I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 276: The Truth I Was Afraid Of

Lisette stood by the firepit as the others gathered. They had just returned from a training session, flushed with laughter and light fatigue. Tamari was juggling stones again. Minvera had half-disassembled a drone mid-stride. Kaelenna was humming a new melody, and Irelia was quietly brewing tea beside the stone basin.

It would have been a perfect evening—one of peace, warmth, and trust.

And it terrified her.

She clenched her fingers at her side. For a moment, she almost turned back. But Isaac's words echoed again: Trust them. You're part of the soul that holds this together.

She stepped into the circle of light.

"I need to tell you something," she said quietly.

The others stopped, looking up. No one spoke, but all attention turned to her.

"I've been hiding something," she continued. "Since before I ever came to Arx Aurelia. Since before I even knew how to use ink."

Tamari lowered the stones, her grin fading. Minvera sat upright. Irelia watched without a word. Kaelenna's hum slowed into silence.

Lisette took a breath and pulled back her sleeve.

A dark violet spiral shimmered faintly just beneath her skin, etched like a brand across her wrist. It didn't glow with power—but with quiet, steady decay. Even her ink avoided it, recoiling as if the mark rejected anything pure.

"This is a divine curse," she said, forcing the words out. "I don't know which god did it. Or why. But I was born with it. When it activated, my uncle—who ruled our homeland at the time—demanded my execution. He said I was a threat to the order of the gods."

Tamari stood slowly, fists clenched. "He what?"

Lisette's voice wavered. "My parents begged him to spare me. So instead of killing me, he exiled me. I've… kept it secret ever since. Because I thought—if anyone knew, they'd treat me differently. Like a walking ruin. Like a liability."

She swallowed hard and looked at them—really looked. "I thought… maybe even all of you would leave me behind."

The fire crackled.

Minvera was the first to move. She didn't say anything. She just stood up, walked over, and smacked Lisette lightly on the head with a half-folded wrench.

"Ow—what was that for?"

"You idiot," Minvera muttered. "You think I'd care about some divine drama? If anything, that makes you cooler."

Tamari stepped in next and threw an arm around Lisette's shoulders. "I was waiting for the tragic backstory. Everyone in Threadbound gets one eventually."

Kaelenna smiled gently and reached for Lisette's hand, tracing around the mark with a soft hum. "It's not darkness. It's just… weight. Let us carry it with you."

Irelia approached last, kneeling before her.

"You are not a burden," she said softly. "You are our center. Without you, our illusions fall apart."

Lisette blinked, her vision blurring despite herself. "You're not afraid?"

"No," Irelia whispered, golden threads pulsing faintly between them. "Because now, we understand you."

Lisette laughed—quiet and shaking and full of release.

And in that moment, the spiral mark on her skin pulsed once… then dimmed slightly. As if, for the first time, it recognized she was no longer alone.

Chapter 277: The God Who Came in Person

The moon was high over Emberlight, its soft silver glow pouring over the quiet clearing where the five members of Threadbound stood. Lisette had just bared her soul, and her friends had embraced her without hesitation. That alone should have been the end of the story.

But Isaac knew better.

He stepped forward, eyes focused not on Lisette's face, but on the mark that writhed beneath her skin. Even now, it pulsed with a faint resistance, as if daring anyone to challenge it.

"This isn't just a curse," Isaac murmured. "It's a claim."

Lisette lowered her head. "I thought so too. I just didn't know what to do about it."

"You don't have to." He raised his hand.

The world shimmered.

Something ancient and radiant surged through him—not light, not heat, but genesis.

[Luminarch Genesis – Rank Ω]

Status: Permanently Active

—Blessed Domain Confirmed

—Divine Affliction Detected: Soulbind Curse [CLASS: Primordial Wrath – Godbound Origin]

—Commencing Absolute Purification...

A pulse erupted from Isaac's chest—soft, golden, and impossibly bright. It bathed Emberlight in waves of colorless light, silent and sure. The grass glowed. The stars held their breath.

Lisette gasped as the mark on her wrist ignited.

It fought.

It screamed.

But it was already unraveling.

The spiral bled away into dust, cast apart by the force of Luminarch Genesis and the Vaultheart Core Pulse that saturated all of Emberlight with divine resonance. The curse died without ceremony—like a lie exposed beneath truth.

And Lisette collapsed forward.

Isaac caught her gently.

Her skin was cool, her breath slow—but steady. More than that, her eyes had lost the ever-present weight that had haunted her since the day they met.

"It's gone," she whispered.

Minvera let out a shaky laugh. Kaelenna pressed her hands together in prayer. Tamari whooped, pumping her fist. Irelia simply smiled and looked at Isaac.

