In the vast stretch of space, a fleet of starships streaked through the nebulae, racing forward in unison toward a single destination.

The cold edges of the ships gleamed under the scattered light of distant stars, while the propulsion engines at their rears roared at full output—blue flames twisted with green surged from their cores, carving a searing trail through the black void.

Inside, the mood was heavy. Tension hung in the air like fog, until suddenly—

A sharp exchange erupted, tearing through the silence.

“—You have no right to seal off Skyfall Planet! Even if you’re the commanding officer of the entire Skyfall Star District!” a voice roared from the communicator. “Ever since the Four-Pillar Tower fell from the heavens ten thousand years ago, Skyfall Planet has ceased to fall under any jurisdiction. It is now the most sacred property in the universe! Any action involving it must first be approved by the Supreme Theological Council and the Nine-Star Synod!”

In this universe, divine authority stood apart from all other governing systems. It existed above any starfield, untouched even by the ruling powers of imperial-grade planets. Planets and relics designated as part of theological domains were entirely off-limits to secular interference.

The man gripping the communicator let out a cold, dismissive laugh.
“Don’t start waving your sacred banners at me. The Nine-Star Synod aside, we all know the Supreme Council is a bunch of useless bureaucrats. By the time they finally schedule their grand ceremonial vote and start their empty rituals—do you really think any of this will still matter?”

He was strikingly handsome. Midnight-black hair like a starless sky, sharp, commanding features. When his brows were flat, he was cold as frost. When lifted slightly—there was a touch of arrogance, madness even. Even when cursing, he carried himself like a statesman. He sounded less like a soldier and more like a federation chancellor giving a swearing-in speech, his voice full of reckless authority.

“…Duly noted.” The voice on the other end was stiff. “I am the Council’s appointed representative to Skyfall Planet. And I’m telling you now: I do not authorize your forces to enter.”

The man answered calmly, “Too late. We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Mondo! Are you not afraid of being stripped of your post?!”

Mondo chuckled.
“Then I’ll thank you in advance. It’s been years since I left home. Early retirement sounds great.”

Before the other could respond, he snapped the communicator shut. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned toward the now-open cabin doors.

A figure entered.

“Well,” Mondo said, grinning. “Back with us?”

Rog sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You kept hounding me like a reaper, what choice did I have but to hurry back?”

He hesitated, recalling the call he’d overheard earlier. His brow creased.
“Mondo… I told Xia Zie I’d drag you back with me someday, but this—aren’t you worried about burning bridges? What if they really do pack you off for good?”

Mondo narrowed his eyes.

For a brief second, Rog thought he saw something—like a flash of blood-red flame deep within those pupils. But it vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only cold, still blackness behind.

Mondo shrugged. The silver chain around his neck caught the light and gleamed sharply.

“Doesn’t matter. I never wanted this anyway.”

And that was when Rog realized—he wasn’t joking.

He truly didn’t care. And that was the part that made the least sense. Rog had watched this man claw his way up from nothing. A no-name grunt, born off-record with no identity, rising all the way to command the military force of an entire star district.

So why now, after all that, throw it away?

“Mondo, you—”

“Look.” Mondo cut him off, turning to the projection of the planet now displayed across the ship’s main screen. “That’s the Four-Pillar Tower of Skyfall Planet.”

Rog couldn’t see his expression, but he heard him say softly,
“We’ve arrived.”

•  

Hexin followed the strange calling, no idea who—or what—was summoning him. He hitched a ride using the name of the war god and slipped back into Sun City. A moment later, he descended onto an unfamiliar planet.

Towering peaks. Rugged mountains. The sky was wide and pristine, clouds rolling in vast seas above the earth—this was the first thing he saw.

Winds rushed between the ridgelines, fierce and untamed, tugging at the hems of his robe. Leaves rustled like waves in a jade-green sea, tumbling across the slopes in layer after vibrant layer.

For just a moment, Hexin almost thought he’d returned to the divine realm of ten thousand years ago.

Especially when he saw the tower.

The great tower, perched high atop the steepest peak.

He dismissed his spear with a flick of the hand and leapt to the summit across from it, landing lightly on the facing cliff. From across the deep, echoing gorge, he looked up.

It was tall, solemn, anchored by four massive external chains snaking into its core. He didn’t need to go inside to imagine them—those snake-like bindings wrapped tight around the ancient stone columns. The pillars would be engraved, as always, in strange script no one could decipher. They whispered of something long forgotten. Something that endured.

Then came footsteps. A group of people appeared on the winding mountain trail below.

At the front walked someone waving a small flag that read StarNav Tours. The illusion shattered.

Probably a tour guide. He raised a mic to his mouth and pointed with the flag.
“Everyone, look over there!”

He gestured toward the opposing peak.
“That lone structure is the legendary Four-Pillar Tower! The name ‘Skyfall Planet’ comes from this very tower—descended from the heavens itself!”

The tourists who’d been fiddling with devices or admiring the view suddenly snapped to attention. They pressed eagerly against the railings, not caring at all that beyond them was a sheer drop into endless abyss. Whether it was the thrill, the awe, or something deeper—they forgot all fear in that moment.

