My Celestial Ascension

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, a massive flame roared toward the sky, and thick black smoke spiraled upward, blotting out the sun. Emperor Philip stood solemnly before the blaze, having decided to give a respectful farewell to all the fallen soldiers of the Holy Church. Unlike the Church, he wasn’t a cruel or heartless man.

Though they were enemies, the soldiers had still given their lives on the battlefield—and for that, they deserved a peaceful and respectful farewell. However, the sheer number of corpses made it nearly impossible to conduct individual rites.

So, Emperor Philip called upon the mages to assist him in cremating the dead using their powerful magical flames. Following all traditional military customs and rites, he honored even the enemy in death.

However, he made sure not to burn the bodies of his own empire’s soldiers. Those brave warriors would be returned to their families—families who deserved the chance to bid a final farewell to the ones they had lost, soldiers who had died honorably defending their homeland.

“We’ve won the battle… but at what cost? Thousands of soldiers gave their lives for this land… far too many,” Emperor Philip murmured, his voice heavy with grief as his eyes remained fixed on the roaring inferno before him. Tens of thousands of corpses—brothers, sons, fathers—were consumed in that towering fire.

“Indeed. If only the Holy Church had some semblance of humanity… If they did, none of this would have happened. We could have resolved everything peacefully,” King Richard added, his voice filled with sorrow as he, too, watched the flames rise into the heavens.

“You’re right, King Richard,” Emperor Philip sighed, nodding. “If only they understood the value of human life…”

The Holy Church had lost all trace of human emotion, consumed by its endless greed for power and supremacy. And now, due to that blind greed, it had been wiped from the face of the world.

A few minutes later, Emperor Philip gathered the remaining soldiers—those who were still in good condition. Thousands of his men lay in the medical tents, seriously wounded in the brutal conflict. They were being tended to by the imperial healers, fighting for their lives.

Those who were well enough stood at attention, awaiting the Emperor’s orders.

After taking a deep breath, Emperor Philip addressed them with a heavy heart. “Everyone, we all know the price we paid to win this war. So many lives have been lost. So many of our brave comrades sacrificed themselves to protect our homeland.”

“But thanks to their noble sacrifice, we have achieved victory. The Holy Church no longer exists. It has been wiped clean from this world.”

He paused, letting the weight of those words settle into the hearts of every soldier before him.

“And now, to honor our fallen heroes—our brothers who gave their lives for this cause—we must return them to their families. Families who have waited anxiously for their return.”

“I know the pain those families will feel… receiving their loved ones not alive, but wrapped in silence. However, it is our duty to ensure they do not suffer alone.”

He clenched his fists, his voice resolute.

“As your Emperor, I swear to you all—we will provide for the families of our fallen heroes. We will support them financially for the rest of their lives. This is not a favor, but a tribute to the sacrifice made by their loved ones. Their pain will not be ignored. Their loyalty will never be forgotten.”

“Now, let’s gather the bodies of our fallen brothers and place them safely inside the magic pouches. Once we return to the city, we’ll return them to their families—with the respect they deserve,” Emperor Philip said. His voice, filled with deep emotion, moved many soldiers to tears.

His words struck a chord in their hearts, but the harsh reality of war didn’t allow them the comfort of openly mourning. After all, they were men—warriors—and they believed they must remain strong. Yet, despite their efforts, many couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“W-We understand, Your Highness! Leave everything to us!” the soldiers shouted in unison, their voices firm, their expressions serious as they responded to his command.

A few minutes later, everything was prepared. The soldiers had carefully and respectfully placed the bodies of their fallen comrades into the enchanted storage pouches. They also collected all the valuables left behind by the enemy soldiers, including their weapons and armor, before they turned and began the solemn journey back to the Imperial City.

Though the Lionheart Empire had claimed victory in the war against the Holy Church, no one felt joy. The cost had been far too great. The blood of countless warriors—brothers, sons, friends—had soaked the battlefield.

When the soldiers finally arrived at the gates of the city, they were met by a sea of people who had gathered to welcome them. Cheers erupted as citizens saw the banners of the Empire return. Smiles lit the faces of many who were relieved that the war had ended and their loved ones had come home.

Among them stood Empress Selena, waiting with her children. A warm, relieved smile spread across her face as she saw her husband and son return safely. Her heart ached with gratitude and pride.

But not everyone shared that joy. Behind the joyful faces were anxious hearts—people who had yet to see the faces of their loved ones. They waited in silence, eyes scanning every soldier, hoping and praying.

Emperor Philip reunited with his family briefly, exchanging a few quiet words about the battlefield. He gave them a concise explanation of how the war was won, but time was short—his citizens were waiting to hear his voice.

Soon, he stepped onto a tall platform in the center of the city. The crowd immediately fell silent, awaiting his words.

“Dear citizens of the Lionheart Empire,” Emperor Philip began, his voice strong and steady, “I, Philip Lionheart, Emperor of this great Empire, am proud to announce that we have won the war. The Holy Church no longer exists in this world! They have been utterly destroyed!”

A wave of cheers and applause followed his declaration. But the Emperor quickly raised his hand to silence the crowd.

“However…” he continued, his tone turning solemn, “many of our brave soldiers have fallen in this war. I ask all of you—each and every one—to offer a moment of silence. Let us pray for their souls to rest in peace and for their families to find strength.”

“If not for their noble sacrifice, we might not be standing here today, free from the shackles of the Holy Church. So please… show respect to our fallen heroes, who gave their lives to protect us all.”