But the celebration lasted only a moment.

Because the world trembled.

No—the sky did.

A sound like a thousand cords snapping in unison rang out across Arx Aurelia. Emberlight itself shimmered with tension as the boundary between realms buckled.

And then—

Something appeared above the Academy.

A titanic shape, coalescing out of void and wrath, formed from spiraling wings of divine geometry and a face that bore no mouth, only a blazing sigil of judgment. Its eyes were infinite mirrors. Its limbs held spears of flame and ice.

It did not arrive through ritual.

It did not descend in avatar form.

It was here. Entirely.

Tamari stumbled back, her voice caught in her throat. "What… what is that?"

Kaelenna couldn't speak.

Even Minvera's eyes went wide with something she rarely showed: fear.

Lisette was already on her knees, clutching her chest.

Isaac's gaze narrowed. His aura flared.

"That," he said quietly, "is no projection."

The air warped.

The world cracked like a mirror beneath too much pressure.

A voice—echoing directly into the minds of all who heard it—spoke with the weight of ancient law:

"You have interfered with divine judgment.

That soul was mine."

Isaac stood between the god and the others, his own aura rising like the dawn of a second sun.

He understood now.

This wasn't one of the foreign deities who needed avatars or faith sacrifices to reach this world.

This was a native god.

A true god of Terra.

And it had come to reclaim what he just saved.

Chapter 278: The Weight of a God

The divine being hung in the sky like a second sun—blinding, massive, impossible to ignore. Spirals of law and flame turned around its core, its body composed of pure dominion, elemental fury, and unyielding structure. It didn't arrive with trumpets or prophecy.

It simply was.

All across Arx Aurelia, people dropped to their knees. Even seasoned instructors, nobles, and scholars of divine theology could barely stand. Many instinctively activated protective barriers. Some fainted.

None could look directly at him.

None… except Isaac.

He stood at the center of Emberlight's garden clearing, arms folded, eyes relaxed. Behind him, the five girls—Threadbound—gathered instinctively. Tamari snarled. Kaelenna trembled. Minvera's defenses activated on instinct. Irelia's threads curled toward Lisette, shielding her.

And Lisette herself?

She stood still, barely able to breathe. That mark—the curse that had defined her life—was gone, undone by Isaac's hand. But the one who placed it had come to reclaim his will.

"I had forgotten the smell of rebellion," the god said, his voice echoing through the bones of the world. "You—who dares sever my decree. Mortal. Speak your name."

Isaac's smile was slow, amused. He tilted his head slightly.

"You placed a curse on a child," he said. "And you thought no one would notice when she bled."

The god's eyes flared. "You've interfered with judgment. That soul was destined for purification."

Isaac raised one hand, lazily flicking his fingers. A wave of golden light rippled from him in all directions—a Vaultheart pulse, saturated with Emberlight's protective field. It touched the god's influence and began unraveling its presence like silk.

"I'm not interested in your judgment," Isaac said calmly. "Only in your consequences."

The god descended, his pressure rising. The air cracked, trees bent away, the sky shivered.

All of Arx Aurelia saw it now—students, teachers, nobles. A true god had appeared.

No avatar. No vessel.

This was no projection of will. This was a being of divine origin walking upon Terra in its full state.

It should have been the end.

But Isaac looked bored.

He activated [Soulpiercer Sight – Rank A].

[Analyzing Target…]

Name: ORIAX – God of Binding, Law, and Subjugation

Race: Native Deity of Terra

Level: 402

HP: 1,245,000

MP: 980,000

Strength: 12,600

Agility: 11,400

Endurance: 13,000

Intelligence: 10,850

Willpower: 10,100

Charisma: 10,700

Class: Divine Lawkeeper

Domain: Binding, Curses, Submission

Divine Core: Fully Present

Threat Level: S+ (Relative)

Note: Subject possesses full native access to Terra's divine laws. Immune to conventional divine banishment. Unkillable by standard avatars. Radiates suppressive authority against weaker mortals.

Isaac blinked once. Then chuckled.

OriAX narrowed his flaming gaze. "You mock me?"

"No," Isaac replied. "I just realized you're proud of this."

He stepped forward. His aura surged—but not violently. It rose like a tide, calm and endless. A domain folded outward from his presence. Grass bloomed. The air turned warm. The moonlight didn't fade—it sharpened.

[Luminarch Genesis – Ω Rank]

Aura Active: [Genesis Bloom]

Blessed Domain Overlap Detected

Suppression Engaged: Divine Wrath-Type Core

Status: 100% Dominant Aura Supremacy Achieved

OriAX's descent slowed.

