It felt like he had just survived a long, gruelling journey—so exhausting that even his soul let out a cry of despair under the weight.

“Xia Ze! Xia Ze, can you… can you hear me—ksshh—ksshh—”

“……”

“Xia Ze!”

“…This is Xia Ze—huff—I can hear you.”

His voice came out hoarse, ragged with thirst. Every word sounded like it had to be scraped from the bottom of his throat.

On the other end, however, it was like someone had just won the lottery—no, even more dramatic than that. At the very least, Xia Ze could hear chaotic shouting, choked sobs, the clatter of overturned furniture… As if the people on the other side were expressing their overwhelming excitement in the most undignified ways imaginable.

Fortunately, everyone present was no ordinary person. They swallowed their tears and forced themselves back into control.

“First of all, congratulations, Xia Ze!”

“The current date is December 18th, Year 2125 of the Star Epoch. You are the first person in the history of Baihe Star to successfully enter the [Divine Domain]! From this moment on, every word you speak, every step you take, will carry immense historical weight!”

It sounded like official speak—but both Xia Ze and the researchers from Baihe Star’s Department of Theology understood the gravity behind those words.

They were a frail, barren planet, inching forward through the ages. Like an ant reaching out to a giant tree, like a termite taking its first step toward an elephant—this single act had consumed all the effort and courage of their civilization. No amount of precise data could ever calculate the blood, sweat, and sacrifice poured into this moment. Time, money, manpower, resources… All of it merely served to fill a sliver of the endless chasm before them.

And now, they had finally entered the [Divine Domain]—a place akin to Olympus of ancient Greece, or Asgard of Norse myth. Ten thousand years ago, this was the kingdom of the gods in this universe. Though abandoned for reasons unknown, it remained the most vast, most mysterious, most well-known divine ruin in all of the mystic realm.

Planets like Baihe Star, and countless other races across the cosmos, had spent generations chasing it—like moths to a flame.

Whether this land had any boundaries was still a mystery to the known universe. Only 3S-class warriors—those capable of manifesting spiritual bodies—could enter, and even then, they had only ever scratched the surface. The few survivors who returned had barely glimpsed the tip of the iceberg, and the publicly available intel was pitifully sparse. There was no roadmap, no references, no guidance.

Only one thing was certain—proven without a doubt:

Gods had once lived here.

Not merely biological entities, but beings who stood at the pinnacle of the mystic order—far beyond what modern science could comprehend. Proud denizens of incomprehensible dimensions, awakened embodiments of abstract concepts, observers from beyond the world, players from a higher realm… The descriptions were endless, and none of them ever felt too far-fetched.

“Unfortunately, the gods’ age ended ten thousand years ago. Now, only weak remnants of their era remain in the ruins—most of them were once at the bottom of the food chain.”

The past glory had become a faint echo, like mighty titans lost to the river of time, leaving behind only stray ‘wild dogs’ clinging to the husk of a vanished world.

Shaking off the haze in his thoughts, Xia Ze drew a deep breath and forced himself to focus.

—It looked like a wasteland.

Thick fog filled every inch of the air. Strange objects—stones or something else entirely—littered the ground. The soil was pitch-black, dead and unfamiliar, exuding a silent kind of dread.

Just by looking at it, it was nearly impossible to imagine the grandeur of ten thousand years ago, let alone connect it with the ancient myths.

Still, Xia Ze walked slowly, as if unwilling to miss even a speck of dust drifting through the air. He described everything he saw in detail for the communicator.

On the other end, the researchers were furiously documenting every word, flipping through archives with trembling hands, muttering breathless commentary through their excitement.

Who knows how much time passed before Xia Ze suddenly stopped.

—Something had swum past.

Forgive him for calling it a “thing”—its size was simply too vast. Maybe a hundred meters? A thousand? The air instantly turned cold and viscous. He could hear scales scraping through the mist, as a long serpentine silhouette blotted out the sky.