With that, Emperor Philip closed his eyes, placing a hand over his heart as he began to pray silently.

Following his lead, the entire city fell into silence. Even the children ceased their noise, bowing their heads and joining in the prayer. A powerful stillness swept through the streets, as the city paid its respects to those who would never return.

At the same time, far away from the Lionheart Empire, several powerful figures were engaged in a very important meeting.

The room had an extraordinarily tall ceiling, white walls adorned with intricate golden designs, and a tall platform where a dignified figure sat upon a golden throne, radiating an aura of supreme authority.

“Are you saying that the Demon Dragon Vorthal’kar has returned? How is that even possible? He was sealed away by the heroes inside an artifact a thousand years ago. How could he be free now?” the man on the throne asked, his voice booming through the hall like a divine decree.

He had golden hair and a handsome, regal face. His robe was a magnificent garment woven with gold thread and intricate symbols, making him appear majestic and commanding.

“Indeed, Lord Elarion. You heard us correctly. The Evil Dragon has returned, and sooner or later, he will attack the High Heaven with full force,” the Goddess of Light and Justice spoke, her face drenched in sweat as she nervously delivered the grave news to the gathering of gods.

She continued, “Furthermore, my church in the mortal world has been destroyed by an unknown force. My army of Holy Knights has also been annihilated during the war against the Lionheart Empire.”

“I sent one of my chosen servants to investigate the destruction of my church, but she still hasn’t returned. Not only that, but the two loyal angels I dispatched to aid the Pope during the war have also failed to return.”

“The divine mark I left on them has vanished, and I can no longer sense their presence in the mortal realm. Most likely, they have also perished in this war,” she concluded, her tone grim as she glanced around the divine assembly.

“What?!” “How is that even possible?!”

Gasps and murmurs erupted across the hall as every god and goddess in the room reacted with shock, their eyes wide in disbelief. The idea that two angels could be slain by mortals was unthinkable—it defied the natural order.

“This is outrageous! Who dares to kill our divine servants? I’ll personally descend and incinerate this mortal myself!” the God of Flames roared, his aura blazing with fury as flames danced around his clenched fists.

“His name is Yuan,” the Goddess of Light and Justice answered firmly. “However, I don’t recommend confronting him recklessly. How should I put it… he’s not ordinary. He’s a mysterious and unpredictable individual.”

“It doesn’t matter who he is! After killing our servants, he cannot be allowed to walk this world freely anymore!” the God of Flames bellowed, his temper spiraling as sparks shot from his burning eyes.

“You must understand, he doesn’t use mana like we do. His power comes from a completely different source. His methods are unknown and dangerous. That makes him more unpredictable than anything we’ve encountered,” the Goddess of Light and Justice warned again, her gaze cold and sharp.

God King Elarion sat silently as the gods argued, his golden eyes narrowing with intrigue. The name ‘Yuan’ echoed in his mind. A mortal… who defeated angels… and even spoke casually with the Demon Dragon Vorthal’kar?

‘No mana… yet such immense power?’ Elarion thought, his interest piqued. ‘Who exactly are you, Yuan?’

“I believe I may have some idea about the kind of method he must have used to attain such immense power… Though it’s merely speculation, I cannot say anything with absolute certainty.” Suddenly, an aged voice resounded through the divine hall, capturing everyone’s attention.

All eyes turned toward an elderly man who had spoken. He had long, flowing white hair and wore a pristine white robe that radiated wisdom and dignity. In one hand, he held a powerful magic wand adorned with intricate symbols, and in the other, a golden book with a luminous red crystal embedded at its center.

“Lord Vaedron, are you suggesting something? Can you be more specific?” God King Elarion asked, raising an eyebrow. His curiosity deepened, for the one who had spoken was none other than Vaedron, the God of Knowledge—a figure whose words held weight even among gods.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Vaedron began, “Your Highness, you are already aware that this floating island we now call ‘High Heaven’ was once the dwelling place of an ancient civilization. Over the centuries, we’ve discovered numerous ancient scrolls and tomes scattered across this island—many of which still remain undeciphered.”

“There are secrets buried in this land, things even we gods do not fully comprehend. No matter how much effort we’ve poured into exploration, we’ve barely managed to uncover seventy percent of this island’s secrets.”

He paused for a moment before continuing with a heavier tone. “And more importantly… beneath this very palace lies a mysterious circle of unknown origin—an ancient sigil we could neither understand nor break. In the end, we chose to bury it by building this divine palace atop it.”

“Furthermore, on the far side of this island lies an ancient city, still untouched. A powerful barrier surrounds it—one that has resisted every attempt we’ve made to breach it, no matter how strong or divine.”

Vaedron’s gaze sharpened, and he looked directly at the God King. “Now, consider this… Don’t you think there might be a connection between the strange, unfathomable techniques used by the mortal named ‘Yuan’ and this ancient, forgotten civilization?”

“He displays strength far beyond comprehension—and uses it effortlessly, as if it’s second nature to him. Power like that… It cannot be explained through mana, divine blessings, or even aura method alone. Does that not strike you as odd?”

A heavy silence blanketed the hall. The gods began to exchange glances, their expressions shifting as realization slowly dawned on them.

They had never considered such a connection. But now, with Vaedron’s words ringing in their ears, the idea of a hidden link between Yuan and the ancient civilization felt undeniably plausible. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to align.

The God King’s golden eyes narrowed as he turned back to Vaedron, his voice calm but intense. “Are you trying to suggest that this mortal—’Yuan’—possesses knowledge of that lost civilization?”

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