippled through the air, as though the world itself recoiled from the idea.

”They are the origin of curses,” he said. ”Not their wielders but the source. Malice does not precede them. Reality simply rots wherever they pass.”

Sincovun exhaled slowly.

”Some among us, in desperation, gave them a title. A placeholder. A lie simple enough for the world to tolerate.”

”The Tainted Ones.”

”Tainted...” Souta repeated, though the word felt painfully insufficient.

Sincovun straightened, his divine presence swelling until even the memory itself seemed strained.

”I am Sincovun Rmanka,” he declared. ”Guardian of the North Line. Regal God of Kings. One of the twenty-three God-rank beings of the Vajra Race.”

Souta looked at him again and understood.

This was not merely a god, but a being forged to stand against the impossible.

”They didn’t want to conquer,” Sincovun said. ”They want utter destruction.”

His crimson eyes dimmed slightly.

”Our people were erased not always by death, but by loss of definition. Lands were twisted until direction lost meaning. Time collapsed into contradictions. In the territories they claimed, even existence forgot how to persist.”

He turned to Souta once more.

”You arrived here by touching the memory of one of my kin. That alone is proof.”

Sincovun’s gaze bored into him, heavy with certainty.

”You will encounter them.”

He paused.

”When that moment comes, remember this: the Vajra Race did not flee. We did not surrender. We anchored reality itself with our lives and held the defense lines until nothing remained to defend.”

A silence followed.

”And still,” Sincovun said quietly,

”they advanced.”

Boom!!

The air convulsed violently.

A vast rift tore open across the sky, stretching for tens of kilometers. Its edges jagged, bleeding distortion, as if the heavens themselves had been wounded.

Sincovun’s expression hardened instantly.

Souta clenched his jaw.

”Tainted Ones. Dark apparitions. Corrupted Ones...”

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became. Different names, yet the same invading horror that had devoured the Imperium.

”Oh, they are one and the same,” Sincovun said, as if answering his thoughts. ”We forbid the utterance of our enemies’ true names. Words shape reality and theirs do not belong to this world. So we cloaked them in titles that existence could endure.”

He paused, crimson eyes narrowing.

”However... since they have already declared war upon my race, I can tell you the name of the one leading them.”

A faint tremor rippled through the air.

”Even if it becomes aware of me,” Sincovun continued calmly, ”it no longer matters. I am already in battle with it.”

Souta remained silent.

This was foreign to him. In his world, calamities had not yet reached this scale of this absolute, annihilating certainty.

”The one commanding the assault on our race,” Sincovun said slowly, ”is an Elder Being.”

His voice lowered, heavy with reverence and dread.

”It is called the Nightmare Trapped in the Abyssal Swamp.”

The moment the name was spoken, the world shuddered.

Sincovun’s brow furrowed as an overwhelming force slammed into the surrounding space, an invisible pressure that crushed downward like an ocean turned solid. The distortion did not come from outside.

It came from within him.

”...It sensed me,” Sincovun muttered, his teeth grinding as his power surged to suppress the intrusion. ”Even speaking its title brushes against its awareness.”

He steadied himself, then continued, his tone grim.

”The Nightmare Trapped in the Abyssal Swamp is currently engaging twelve God-rank beings of the Vajra Clan.”

A beat of silence.

”We are no match for it.”

The weight of those words was absolute.

”Remember this well,” Sincovun said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. ”Their names bring disaster but they are also fragments of truth. Clues left behind by something that should not be understood.”

He fixed Souta with a piercing stare.

”Nightmare. Trapped. Swamp.

Those words are not metaphors. They are shackles. Boundaries. Weaknesses.”

Even Souta, merely witnessing this through memory, felt his chest tighten. His breathing grew shallow as an oppressive force pressed down on his mind, as if the boundary between past and present were dissolving.

This wasn’t just a memory anymore.

It was leaking.

And reality whether it was past or present was beginning to notice.

”The Nightmare Lords and Dream Lords of the Dream Realm, the Gods of Traps, and the Gods of Swamps are the only beings capable of contesting it,” Sincovun said. ”Unfortunately, the Vajra Race possesses no gods aligned with such dominions.”

His expression tightened. Without warning, he raised a hand.

”Our time is over,” he said firmly. ”You must leave now. If you remain any longer, there is a real chance that it will begin to affect you directly.”

Sincovun’s gaze burned into Souta.

”No matter where you originate from, as long as you exist within the scope of the Imperium, you will face these enemies. Do not forget this moment. Etch it into your existence so that when the time comes, you will be ready.”

Ohm!!

The world collapsed.

Reality folded inward, and the scenery around Souta warped violently before shattering like fragile glass.

In the next instant, he was standing in midair. Below him was a young woman, her combat power only at Hero-rank, yet she moved with relentless determination, cutting down enemies in her path without hesitation.

”Saya.”

Souta exhaled slowly.

”Sincovun still had far more to say,” he muttered. ”But the enemies were already restricting him... Still, what I learned is more than enough.”

His gaze darkened.

This was how the Vajra Race had been driven to extinction.

Beings from outside of the world had encircled their clan, sealing every path of retreat, erasing them piece by piece until nothing remained.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine the full scale of that war.

The title Regal God of the Kings alone carried terrifying weight. He remembered a God of Kings within the Vulcan’s Ring, a being powerful enough to stand alone against the Commandment of Faith.

And Sincovun was one of that caliber.

Souta finally understood why his head had been throbbing since the vision began.

The calamity wasn’t confined to the past.

Even though this was only a memory, it was touching him, using him as a conduit, reaching through time and perception toward his present world.

Slowly, he looked down.

Saya was running at full speed, her blade flashing as she tore through the enemies blocking her path.