The quiet mountains burst into noise.

Hexin arched an eyebrow at the rising din.

Huh. You know what?
Turning the Four-Pillar Tower into a tourist destination… actually kind of made sense.

Back on Blue Star, every scenic spot or historic ruin with even a scrap of fame got turned into a hotspot, drawing crowds nonstop. In the interstellar era, with tech and communication even more advanced, if no one had tried to commercialize something like this—it’d be more surprising.

As expected, no matter where in the universe you went, tourism was still the most enduring and profitable goldmine. It was almost painfully pragmatic. Hexin now fully believed Xia Zie’s words—that Baihe Star had boomed thanks to traces of a god having once appeared there. That statement now sounded incredibly plausible.

It seemed he’d need to start planning his appearances more carefully. With so many people watching every move his alternate identities made, he’d have to start treading carefully. No slipping up.

Hexin nodded to himself in quiet approval.

Down below on the mountain path, the guide was still reminding the excited crowd to mind their safety. But this wasn’t the first group he’d brought, so while he was clearly a little exasperated, he handled it with the weary familiarity of someone long resigned to the chaos.

After all, the Four-Pillar Tower was one of the best-preserved divine-era relics still accessible today—and it had been officially authenticated by the Supreme Theological Council. Many other sites were either under strict preservation or too badly damaged to be visited. In comparison, the Tower’s scheduled half-month opening each year was a blessing for archaeologists, adventurers, tourists, theological scholars, and pilgrims alike.

A little girl in the group was fiddling with her terminal, trying to film the tower. But perhaps dissatisfied with the single angle, she lifted the device and began rotating to find a new perspective.

And that’s when she saw Hexin.

She was already at the very end of the mountain path—the viewing platform. There were no more steps beyond this point. Yet there he was, standing even higher, atop a peak that was theoretically unreachable.

Hexin, feeling her gaze, glanced down.

The war god had always been the least interested in keeping up appearances. All that divine dignity and untouchable majesty the other supreme gods clung to—he considered it less useful than a scrap of trash.

So he smiled openly, then slowly lifted a finger to his lips.

—Shh.

The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, stunned.

And in the next second, Hexin vanished with a flick of his silver spear. If someone had sharp enough senses, they might’ve caught the faint afterimage flying toward the Four-Pillar Tower.

“Sweetie, come quick! Mommy found the perfect angle! The tower looks amazing from here!” her mother called from behind.

The girl blinked. She’d zoomed in far enough to clearly see the man—and yet, somehow, she’d forgotten to take a photo. Maybe her mind had gone blank, overwhelmed in the moment.

She was too young to understand the weight of what she’d seen. But for the first time in her life, she felt something stir—something that seized her soul.

Like the first time she saw a mountain.
Like the first time she saw the ocean.
Like the first time she watched the sun rise.

Now, she had seen a blazing fire—burning in the deepest night.
And it shone brighter than daylight. It was freer than the wind.

“…Mommy, I saw an immortal! He’s prettier than the tower!” she exclaimed, childishly awestruck.

Her mother laughed, and her voice was carried away by a passing breeze—drifting softly through the mountain valley.

The sea of forest whispered.

Meanwhile, Hexin landed directly atop the Four-Pillar Tower’s mountain.

The entire area surrounding this ancient relic was lined with surveillance equipment. But as the cameras tried to capture his approach, they fizzled—each frame distorting as though some invisible force had bent the image itself. All they caught was a ripple in the air, like static across a screen too weak to handle the signal.

Hexin walked straight up to the tower.

A sign stood nearby:
Visitors Prohibited
No Touching. No Entry.

Not a soul was around. The path leading to the tower had been tightly sealed off. The current viewing area on the adjacent mountain had already been a long, hard-won compromise.

Just as he was about to step forward, Hexin stopped.

He’d felt something.

He turned his gaze from the tower to the ground beneath his feet—surprised.

The mountain was solid, yes—but hollow at the core. A faint power pulsed up from below, subtle but distinct.

—So, there was more hidden inside this mountain.

Hexin’s lips curled slightly in amusement. He stepped forward and pushed open the tower doors.

But at that very moment, the skies above Skyfall Planet filled with warships.

The tourists had no idea what was happening. Chaos erupted instantly. They stared up in terror at the dense, insect-like fleet blanketing the sky.

This was no display ordinary civilians had ever seen.

The ships moved into formation with precision, completely unbothered by the panic below. Like a thundercloud pressing down on the world, they descended—declaring:

“All lifeforms currently on Skyfall Planet must evacuate immediately.
You will depart via Gate A3 within one hour.”

“Repeat: You have one hour to leave.”

Shouts rang out. Confused, frightened, angry voices filled the valley.

“What do you mean, one hour?!”
“Why are we being forced to leave?!”
“What happens after one hour?!”

The ships hovered low. Ramps extended.

Fully armed soldiers poured out by the hundreds. In front of them all stood Mondo. He looked out over the stunned, scrambling, furious faces.

And calmly said,

“At that time, this will become a battlefield.”

A battlefield against monsters.