He tried to advance further—only to find the world itself resisting him. The realm of Emberlight, infused with Isaac's Vaultheart Core Pulse, refused to bow. The god's pressure was neutralized the moment it entered the border of Isaac's domain.

Isaac's voice didn't rise. It remained calm.

"You cursed my student. Then came in person to reclaim what was never yours. I should erase you."

OriAX snarled. "You presume to threaten a god?"

"I've killed far more than two gods," Isaac said softly. "But if you don't turn around right now, you'll be the next."

Behind him, Lisette let out a shaky breath. For the first time in years, her hands weren't shaking from fear.

They were shaking from something else.

Hope.

Chapter 279: The Lesson of a God

The god loomed above them still, but something had shifted.

His divine pressure, once suffocating, now hung heavy with hesitation.

"I ask again," OriAX said, his voice a thousand echoes of ancient law. "Who are you, mortal?"

Isaac's gaze remained steady. He stepped forward, each footfall echoing across the air like a quiet verdict.

"I am a teacher," he said calmly. "And Lisette—the one you cursed—is my student."

OriAX tilted his head. "You posture well. But power comes not from titles—only from worth."

The sky rumbled at his words, but Isaac remained still.

"You don't know who I am," Isaac said, voice cool and unhurried. "That's fine. Most of the things I've erased didn't have time to remember me either."

A flicker of uncertainty passed through the god's mirrored eyes.

Then, arrogance returned.

OriAX hurled a divine spear, formed from condensed law and oathbinding flame. It blazed with judgment, sharp enough to tear through soul and system alike.

Isaac raised his hand.

The spear stopped midair—frozen. It didn't explode. It didn't shatter.

It simply unraveled into golden threads and dissolved.

And then Isaac disappeared.

OriAX blinked—and the next instant, Isaac's fist was in his gut.

The world cracked.

The god was sent hurtling backward through the clouds, his body crashing into a distant barrier ward above the Academy, then plummeting back down in a controlled free-fall—until Isaac caught him midair with a thought and dragged him back into position like a puppet on a string.

OriAX tried to speak—but Isaac stepped forward again, faster than thought, and struck him across the face. A slap—not with rage, but contempt.

"You curse a child and call it divine will."

Isaac flicked his wrist. OriAX's divine armor shattered, divine runes spilling off him like ash.

"You hide in obscurity for centuries, then reappear to claim dominion."

A kick to the chest sent the god crashing down—again.

"You're not divine. You're petty."

OriAX screamed, divine fire exploding around him—but within Isaac's domain, [Genesis Bloom] flared again. Every eruption was absorbed, nullified, inverted.

[Luminarch Genesis – Ω Rank]

Divine Affliction Detected: WRATH-BOUND CORE

Authority Overridden

Isaac descended like the sky itself and drove OriAX into the ground with one hand. Cracks spread across the clouds and celestial floor. The god howled, golden ichor staining his form.

But Isaac raised his other hand—

And healed him.

Completely.

Every fracture, every divine wound, undone.

Only for Isaac to hit him again.

"Lesson's not over," he said.

Again. The god rose—reformed—only to be broken again.

And the world watched.

Magic cameras across the arena—brought in to broadcast the Academy's final trials—had turned upward. Reporters from over a dozen nations stood frozen, transmitting every second.

Royals from the high booths—elves, beastkin, dwarves, even dragonblooded aristocrats—stood speechless.

The god OriAX, one of Terra's native deities, was being humiliated.

No armies. No artifacts. No divine counters.

Just Isaac.

Each strike that landed felt like a declaration. Each time OriAX rose only to fall again, the watching world began to understand.

This wasn't a mage.

This wasn't a prodigy.

This was a cataclysm wearing a smile.

The final blow wasn't violent.

Isaac appeared behind the god, gripped the back of his neck, and whispered something only OriAX heard.

Whatever it was—

The god wept.

Chapter 280: The World Watches the Lesson

He was still kneeling.

The god OriAX, once a name whispered in reverence across ancient temples, the so-called arbiter of divine law, remained bowed before Isaac—shaking, breathing hard, body whole but broken.

Isaac hadn't moved.

Not truly.

He stood there, expression calm. Not smug. Not angry. Simply disappointed. The kind of disappointment that reached deeper than rage—because it came from a place of absolute understanding.

"You wanted obedience," he said, voice carrying across the world through the still-broadcasting divination cameras. "But you never understood devotion. You cursed the innocent and called it doctrine. That ends now."

OriAX tried to look up—but couldn't.

