Chapter 745

The desert night was frigid.

Where the scorching sunlight and heat haze had been, only sub-zero temperatures and an unusually large moon remained.

A daily temperature range that reached a staggering sixty degrees Celsius.

Yet even the bitter cold couldn’t deter the footsteps of someone climbing a crescent-shaped sand dune.

Rustle.

Despite the steep incline, their gait looked almost like a glide.

The hem of a thin silk robe brushed the grains of sand, then came to a stop.

“This is the place.”

The moment the toneless voice echoed, the empty air shimmered.

Sss.

With a faint sound, a dozen figures descended onto the sand dune.

Their faces were covered with black masks and turbans. Kneeling respectfully on one knee, they whispered,

“Inshallah. We behold the great Prophet who has returned to this land.”

Standing alone before them, the Prophet’s robe fluttered lightly.

“Inshallah. I wondered when you would reveal yourselves.”

At the Prophet’s words—implying they had known everything from the start—the dozen pairs of eyes visible above the masks wavered.

“Oh, Prophet…”

“I know. That you are devoted to me. That is why you followed me, even defying my orders.”

“If you ask for our lives for the sin of disobedience, we will gladly pay the price with death. But we, the Hasasin, will not leave your side under any circumstances.”

Hasasin. Or Assassins.

After their base was seized by enemies around the thirteenth century, this historic assassination group, which had maintained its lineage as little more than a religious sect, was revived with the Great Cataclysm—and they would never bend their will.

“The heretics of the West are cunning and possess great power. If the Prophet were to be noticed by them…”

“Al-Nizar. More loyal than anyone, yet foolish and full of worries.”

“Look at me.”

Startled, the leader of the Hasasin carefully raised his head.

Their magnificent Prophet was looking down at him, the starry night sky behind them.

Within the robe, a strange darkness—along with a mysterious gleam shining in their eyes.

“Do you still not understand?”

The Prophet stretched both arms toward the sky.

Whoosh.

A massive energy swelled, pushing out the robe’s edges. The wind stilled, and the air trembled.

The Hasasin, who had unknowingly held their breath, followed the Prophet’s hands with their gaze—and in that instant.

Swoosh.

They saw it. A transparent membrane extending from the sky, encircling a radius of hundreds of meters.

A shield that could not be detected by any product of science, or even by Magic—and at the same time, a screen that hid their figures from the eyes of their enemies.

“As long as I protect you, they will not be able to find even our shadows.”

“……”

Even the Hasasin, hardened by extreme training, couldn’t conceal their surging emotions.

First, at the fact that their Prophet possessed such incredible power.

And again, at the fact that they called them—mere insignificant servants—“us.”

“Inshallah…!”

“Oh, Prophet!”

Cries filled with emotion and joy echoed through the silent desert. But the miracle the Prophet would show today did not end there.

Rustle.

The sleeves of the rich, long robe fluttered. The crescent-shaped sand dune beneath their feet shook.

No—it split.

Crack!

It was truly a wondrous sight.

Long ago, Moses had parted the Red Sea and led the Hebrews, and now, more than a thousand years later, a new Prophet divided a part of the vast Sea of Sand in two.

And hidden within those countless grains—like a gift from God—it sparkled in the moonlight.

“Oh, my…”

“Oh, Prophet. What on earth are those?”

Instead of answering, the Prophet silently extended a hand.

Clang. Clang. Clang!

Locks burst open as if blown apart by an invisible force.

After confirming the contents of dozens of iron chests, the leader of the Hasasin widened his eyes.

“T-this is…”

A brilliant light that couldn’t be concealed even by darkness.

Countless gold and silver bars they had never seen before. And the radiance of weapons imbued with various Magic made their pupils swim.

But what shocked them most was something else.

“Magic Crystal Stones…”

The cry that escaped like a moan was the truth.

Magic Crystal Stones.

And not just a few—hundreds of high-grade to top-grade Magic Crystal Stones. Among them were several that were especially large, exuding overwhelming energy.

Whoosh.

Even the Hasasin leader—an S-Rank Hunter before he took command—couldn’t easily approach that power.

“Gasp.”

At that moment, the Prophet’s unique, toneless voice reached his ears as he unconsciously drew a breath.

“S-Rank Magic Crystal Stones. Preserving their original power intact.”

“P-Prophet.”

“Step back. It is not a power you can handle.”

With that quiet warning, the unrefined S-Rank Magic Crystal Stones floated into the air.

Like living creatures, ten of them were sucked into the Prophet’s robe.

The leader’s gaze trembled as he watched.

‘How on earth does the Prophet…’

It was already known that the Prophet possessed abilities that defied common sense.

However, from the Great Cataclysm until now, only about a hundred S-Rank monsters had officially appeared in human history.

On rare occasions, a very small number of A-Rank monsters also carried S-Rank Magic Crystal Stones, but those were exceptional cases—and even in the Middle East, where Gates were plentiful, S-Rank Magic Crystal Stones had appeared only once or twice at most.

Yet here, ten S-Rank Magic Crystal Stones were gathered in one place.