Then, a pair of sharp, vertical pupils burst through the fog. The flames etched at the corners of its eyes looked like they might ignite at any moment—locking onto him in a heartbeat.

Xia Ze’s body froze, rigid as stone.

The researchers on the other end, still caught up in their excited chatter, hadn’t yet noticed the eerie silence. “Of course,” someone said, “when we say ‘bottom of the food chain,’ it’s all relative. Anything that survives in the Divine Domain is at least something that’s earned a footnote in myth—maybe even a descendant of those monsters.”

They sighed in awe. “Damn, even a single one of those casually crawling out would be a planet-scale extinction event… There’ve been a few incidents in history, but always due to special circumstances. In the end, these creatures are loyal ‘guard dogs’—they’d rather endure hellish conditions than leave the Divine Domain, just to stay closer to their creators.”

In that sense, they weren’t so different from the countless civilizations that had risked everything to explore this place.

A few beats later, someone finally noticed.

A tense voice came through the communicator. “Xia Ze, report your status! Do you read?”

Xia Ze took a breath and tried to keep calm. “I’ve encountered a giant serpent with flame markings. I couldn’t estimate its length, but its size is easily comparable to a mobile fortress. It’s seen me—and it’s very agitated.”

But something was… strange.

Staring back at the massive creature, Xia Ze realized—it looked more nervous than he was. Its colossal body whipped across the ground, tail thrashing uncontrollably. That tension didn’t come from fear of him. No, it felt more like it was reacting to something… approaching.

Ah. It was like a hound locked inside for years, suddenly catching the scent of its master returning—bolting to the door in a frenzy, ears alert and eyes brimming with desperation. Sharp, restless, and unable to wait another second.

The ridiculous thought flashed through Xia Ze’s mind and vanished before he could catch it.

Back at the academy, the researchers fell silent. None of them had expected Xia Ze to run into a native Divine Domain creature—the very one they’d just been discussing. By all logic, those entities were supposed to be in permanent dormancy, their activity levels close to zero. An emergency awakening like this was nearly unheard of.

Like admiring a fossil while chatting about T-Rex vs. velociraptor—and suddenly the fossil comes alive, and that T-Rex is barreling straight toward you, teeth bared.

Who could keep calm in a situation like that?!

Someone snatched the communicator. “Flame markings! That must be a Primeval Anaconda from the age of gods! They were the boss battles heroes had to defeat in old myths—and more importantly, they’re pack creatures! If one’s here, the rest aren’t far behind!!”

A panicked “Run—!” hadn’t even made it out of their throat when Xia Ze spoke again.

“New creatures are appearing,” he said flatly—then things began spiraling fast. “I’m seeing a giant with multiple arms. Then… a huge white beast with a tail like a scorpion’s. Insectoid organisms, extremely hostile. And—something I can’t identify—golden flowers, each with a central maw two meters wide…”

Everything happened without warning.
From the depths of the earth, countless monsters beyond imagination began to awaken, bursting forth from the soil like the prologue of a vast and ancient epic, slowly unfurling.

Nearly every time Xia Ze described one, there was a gasp of horror from the other end of the communicator—
“No way, I always thought the Hundred-Armed Giants went extinct during the age of gods!”
“That’s a Gate Beast of Gafaro—run!”
“Don’t make eye contact!”
“The Golden Butterfly King Flower is lethal poison!”
“—”

It felt like their minds were going to shatter, their hearts hammering so violently they might give out at any moment. If it weren’t for their deep trust in Xia Ze, they’d have thought he was playing some elaborate prank.

These names—names that would, on their own, cause a universe-wide uproar—were now rolling off his tongue like they were just items on a list.

Some of the more unhinged researchers could only lament not being there in person. They could recite the names of these creatures, yes—but they’d only ever seen reconstructed images in old archives. Fossils alone were luxury rarities. To witness a living specimen? Even dying would be worth it.