And Isaac still hadn't given permission to stand.

Far above, in the floating towers of Arx Aurelia, silence reigned.

The royal seats—occupied by monarchs and emissaries of twelve nations—sat frozen. Even the ever-composed elven queen from the Moonward Court had gone pale. The dwarven warlord gripped his axe in both hands, not out of aggression, but to stop them from shaking.

Beastkin high-chieftains muttered prayers in forgotten tongues.

A dragon-blooded prince stared at the arena with wide, unbelieving eyes.

One human duke leaned to the side and whispered what no one dared to say aloud:

"We may not be watching a mortal at all."

In the faculty box, several of the oldest professors—archmages, divine scholars, even a retired cardinal—exchanged glances. No one said it, but they all knew:

Isaac had demonstrated not just power.

He had demonstrated ownership of reality.

In the Grand Broadcast Network Tower, dozens of magical scribes and seers frantically adjusted runes and lenses.

"We're still live! Keep the signal stable!"

"Gods, this is going to every continent!"

"Turn the commentary off—no one needs it now."

The lead broadcaster, an old elf with three centuries of experience, sat in stunned silence, muttering the same word over and over.

"Who is he… who is he… who…"

Down in the student commons, chaos boiled.

Threadbound's rivals—once arrogant, once dismissive—had gone deathly silent. A few even packed their belongings. One particularly prideful noble heir fainted after realizing the god he prayed to had just been publicly taught like a schoolboy.

Others watched with glassy eyes. Some in reverence. Some in fear.

All in awe.

And in Emberlight's inner sanctum, the five girls stood still.

Tamari paced with twitching fists. "He's not done yet, is he?"

Minvera blinked rapidly, murmuring, "That was just… one hand. Just one hand..."

Kaelenna whispered a soft prayer—not to any god, but to Isaac.

Lisette remained kneeling, a trembling smile forming on her lips. "He did it for me…"

Irelia looked at the god's bowed form with calm, golden-lit eyes.

"He did it for all of us."

But Isaac wasn't finished.

He finally stepped forward again, his voice low, clear, and echoing not with volume—but presence.

"Lesson one: power is not permission."

He raised his hand. OriAX's divine sigils peeled away like rotted leaves.

"Lesson two: divinity is not immunity."

The sky shook.

And then:

"Lesson three," Isaac said softly, "begins now."

The world held its breath again.

And this time—

Even the other gods began to watch.

Chapter 281: The Ones Who Watch

Far beyond the clouds of Terra, across the dividing veils of dimension and divinity, an invisible tremor echoed. It was not the quake of battle or the toll of collapsing realms. It was something far more ancient—recognition. Across countless thrones in distant heavens, those who had long considered themselves the rulers of the cosmos now paused, watching the events unfold below with frozen breath and widening eyes.

Within the storm-wreathed halls of Olympus, twelve divine presences shimmered across their thrones—each one wrapped in myth, clothed in majesty. The air crackled with divine tension, as Zeus, King of the Gods, leaned forward on his lightning-forged seat, his fingers twitching involuntarily as arcs of electricity danced along his knuckles. He had seen gods fall before. He had even slain some himself. But never like this.

Hera sat beside him, her ever-composed face showing a rare flicker of disbelief. "That isn't an avatar," she whispered, eyes narrowing as Isaac brought OriAX to his knees with a single blow. "He didn't descend as a vessel. That man is flesh and soul—no divine intermediary."

Poseidon, grim and grimacing, gripped his trident harder. "And that god… he wasn't weak. He radiated a power not far removed from the demons we dread—stronger than some of us, even." He said it not as an insult, but as a confession.

On the other side, Athena had already summoned a floating projection of Isaac's movements, her hands dancing across streams of tactical data and divine flowcharts. Each moment, each strike, she slowed, dissected, and catalogued. Her brows furrowed deeper with every analysis. "His combat rhythm breaks all known patterns. His pressure control is unnatural. And that last movement—he altered causality around the god's reaction timing."

Apollo watched in silence, his usual mirth burned away by stunned awe. Even Artemis, ever silent and sharp-eyed, couldn't take her gaze away. Hephaestus paused mid-forging, ignoring the molten steel spilling from his latest invention. Aphrodite, for the first time in an age, looked uncertain—her beauty dimmed by something closer to wonder. Hermes whispered, almost reverently, "He healed the god… just to break him again. That wasn't cruelty. That was instruction."

And Hestia, whose presence was warmth and quiet, didn't speak. But her expression darkened slightly. She remembered the name.

Isaac.