And their original Magical Power was intact.

‘It’s an enormous amount. Unbelievable.’

They trusted the Prophet without limit, but this time, he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

The moment he turned his head, he met the gleam in the Prophet’s eyes—faint light flowing through the robe.

“I ask you. Who do you think is standing before you now?”

…

At that gaze, as if everything had already been seen through, the leader felt a shock like lightning and dropped to his knees.

How dare he question what the Prophet was doing.

It could not happen. It should not happen.

“Oh, great Prophet. Please forgive this sinful servant!”

The air froze in an instant. The Hasasin caressed their weapons, waiting for the Prophet to speak.

If the order came, they were ready to eliminate their leader without hesitation.

Because the Prophet conveyed the word of God—the Prophet who led them all.

After the death of the Prophet Muhammad, the Islamic world had fought among itself for over a thousand years, staining the desert sands with blood.

As time passed, a tiny few enjoyed immense wealth and power, but in the metropolises built on oil, what was prioritized was not the word of Allah, but the capitalism of apostates.

Now was the time to gather Allah’s descendants—who had been pointing blades at one another—into one root, and to save compatriots even oppressed in the West.

In the name of the great God.

In the name of the Prophet who had come to them on God’s behalf, decades ago.

And at that moment, as an invisible blade slowly cut through the silence, the mouth that had been firmly closed finally opened.

“Al-Nizar.”

A voice whose age—whose very gender—could not be discerned.

At the call, the leader swallowed hard. His whole body was already soaked in cold sweat.

“Oh, Prophet.”

“I will entrust you with one last thing. My son of God, who is not yet mature, and therefore more dear to my heart.”

…

“Inshallah. All of this is the result of the long patience and arrangement God has granted me, so you must never doubt it. Do you understand?”

“I will keep it in mind. I will keep it in mind.”

Drip.

A liquid mixed with cold sweat and tears soaked into the sand.

The Prophet looked down benevolently at the leader trembling with emotion and relief, then continued.

“Now the time has come again. Tell your brothers who have been preparing.”

At those words, everyone’s eyes widened.

Nearly ten hours had passed since that day—already called “Allah’s Judgment” among them.

Everyone who followed the Prophet was eagerly awaiting the next day of judgment.

“Oh, Prophet. Those words…”

“God wills it. Bring down God’s iron hammer upon the apostates rotting from within, and upon the heretics of the West.”

The eyes above the masks gleamed with fanaticism and joy.

The Prophet murmured, looking up at the star-scattered sky.

“Until the very end, not much time is left.”

Someone desired disaster, someone struggled to prevent it, and someone wanted something beyond even that.

Even now, they ran toward their respective goals.

Sugihara Kyoiku was a worker who had spent a long time in the cargo industry.

A Tokyo native who had lived there his entire life, and a veteran who’d worked in shipping since he was young.

Sometimes people looked down on him for doing manual labor, but he didn’t care much.

Not everyone could have jobs like Hunters, lawyers, or doctors—and he was necessary in this world, too.

But lately, he hadn’t been feeling very good.

No. He couldn’t feel good.

‘Damn it. Those damn monsters.’

Just ten hours ago, many people had been killed and injured in the monster wave that struck Tokyo.

Tokyo Tower—something he, as a Tokyo native, was secretly proud of—had been tragically destroyed, and the chicken restaurant he’d frequented for thirty years had been swept away in the aftermath.

‘I didn’t like that the owner was Korean, but the chicken was still amazing.’

The fact that he could no longer have Korean-style fried chicken and beer after work made Kyoiku oddly sad, but regardless, he went to work today.

“Kyoiku-san. You’re here?”

“Yo.”

After exchanging quick greetings with his fellow workers, he was put straight to work. Tokyo Bay was already crowded with cargo ships.

“Where should I start?”

“We’ve already begun. Let’s go together.”

Sugihara Kyoiku loaded cargo onto the ship and chatted with his colleagues about this and that.

News that the Magical Power distribution in Tokyo had been rising especially fast lately.

News that the current prime minister—born into a prestigious political family—had said something insane again.

And talk about tsunamis, and so on.

“Tsunami?”

“Yes. I heard it’s slowly approaching Tokyo. The scale is enormous.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry. The government said it’ll subside soon.”

“Well, I guess so.”

He was a little uneasy, but that was it.

Even if it was a tsunami, it wouldn’t reach Tokyo in the end.

Especially Tokyo Bay—a bay where the sea cuts into the land—and a defense system using Magic was also firmly established.

‘Once today’s work is done, should I find a new Korean chicken place?’

Kyoiku straightened his back, thinking something trivial.

And at the same time, he froze like a statue.

“Huh?”

What is that?

The first thought that flashed through his mind—

And the next moment, a piece of news he’d heard earlier echoed in his head.

‘Tsunami.’

His mouth hung open as his gaze turned toward the sea beyond the harbor.

A colossal wave—higher than anything he’d ever seen—was rushing in, as if to blot out the sun.

Goooooooong.

Along with the cry of some unknown thing—so chilling it froze him just to hear it.