Journey to Planar World

The sky, shrouded for hours in spiraling dark clouds and raging lightning, finally began to calm. Sunlight pierced through the gaps in the remaining clouds, illuminating a landscape that could no longer be called a city.

Cirebon, once known as the City of Shrimp, was now nothing but ruins.

Not a single building stood intact.

All that remained was a vast, flooded basin filled with murky, oily water, dotted with mounds of debris like small islands.

Everywhere, giant trenches—wide and deep—scarred the earth, as if its surface had been cleaved by a colossal sword. The marks of the battle were etched permanently into the shattered landscape.

A stifling silence hung over everything, broken only by the hiss of water settling into its new paths and the rustle of wind passing through the ruins.

In the midst of this devastation, a young man knelt on one knee.

”Haah… Haah… Haah…”

Ren breathed heavily, his body trembling from overwhelming exhaustion. His clothes were tattered, torn in countless places, revealing cuts and bruises. Blood and mud stained his skin and garments.

Before him lay Batara Guru, with Ren’s sword plunged upright into his chest.

”Awesome…” Batara Guru’s voice emerged, weak yet still carrying authority.

His eyes fixed on Ren, no longer with anger but with deep acknowledgment. ”You’ve defeated this King of the Gods… Don’t let yourself be bested by other gods… That would be an insult to me…”

Though reluctance lingered in his tone, as a defeated god, he still recognized his opponent’s prowess.

”Of course. I won’t lose to anyone!” Ren replied firmly.

”A good answer—”

Before Batara Guru could finish, his body began to glow with golden light. His form disintegrated into tiny particles of light, like fireflies rising to the sky.

*ZWHISH!*

The Platinum Sword in his chest fell and vanished before touching the ground. In an instant, Batara Guru’s form disappeared completely, returning to the Domain of Immortality, the realm of all myths.

”It’s finally over!” Ren let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing. ”Damn, as expected of the King of the Gods! He was the toughest opponent I’ve ever faced!”

After confirming Batara Guru was truly gone, the tension that had gripped him during the battle finally eased.

*BAM!*

With a soft groan, Ren collapsed onto the ground, heedless of the filthy floodwater soaking his body. He gazed at the clearing sky, savoring a moment of peace after the storm.

”By the way, what Divine Authority did I get?” he muttered, curious.

As a Campione, the rule was clear: slaying a god granted him one new Divine Authority.

The Divine Authority gained wasn’t always the defeated god’s most iconic power. It was determined by the Campione’s personality, abilities, and even subconscious desires. There was no fixed standard. It was all a matter of luck—or perhaps, fate.

Ren recalled Batara Guru’s domains: Creator and Preserver of the World, Ruler of Heaven, Fertility and Life, Spirituality and Asceticism, Justice and Law, Death and Destruction, and the one that worried him most: Divine Teacher.

He closed his eyes, trying to sense the new power flowing within him. He desperately hoped it wasn’t something related to teaching. Imagine Ren, the Godslayer, suddenly gaining the power to lecture or spread wisdom. That would be a terrible joke.

”Ugh… Just thinking about it gives me chills!”

His anxiety peaked. He pictured himself holding a chalkboard or giving sermons—a scene utterly incompatible with who he was.

But when the essence of his new Divine Authority finally revealed itself in his soul, an intuitive understanding emerged. It wasn’t about teaching, creating, or destroying.

Ren opened his eyes, a mix of relief and curiosity in his expression.

”The Cycle of Samsara, huh… Well, it’s not what I expected, but it’s not bad either.”

Several minutes passed in heavy silence, interrupted only by the hiss of pooling water and the creak of shifting debris. Ren’s stamina began to recover at an inhuman rate.

”Ugh…”

With a soft groan, he stood, wiping mud from his face with the back of his still-dirty hand.

From the distance, the sound of helicopter rotors approached, breaking the graveyard-like silence. A black helicopter bearing the emblem of the Indonesian Mage Association landed cautiously on a relatively flat patch of ground, about a hundred meters from where Ren stood.

A middle-aged man in a neat safari suit, his face pale and sweating, stepped out and hurried toward Ren. This was Budi.

Budi stopped a few steps away, bowing deeply, almost to a 90-degree angle. His voice trembled with respect and unconcealed fear.

”Congratulations on your victory, Your Majesty. Allow me to express our gratitude on behalf of everyone for saving Cirebon from the Heretic God.”

Ren looked at him with a flat stare, his sharp eyes seemingly piercing through every layer of pretense in those words. He noticed how Budi’s gaze briefly swept over his tattered clothes and muddy body, but the fear in Budi’s eyes was genuine.

It wasn’t fear of his appearance but of what he had just accomplished, of the power he had displayed.

”Saving?” Ren chuckled wryly. ”Who are you trying to fool? Look around.”

His hand gestured to the endless sea of debris and water.

”Even if I didn’t cause the deaths of hundreds of thousands, it doesn’t change the fact that most of this city’s people died from bad luck. They were asleep and drowned before the battle even started. I only came to fight the Heretic God who caused this flood. Don’t pin a ’savior’ title on me that I didn’t ask for.”

Budi broke into a cold sweat, bowing even lower. ”F-Forgive me, Your Majesty! I didn’t mean—”

”Forget it.” Ren cut him off, uninterested in apologies.

His face showed no trace of sorrow or regret for the civilian deaths.

As he’d said, their deaths weren’t his responsibility. He wasn’t a saint who’d mourn others’ misfortunes. Ordinary moral ethics didn’t apply to him.

Instead, he was a selfish bastard who trampled over others’ lives for his own pleasure, and he fully embraced that reality.

Budi, sensing the tone, quickly changed the subject.

”Your Majesty must be exhausted. We’ve prepared the finest accommodations for you. A private villa in Puncak, complete with all the amenities you need to recover.”

”Now that you mention it.” Ren said, genuine fatigue settling in as his adrenaline finally faded. ”All I want now is to sleep and recover. Take me there.”

He walked past Budi, who remained bowed, no longer caring about the man or the dead city around him.

His goal was accomplished: the Heretic God was defeated, a new Divine Authority gained. The rest wasn’t worth thinking about.

Ren boarded the luxurious helicopter, its leather seats comfortable despite his filthy clothes. Budi hurriedly followed and signaled the pilot to take off.

The rotors spun faster, kicking up water and dust below. The helicopter slowly rose, leaving the muddy ground behind.

Ren gazed through the window, watching the ruined Cirebon shrink below.

No buildings, no signs of life. Just a vast basin of brown water, like an open wound on the earth’s surface. A city reduced to a name.

The helicopter turned, carrying him away from Cirebon. Ren looked away, no longer interested in the scene below.

His eyes closed, not to sleep, but to contemplate his new Divine Authority.

”…”

Below, in the silence of the graveyard lake, nothing remained to commemorate the lost city, save for a name recorded in official reports as the victim of the ”worst natural disaster in history.”