A name once brushed off by even their scholars. A name that had appeared in a world message months ago, connected to the fall of Beelzebub and the obliteration of Satan. They had presumed it was an error in the mortal system—a title, a fluke. But now, watching this man dismantle a god with nothing but measured footwork and aura control, they knew better. This wasn't myth. This wasn't prophecy. This was reality.

Across the mist-shrouded gates of Asgard, Odin gazed into the well of worlds through the all-seeing eye of his ravens, thought and memory swirling as he watched OriAX's body crash again into the earth—only to be healed and broken anew. His grip on Gungnir tightened, knuckles pale beneath divine skin.

Thor's brows furrowed, lightning flaring silently along his back. "He didn't even draw a weapon," the Thunderer muttered. "He didn't need to. That god fell like he was nothing."

Freya, goddess of beauty and war, said nothing. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, her fingers pressed against her lips as she remembered that singular moment—not long ago—when Mammon had abruptly turned and fled mid-conflict. It hadn't made sense. Mammon, the Sin of Greed, never retreated. But now… it did. Because this man—this mortal—was watching. The one who saved her life… without ever knowing.

And as the camera runes of Terra's broadcast networks continued to stream Isaac's lesson to every corner of the world, even the Lower Hells had gone quiet.

Meanwhile, within the serene heart of Emberlight, the realm Isaac himself had forged, three women lounged together atop a velvet-carved balcony overlooking the inner sky. Asmodeus, the once-feared Great Demon of Lust, sat barefoot and smiling, sipping a chilled fruit drink. Sylvalen, the ninth elven princess, elegantly nibbled on honeyed fruit slices. Beside her, Lira, quiet and bright-eyed, leaned forward with interest as OriAX was knocked flat for the second time.

All three were radiant. All three were utterly relaxed.

"Is this even a fight?" Sylvalen asked, her voice soft with amusement.

"Not yet," Lira replied between bites. "He's just warming up."

"I give the god two more minutes," Asmodeus said cheerfully. "And that's me being generous."

None of them looked afraid. They had seen Isaac in his true strength—up close, where titles and terror melted into something deeper. Trust.

Below their perch, throughout Emberlight's vast sanctuaries and crystal cities, thousands of beings—beastkin, mortals, celestials, even former cultists—paused in the middle of prayer, crafting, or ritual. They had no idea what battle was taking place outside their world's veil. They only saw the sky bloom faintly with golden light.

And in that light, they bowed.

They didn't know the details. They didn't know the name of the enemy. But they knew one thing, felt one truth.

Their god was watching over them.

Even the Archangels, protectors of celestial order, watched from the Golden Vaults of the High Dominion. Michael, whose sword could level continents, stood with his arms crossed and his wings drawn close—not in battle stance, but in wary contemplation. Gabriel's hands hovered above a silent harp. Raphael frowned, deeply. They had once debated if Isaac was a threat to divine balance. That debate was now over.

He was.

But Isaac didn't acknowledge any of them.

He didn't look to Olympus, or Asgard, or Heaven, or Hell.

He simply stepped forward, lifting his hand with unshakable calm. OriAX flinched at the motion—this time not in pain, but in shame.

Isaac gazed at him, at the once-proud god brought to kneel before mortals, not through wrath or vengeance, but instruction. His voice was still soft, still low, but it carried across all realms as if spoken from the heart of the world itself.

"Lesson one: power is not permission."

OriAX's body twitched as another layer of divine pride burned away.

"Lesson two: divinity is not immunity."

The world pulsed. The weight of Emberlight rose again, pressing against the fragile illusion of the divine right to rule.

And finally, Isaac turned, his gaze stretching far beyond the physical, far beyond the skies. He knew they were watching. All of them.

And he smiled.

"Lesson three," he whispered, "begins now."

Chapter 282: Crushed Doctrine

OriAX had existed for millennia. He had silenced rebellions with a breath, severed heresies with a glance, and turned kings into dust for daring to question divine order. In all his long life, not once had he known fear. Not once had he felt helpless.

Until now.

He staggered back, divine ichor staining the folds of his mantle, his eyes wide and disoriented. The blows hadn't just landed—they had disassembled him, breaking apart more than flesh and form. They had carved into his very dogma.

Across the world, every eye remained fixed on him. Nobles, gods, mortals, demons, angels—all were watching. The skies still shimmered with golden light, and Isaac stood beneath it like the axis of judgment itself.

OriAX's voice came broken. "Why… why are you doing this?"

Isaac's reply was like still water over broken stone.

"Because you cursed my student."

He raised a hand again.

OriAX tried to raise a shield—tried to invoke a doctrine of sanctity, of divine immunity.

It didn't matter.