Amidst the growing chaos, Xia Ze still barely managed to maintain the baseline calm of a warrior.

He forced himself to focus on analyzing, thinking, calculating—because if he didn’t, his hands and legs might start trembling uncontrollably in the next second. It wasn’t dramatics—it was instinct, the natural response of a living being confronted with apex predators. No amount of willpower could override it.

The creatures were still gathering. Thousands? Tens of thousands? It was as if, at this very moment, every remaining life form in the Divine Domain had converged here.

Driven by some unknowable premonition, they came like zealots, relentless, tireless. Even the stillness of this land was shattered, a tide of deafening sound crashing down. Xia Ze’s eardrums ached under the pressure.

In the distance, bestial roars echoed, rising and falling like waves. Their footsteps shook the earth; their wings tore through the sky, soaring over continents, crossing oceans.

The colossal anaconda from earlier had long since merged into its vast kin—none of them spared Xia Ze a second glance. It wasn’t because they no longer hungered, or had suddenly developed mercy. It was simply that a new obsession had overtaken every instinct. Nothing else could distract them now.

Predators and prey, kin and strangers—all former distinctions vanished. Now, they shared one identity:

—They were pilgrims.

---

What unfolded before him was a once-in-a-lifetime vision of grandeur.
But this was not an ending. It was the beginning.

Maybe a long time passed. Maybe just a heartbeat.

With the countless great beasts gathered across heaven and earth as its backdrop—
A single beam of light pierced the sky.

Then another. And another. A rain of a thousand golden rays fell, cutting through the fog. In that moment, all creatures—man and monster alike—lifted their heads.

—As if the sun had risen in the dead of night.

—No. The Sun had truly arrived.

They saw a city.

—A sliver of the ancient divine kingdom, long lost to myth, now revealed to the universe.

It began with a surge of golden light rippling through the air like a flood. Countless glimmering specks of gold—like grains of sand guided by a celestial brushstroke—flowed upward, tracing the shape of an enormous city from the sky down.

By the time anyone snapped back to their senses, the city had fully taken form.

They stood before its gate.

The massive doors towered into the heavens, gleaming like pure gold. The outer walls stretched out endlessly, vanishing into the mist. Inside, rooftops and spires shimmered with architectural splendor.

Xia Ze stood in the colossal shadow cast by the city, like a plankton adrift in an ocean—small, awed, and utterly overwhelmed. In this moment, he felt it—viscerally—the magnificence of a civilization at its peak.

Majestic. Blinding. Boundless.

—He knew this city.
He must know this city.

It had been etched into countless myths, glorified in song, immortalized in epic verse. He could recite the lines by heart.

“To behold it is to be struck dumb—
Silence is the truest reverence.”

“It is a miracle of the age of legends—
One that posterity could only glimpse through scattered records, scattered ruins, the whispers of oral tradition. Scholars tried in vain to reconstruct its image—
But all were futile. They couldn’t even graze its surface.”

“Even in the Interstellar Era, its pursuers remain countless…
Or perhaps—they pursue its master.”

“You ask the name of this city?”

“Foolish! You know its master, and yet you ask its name? How absurd!”

“This is the Sun City!
The Eternal Throne of the gods,
The Golden Courtyard,
The Sunwheel on Earth!”

And then—the gates opened.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM—

One after another, three great doors thundered open.

The wide, gleaming avenue stretched out before him in full, breathtaking clarity.

This ancient, boundless city had thrown open its gates, like a towering giant kneeling low, welcoming home a master long awaited.

And who that master was—was obvious.

Xia Ze let out a shaky breath. It felt like an electric current had shot through his limbs, surging from the base of his spine to his skull. His blood boiled. His heart faltered.

His limbs trembled uncontrollably.

He tried to speak—he wasn’t even sure if sound came out.

“It belongs to the highest of the gods—
The Sunwheel of the Heavens…
The Eternal Light…
The god of the Sun.”