Chapter 17 — Indra
The God of Scholars looked at the cracked artifact and said quietly,
"That is the Illusion King's artifact. I found it after some madman fought him."
Nameless glanced sideways.
"Are you talking about me?"
"No," the Scholar replied. "After you fought him, there was a time gap. A period no one saw. During that time… another man fought the Illusion King."
Nameless went still.
"Their battle was brutal," the Scholar continued. "He pushed the Illusion King to his limits. Drove him across continents. Made him retreat again and again. Their war lasted years."
A faint smile touched the Scholar's lips.
"He was extraordinary."
Nameless's expression softened.
"And this," the Scholar said, gesturing to the artifact, "I collected from the remains of their battlefield."
Silence.
Nameless stepped closer.
"No," he said quietly. "This is not the Illusion King's artifact."
His fingers hovered above it.
A proud, almost trembling smile appeared on his face.
"This works only in his hands."
The world around him blurred.
—
The battlefield was drowning in blood.
Thousands lay dead.
Beasts crawled, injured, too afraid to move. The sky was torn open from divine techniques colliding. The ground cracked like broken glass.
Nameless stood alone.
No army.
No allies.
Before him stood the four strongest fighters of that era.
One drew his bow.
The arrow released.
Death, certain.
But in the next instant—
The arrow split in half mid-air.
A second bowstring echoed across the battlefield.
A man walked forward.
Not a prince. Not a king.
But he walked like royalty.
His power shaped his presence. His effort forged his pride. From that alone he earned his title.
Indra.
Bow in hand. Sword resting behind him.
He extended his hand toward Nameless.
"You're late, Phantom."
Back then, Nameless was known by another name.
Phantom.
Nameless remembered laughing.
He remembered standing side by side.
He remembered trust.
—
The present returned.
The smile on Nameless's face didn't disappear.
But something cracked inside it.
The God of Scholars noticed the shift.
"What happened next?" he asked carefully.
Nameless's voice was calm.
"He died."
"How?"
A pause.
"I killed him."
The Scholar's breath halted.
"You said he was your closest friend."
"Yes."
The air felt heavier.
"I backstabbed him," Nameless said.
The words fell flat. No excuse. No explanation.
The God of Scholars stared into Nameless's eyes.
There were tears.
Not loud grief.
Not regret shouted to the heavens.
Just silent, steady tears.
Before his turning point… Nameless was ruthless. Efficient. Heartless in action. The world had shaped him into something sharp and cold.
He could be kind.
But the era he lived in did not reward kindness.
"Forget it," Nameless muttered, wiping his face lightly. "Old history."
The Scholar did not press further.
Five hundred years was all he had known Nameless.
That was nothing compared to the weight in those eyes.
He chose silence.
Before leaving, the God of Scholars assigned a trusted disciple to manage his kingdom in his absence.
He glanced at Nameless.
"You won't assign anyone to oversee yours?"
Nameless didn't even look back.
"I don't care now. Let's go."
They stepped out of the treasury.
Neither noticed when Nameless's sleeve brushed the pedestal.
The cracked artifact vanished quietly into his spatial storage.
The God of Scholars did not see it.
But far away—
Something stirred.
As if a fragment of a broken soul had just taken its first breath.
.
.
.
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Thank you reading
Bye love all