Isaac's next strike shattered all defenses and slammed OriAX through the veil of sky, hurling him downward. The divine body smashed through the clouds, tore past the upper dome of Arx Aurelia, and crashed into the Academy's plaza in a brilliant explosion of rubble, stone, and disbelief.

The once-mighty god was left sprawled in a crater, moaning in disbelief. All around him, students and nobles fled screaming. Instructors raised protective barriers. Reporters scrambled to re-aim their broadcasting relics.

But it was too late.

The world had already seen it.

OriAX rose slowly from the debris, his golden armor flickering and unstable, his pride long since beaten into dust. His divine pride could not accept it—would not accept it. And so, he tried one last act of desperation.

He turned toward the five girls—Threadbound—still standing on the raised platform of Emberlight's outer terrace.

They were his target now.

'If I can take them hostage,' the thought raced, 'I can bargain, regain leverage—'

He moved.

And in that instant, Isaac was already there.

Not with a weapon.

Not with a spell.

Just his foot, descending with the weight of absolute judgment.

With the faintest hum of power, Isaac stomped, his heel connecting with OriAX's skull before the god had taken his third step.

The result was instant.

OriAX was driven down—violently—the air howling as his head cratered the earth. The ground collapsed beneath him, and the divine body plunged into the Academy's lower level with a deafening crash, vanishing into the stone as if swallowed by judgment itself.

A heartbeat of silence followed.

Then Isaac spoke again—voice ringing clearly across every speaker, every broadcast, every divine mirror:

"You don't touch my students.

Not in thought.

Not in word.

Not in reach."

Up above, the five girls stared down in stunned silence.

Lisette pressed both hands to her mouth.

Tamari whispered, "He was going to—"

"But he didn't," Minvera muttered, eyes wide.

Irelia's threads curled protectively around Lisette.

Kaelenna looked at Isaac, and for the first time, understood what protection from him truly meant.

And in the audience—across the thrones of gods and cathedrals of kings—no one moved.

No one breathed.

Because Isaac had made one thing clear, not just to OriAX, but to all of existence:

Hurt his students, and you answer to him.

Chapter 283: After the Fall

The dust hadn't yet settled from the crater Isaac had driven OriAX into, but the world had already changed.

At the heart of Arx Aurelia's grand arena, silence reigned. No cheers, no cries, no applause—only stunned, breathless stillness. The divine light from Emberlight's sky still lingered like a curtain of judgment drawn halfway open. The god who had descended in glory was now buried beneath the academy grounds, and the man who put him there stood upright, calm, and utterly untouched.

There was no music to announce the end.

No voice to declare victory.

Because no one had expected this.

Up in the royal observatory platforms, monarchs and diplomats of every race—elves, beastkin, dwarves, humans, and more—remained frozen. The King of Bronzehowl lowered his war axe, sweat beading on his furred brow. The Moonward Matriarch clutched the armrest of her crystalline throne with trembling fingers. Even the High Chancellor of the Celestial Spire had lowered his divine quill.

"This wasn't a battle," someone whispered. "This was a warning."

Below, reporters from every continent fumbled to recalibrate their recording arrays. Words like "historic," "unprecedented," and "divine violation protocol" flooded magical communication channels. Entire teams of scholars began transmitting footage to global centers of analysis. No one argued. No one cut the feed.

They all knew:

The world had just witnessed the fall of a god—live.

Back inside the Academy's faculty circle, even the most hardened instructors were at a loss.

Headmaster Caelus, usually the calm center of Arx Aurelia's storm, stood on the balcony with his arms folded. His face was unreadable. Only those closest might have noticed the tightness in his jaw… or the pride hiding behind it.

One of the assistant deans finally broke the silence.

"Should we… do something?"

Caelus didn't look away from the arena.

"Pray we never need to."

Another instructor approached, voice hushed with awe. "What do we tell the world? That a teacher just annihilated a god?"

"No." Caelus shook his head slowly. "We tell them the truth."

"And what's that?"

He finally looked down at the devastated crater. At Isaac.

"That a student who earns his protection will never stand alone again."

In the dormitories, student groups huddled around divination screens and echo-mirrors. There were no more jokes. No more rivalry. No more envy.

Only respect.

And fear.

Isaac's name was no longer just whispered in curiosity. Now it was spoken with reverence—and caution. The students of Arx Aurelia had watched him decimate a divine being in less than five minutes. He hadn't roared. He hadn't threatened. He had simply decided that OriAX was wrong—and made the world follow.

"I thought he was just a battle instructor," a young mage whispered, clutching her roommate's arm.

"No," her friend said. "He's something else."

"What?"

There was a pause.

Then:

"…I don't think there's a word for it yet."

Beyond the continent, world governments issued emergency statements. Churches of OriAX shuttered their doors or rapidly changed doctrine. Faiths realigned. Kingdoms redrew diplomatic stances. Mercenary groups, divine cults, ancient sects—they all reviewed the footage again and again, hoping to find anything that could explain it.

They found nothing.

No trick.

No loophole.

Only Isaac.

And back in Emberlight, in a quiet balcony garden, Asmodeus, Lira, and Sylvalen leaned against one another, watching the golden light above their world slowly fade.

"Did anyone even try to help that god?" Lira asked, sipping her drink.

"No one could," Sylvalen replied. "That's the point."

Asmodeus smirked. "And still he held back."

They looked up, where Isaac's aura still lingered like a sun that refused to set.

In the cities below, the citizens of Emberlight had dropped to their knees, not in terror—but in silent, instinctive worship. They didn't know the details. They didn't see the fight. But they felt something immense, something divine, something protective move through the sky.

To them, Isaac wasn't just their ruler anymore.

He was something sacred.

And somewhere deep beneath the Academy, OriAX remained unconscious in the dark, the weight of his broken pride heavier than stone.

Chapter 284: A Messenger Kneels

The tremors had faded. The light had dimmed. But the weight in the air remained.

Even with OriAX buried deep beneath the Academy's ruined stone, the atmosphere around Arx Aurelia pulsed with an invisible current—like the calm after a cosmic storm. No one dared move toward Isaac. Even the instructors and enforcers tasked with stabilizing the Academy grounds kept their distance, as if crossing some sacred boundary they weren't worthy of approaching.

Isaac stood alone near the broken crater, arms folded loosely, his expression unreadable. The golden halo of [Luminarch Genesis] flickered faintly above him, fading only now that the lesson was over. He didn't look tired. He didn't look pleased. He simply existed—unmoved and untouchable.

Then came the shift.

A golden thread shimmered in the sky, cutting through the heavens like a divine needle. It didn't burn like OriAX's descent. It didn't shake the world. But those who could feel divinity recognized it instantly.

A messenger was coming.

A shimmer of light took form high above the ruined arena. It did not explode with force or announce itself with trumpets. It simply was. A figure descended on wings of tempered starlight—neither angel nor god, but something between. A conduit.

He wore robes of woven constellations. His feet never touched the earth. His eyes shimmered like twin moons—but they never once met Isaac's gaze.

When he landed, it was not with the dignity of a herald—but the hesitation of a man standing before a flame that might consume him.

He dropped to one knee immediately.

"I…" The messenger swallowed. "I come as a representative—not of OriAX, but of the Pantheonic Concord. I bear no threat. Only… a question."

Isaac said nothing. The air around him remained perfectly still, as if the world itself held its breath.

The messenger's hands trembled.

"We… the gods who watch from beyond… we wish to know…" He looked up—just barely—his voice cracking.

"…What are you?"

The question was not spoken in challenge.

It was spoken in fear.

Because nothing they had ever known, nothing recorded in divine scripture or prophetic flame, had prepared them for Isaac—a man who erased gods, rewrote curses, and walked among mortals as if divinity were just another tool in his hand.

Isaac tilted his head slightly. He looked at the messenger—not unkindly, but with a gaze that peeled through time and faith.

"I'm a teacher," he said simply.

The messenger blinked. "A… teacher?"

"I teach lessons," Isaac continued. "To my students. To tyrants. And now—apparently—to gods."

The messenger lowered his head further, the strands of his robe dimming like retreating stars.

"Then the gods will listen."

Isaac gave no answer.

Because the silence that followed was the answer.

Chapter 285: The Report Reaches Heaven

The messenger returned through the skies in silence.

His wings, once radiant, now flickered with uncertainty. The trail of starlight behind him was dimmer, like the fading echo of a hymn sung too softly. He held no scroll, no relic, no divine token. Only words. And even those—he carried carefully, like a mortal might carry a flame through a storm.

The moment he crossed the veil into the Pantheonic Concord, a vast, floating dominion where multiple godly pantheons communed, the atmosphere shifted. Divine eyes turned to him as he stepped across the floor of judgment—an infinite disk of woven cosmic light.

Twelve thrones from Olympus burned before him.

Nine thrones from Asgard glowed behind him.

And across the ring, countless other divine seats shimmered with the presence of forgotten gods, ancient guardians, and beings whose names had been lost to time.

The messenger kneeled again—this time not from fear of punishment, but from reverence for what he had witnessed.

Zeus was the first to speak. His voice echoed like thunder restrained. "You saw him?"

The messenger nodded once.

Poseidon's trident tapped against the stone. "Did he speak?"

"…Yes," the messenger replied softly. "He said only a few words. But they were enough."

Athena leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. "And?"

The messenger looked up. Slowly. Carefully.

"He said," he whispered, "'I'm a teacher.'"

The words echoed.

And none of the gods moved.

For a long moment, there was silence. Not the comfortable quiet of divine halls, but the kind that comes when entire truths unravel. Gods of war and wisdom, law and flame, life and death—all sat unmoving, processing a phrase that should have meant nothing… but now meant everything.

Odin was the first to speak.

"And his power?"

The messenger trembled. "Beyond ours. He crushed OriAX without drawing a blade. He healed him only to continue the lesson. His aura is not divine… but it dominates divinity. He did not posture. He did not negotiate. He taught."

Freya's hands clenched in her lap. She closed her eyes, remembering the moment Mammon had fled. That cowardice had saved her life. And now… it all connected. "He could have killed the god outright," she murmured.

"He didn't," the messenger confirmed. "He called it a lesson."

Ares muttered, "That's not a mortal. That's something else."

Hermes added, "And yet, he walks as one."

Hera stood, her gown trailing light. "Then the danger is not just his power, but his restraint."

And that was what terrified them all.

Not just the strength to fell a god.

But the choice not to.

A beat passed.

Then Zeus looked to Odin. "Do we approach him?"

Odin's one eye gleamed. "Not yet."

"Then what do we do?" Demeter asked.

"Wait," Freya said. "And pray he never becomes our lesson."

Chapter 286: After the Storm, the Flame Remains

The golden light that had bathed the skies was gone now, yet its warmth lingered in the hearts of five young women standing upon the stone terrace of Emberlight.

They did not speak at first.

They didn't need to.

The silence was not one of fear or shock—but reverence. A kind of quiet pride that stirred from within, shared between souls who had just seen their world shake… and watched their teacher stand unmoved.

Tamari stretched both arms high overhead, cracking her neck with a low whistle. "So that's what happens when someone messes with one of us." Her lips curved into a grin. "Damn."

Kaelenna, still holding her harp gently against her chest, looked skyward. "I didn't even feel afraid. Just… safe."

Minvera adjusted her goggles, which had fogged slightly from excitement and disbelief. "He made it look like math. Like divine physics. Just… input, output, correction. That wasn't a fight. That was an equation being solved."

Irelia stood quietly, the threads around her glowing with soft soul-light, drifting lazily like drifting smoke. "He never even blinked," she murmured. "And when the god turned toward us… I already knew he wouldn't get close."

Only Lisette said nothing.

Her silver ink still shimmered faintly along her fingertips. Her phantom tails twitched. She stood frozen, eyes wide and flushed cheeks glowing with an emotion deeper than relief.

And then she felt it.

A warm hand brushing through her hair.

Lisette blinked and looked up—right into Isaac's eyes.

He gave her no speeches, no formal words. Just a gentle touch—a hand through her hair, then between her ears. Slow, reassuring, silent.

"I told you not to worry," Isaac said softly.

Lisette's face flushed deeper, and her phantom ears flicked once, then again. Her tail began to sway behind her, betraying the storm of emotion she didn't yet know how to voice.

"I'm not worried," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm just… happy."

Isaac smiled.

He turned then to look at the others. Each of them—Tamari, Minvera, Kaelenna, Irelia—stood tall, proud, unshaken. They hadn't crumbled at divine pressure. They hadn't doubted him. In their eyes, he saw no fear of what they'd witnessed. Only belief.

Irelia stepped forward, her gaze quiet and steady. "Will there be more like him?" she asked. "Other gods?"

Isaac nodded once. "Probably."

"Will you do the same?" Minvera asked, folding her arms.

Isaac paused. "Only if they force me to."

Tamari chuckled. "Then I almost feel sorry for them."

Kaelenna sat down cross-legged, finally relaxing. "I don't. Not even a little."

Lisette, still standing nearest to him, leaned her head gently against Isaac's side. "Thank you… for protecting me."

Isaac looked down at her again. His hand rested against the crown of her head once more. "No one touches my students," he said, as if stating a law older than the gods themselves.

They stood there for a while, five students and their impossible teacher, framed by the recovering skies of a world that would never again see them the same way.

And though no divine trumpets sounded, and no world message announced it—something had changed.

In the hearts of these five girls, in the halls of Arx Aurelia, and in the countless realms watching—

The legend of Isaac the Teacher had begun.